Tana French - The Secret Place

By the end of the week she thinks the cops are playing mind-games with her, waiting for the suspense to break her down. It’s working. When she drops a binder – she and Becca are in the back of the library, collecting binders full of old Irish exams for the class to practise on – she almost leaps through the roof. ‘Hey,’ Becca says. ‘It’s OK.’

‘I’m actually smart enough to decide for myself whether it’s OK or not,’ Julia snaps in a whisper, scooping dusty pages off the staticky carpet. ‘And believe me, it fucking isn’t.’

‘Jules,’ Becca says gently. ‘It is. I swear. It’s all going to be totally fine.’ And she runs the backs of her fingers along Julia’s shoulder, down her arm, like someone calming a spooked animal.

Julia, whipping upright to rip her a new one, finds Becca looking back with steady brown eyes and not a hint of a flinch, even smiling a little. It’s the first time in weeks she’s looked at Becca properly. She realises that Becca is taller than her now, and that – unlike Selena and Holly and, Christ knows, Julia herself – she doesn’t look like shit. The opposite: she looks smoothed, luminous, as if her skin’s been stripped away and remade out of something denser and so white it’s almost metallic, something you could shatter your knuckles on. She looks beautiful.

It makes Julia feel even farther away from her. She doesn’t have the energy to rip anyone anything; she just wants to sit down on the disgusting carpet and lean her head against the bookshelves and stay there for a long time. ‘Come on,’ she says instead, heaving up her armful of binders. ‘Let’s go.’

After another week she realises that the cops aren’t coming. Finn hasn’t given them her name. He could have used it to bargain down the expulsion into a suspension, thrown it to the cops to get them off his back, but he didn’t.

She wants to text him, but anything she said would come out as Ha-ha, you’re in the shit and I’m not, sucker. She wants to ask his friends how he’s doing, but either he’s told them everything and they hate her, or he hasn’t and it would start rumours, or they’d tell him and he’d hate her even more, and the whole mess would just bubble up viler. Instead she waits till the others are asleep and bawls like a stupid whiny baby all night long.

After two and a half weeks the centre of the world is starting to turn away from Chris Harper. The funeral is over; everyone’s talked themselves tired of the photographers outside the church and who cried and how Joanne fainted during Communion and had to be carried outside. Chris’s name has fallen off the front pages, into the occasional snippet in spare corners that need filling. The detectives are gone, most of the time. The Junior Cert is just a few days from pouncing, and the teachers get narky instead of guidance-y if someone messes up a class by bursting into tears or seeing Chris’s ghost. He’s drifted off to one side: there, all the time, but in the corner of your eye.

On the way to the Court, under trees puffed up with full summer green, Holly says, ‘Tonight?’

‘Hello?’ Julia says, eyebrows shooting up. ‘And walk straight into a dozen of your dad’s buddies just waiting for someone to be that incredibly fucking stupid? Seriously?’

Becca is hopscotching over cracks, but Julia’s whipcrack voice gets her watching. Selena keeps on walking with her head tipped back, face turned up to the sweet swirls of leaves. Holly has her elbow to make sure she doesn’t smash into anything.

‘There aren’t any detectives. Dad’s always complaining about how he can’t even get surveillance authorised on, like, major drug dealers; no way would they authorise it on a girls’ school. So duh, incredibly fucking stupid yourself.’

‘Well, isn’t it just awesomesauce to have an expert on police procedure right here. I guess it never occurred to you that maybe your daddy doesn’t tell you everything?’

Julia is giving Holly her fiercest better-back-down glare, but Holly’s not backing anywhere. She’s been waiting weeks for this; it’s the only thing she can think of that might fix things. ‘He doesn’t need to tell me. I have brain cells-’

‘I want to go,’ Becca says. ‘We need it.’

‘Maybe you need to get arrested. I honest-to-God don’t.’

‘We do need it,’ Becca says, stubborn. ‘Listen to you. You’re being a bitch. If we have a night out there-’

‘Oh, please, don’t give me that crap. I’m being a bitch because this is a stupid idea. It’s not going to get any less stupid if we-’

Selena wakes up. ‘What is?’

‘Forget it,’ Julia tells her. ‘Never mind. Go think about pink fluff some more.’

‘Going out tonight,’ Becca says. ‘I want to go, so does Hol, Jules doesn’t.’

Selena’s eyes float over to Julia. ‘Why not?’ she asks.

‘Because even if the cops don’t have surveillance on the place, it’s still a dumb idea. Have you even noticed that the Junior Cert starts this week ? Have you even heard them, every single day: “Oh you have to get sleep, if you don’t get sleep you can’t concentrate and you won’t be able to study-”’

Holly’s hands fly up and out. ‘Oh my God, since when do you care what Sister Ignatius thinks you should do?’

‘I don’t give a fuck about Sister Ignatius. I care if I end up stuck in, like, needlework class next year because I fail my-’

‘Oh, yeah, right , because of one hour one night, you’re totally going to-’

‘I want to go,’ Selena says. She’s stopped walking.

The rest of them stop too. Holly catches Julia’s eye and widens hers, warning. This is the first time in weeks that Lenie has wanted anything.

Julia takes a breath like she’s got another argument ready, the heaviest of all. Then she looks at the three of them and puts it away again.

‘OK,’ she says. Her voice has dulled. ‘Whatever, I guess. Just, if it doesn’t…’

‘If what doesn’t what?’ Becca asks, after a moment.

Julia says, ‘Nothing. Let’s do it.’

‘Woohoo!’ Becca says, and jumps high to pull a flower off a branch. Selena starts walking and goes back to watching the leaves. Holly takes her elbow again.

They’re almost at the Court; the warm sugary smell of doughnuts reaches out to make their mouths water. Something seizes Holly, in the tender space between where her breasts are growing, and drags downwards. At first she thinks she’s hungry. It takes her a moment to understand that it’s loss.

Outside their window the moon is slim and running wild with streaks of cloud. Their movements as they dress are filled up with every other time, with the first can’t-believe-we’re-doing-this half-joke, with the magic of a bottle cap floating above a palm, of a flame turning them to gold masks. As they pull up their hoods and take their shoes in their hands, as they slow-motion like dancers down the stairs, they feel themselves slowly turn buoyant again, feel the world flower and shiver as it waits for them. A smile is tipping the corner of Lenie’s mouth; on the landing Becca turns her palms to the white-lit window like a thanksgiving prayer. Even Julia who thought she knew better is beating with it, the bubble of hope expanding inside her ribs till it hurts, What if, maybe, maybe we really could-

The key won’t turn.

They stare at each other, wiped blank.

‘Let me try,’ Holly whispers. Julia steps back. The rhythm in their ears is pounding faster.

It won’t turn.

‘They’ve changed the lock,’ Becca whispers.

‘What do we do?’

‘Get out of here.’

‘Let’s go.’

Holly can’t get the key out.