Holly snorted. ‘Like that would’ve done any good. Chris didn’t even like me – he could tell I didn’t fall for his cute-little-puppy thing, which meant he was never going to get up my top, which meant I was a bitch and why would he bother even talking to me, never mind doing anything I asked him to?’
‘You, young one. No one gets up your top till you’re married.’ Mackey, from the windowsill.
I said, ‘I just can’t get my head round the idea that you did nothing. This guy’s making your best mate miserable, and you just went, “Ah, well, stuff happens, it’ll toughen her up”? Seriously?’
‘I didn’t
I said, ‘You could’ve talked to Julia and Rebecca, see if the three of you could come up with a plan together. That’s what I’d’ve expected you to do. If yous are as close as you say.’
‘I’d already tried. Remember? Becca got upset, Julia didn’t want to know. Probably I would’ve told Jules if Selena had been any worse, but it wasn’t like I thought she was going to
The thing was it wasn’t true, the little insomnia story, or not all the truth. I couldn’t risk a glance at Conway to see if she’d spotted the lie. There had been no name attached to Chris’s number, in Selena’s phone; no names in the texts. No way a skim through the phone could have told Holly who Selena was texting.
Maybe the lie was Mackey reflex, always keep some nugget to yourself in case it comes in useful later on. Maybe not.
Holly moved like she felt that cold-rain something fingering the back of her neck, trailing across her shoulders. Said, ‘I wasn’t just ignoring the whole thing. Back then, I thought the same as Becca: everything would be OK as long as we had each other. I thought, if we just stuck close to Lenie…’
‘Did it work? Did she seem like she was snapping out of it?’
Holly said, quietly, ‘No.’
I said, ‘That had to be scary. You’re used to dealing with everything together with your friends, the four of yous: no secrets. All of a sudden, you’re stuck dealing with this all on your own.’
Holly shrugged. ‘I survived.’
Trying hard for ice-cool, but that veil had wrapped her round. Those few days last spring had set things shifting, in the way the world looked to her. Left her lost, stripped raw in cold wind and no one’s hands finding hers.
That was when I knew: Conway wasn’t the only one who had Holly in her sights. Not any more.
‘Course you did,’ I said. ‘You’re well able; I know that from last time. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get scared. And being out on your own where your mates can’t help, that’s one of the scariest things around.’
Slowly her eyes came up, met mine. Startled and clear, like this was more than she’d expected from me. A tiny nod.
‘Hate to break up the little chat when it’s going so nicely,’ Mackey said lazily, swinging himself off the windowsill, ‘but I’m gasping for a smoke.’
‘You told Mum you’d quit,’ Holly said.
‘It’s been a long time since I had your mum fooled about anything. See you in a few, chickadee. If these nice detectives say a word to you, you just stick your fingers in your ears and sing them something pretty.’ And he headed off, left the door swinging open behind him. We heard his footsteps down the corridor, him whistling a perky tune.
Conway and I looked at each other. Holly watched us, under those enigmatic curves of eyelid.
I said, ‘I could do with some fresh air.’
In the foyer, the heavy wooden door was swinging wide. The rectangle of cold light spilling onto the chequerboard tiles was notched with a shadow that moved, one sharp flick, when my steps echoed. Mackey.
He was at the top of the steps, leaning against a column, smoke unlit between his fingers. His back was to me and he didn’t turn. Above him, the sky was a blue aimed for night; it was gone quarter past eight. Faint and delicate, arcing somewhere in the great stretches of dimming air out there, bats’ intent shrills and girls’ intent chatter.
When I came up beside Mackey he raised the smoke to his lips, glanced at me over the click of the lighter. ‘Since when do you smoke?’
‘Just needed some air.’ I loosened my collar, took a deep breath. The air tasted sweet and warm, night flowers opening.
‘And a chat.’
‘Long time no see.’
‘Kid. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not in the mood for small talk.’
‘Nah, I know. I just wanted to say…’ The squirm was real, and the red face. ‘I know you’ve been… you know. Putting in the odd good word for me, along the way. I just wanted a chance to say thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me. Just don’t fuck up. I don’t like looking stupid.’
‘I’m not planning on fucking up.’
