She said, ‘I wish I’d never brought you that fucking postcard.’ Not angry, not wishing for an excuse to kick me in the nuts, not any more. Things that went too deep to leave room for that.
I said, ‘Why? You knew there’d be hassle; you had to expect all this. What’s changed?’
Holly said, ‘I’m not allowed to talk to you till my dad gets back.’ She slipped the hat off the pencil, edged it between wires and dropped it over a tiny bedpost. Then she went back to her chair and sat down. Pulled her hoodie sleeves down over her hands and watched the moon.
Fast feet on the stairs: Conway, stepping out of the layers of shadow down the corridor, cool evening caught on her clothes. She said to me, ‘Mackey’s hanging on for another smoke – in case it’s a while before his next chance, he says. He says you can join him if you want. You might as well; he’s not going to come in till you do.’
She wasn’t looking at me. Gave me a bad feeling, couldn’t put my finger on it. I waited a second, trying to catch her eye, but all I got was Holly alert and scanning back and forth between the two of us, trying to snatch something. I left.
The tree line had turned black, swooping and dipping like a bird’s flightline against deep blue sky. I’d never seen it in that light before, but it looked familiar all the same. The school was starting to feel like I’d been there forever, like I belonged.
Mackey was leaning against the wall. He lit his smoke, waggled it at me:
‘So,’ he said. ‘Interesting strategy you’ve got going on here, young Stephen. Some might say downright insane, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.’
‘What strategy?’
Double-take, amused. ‘Hello? Remember me? We’ve met before. We’ve
I said, ‘What strategy are we talking about?’
Mackey sighed. ‘OK. I’ll play. Hooking up with Antoinette Conway. I’d love to know: what’s your plan there?’
‘No plan. I got the chance to work a murder, I took it.’
Mackey’s eyebrow went up. ‘I hope for your sake you’re still playing innocent, kid. How much do you know about Conway?’
‘She’s a good D. Works hard. Going places, fast.’
He waited. When he realised I was done: ‘That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?’
I shrugged. Seven years on and Mackey’s eye could still make me squirm, still turn me into a kid gone insta-thick at an oral exam. ‘Up till today, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about her.’
‘There’s a grapevine. There’s always gossip. You’re above that kind of thing?’
‘Not above it. Just never picked up anything about Conway.’
Mackey sighed, shoulders sagging. Ran a hand through his hair, shook his head. ‘Kid. Stephen.’ His voice had gone gentle. ‘In this gig, you need to make friends. Have to. Otherwise you won’t last.’
‘I’m lasting grand. And I’ve got friends.’
‘Not the kind I’m talking about. You need
‘Like you?’
‘I’ve done OK for you so far. Haven’t I?’
‘I said thanks.’
‘And I’d like to think you meant it. But I don’t know, Stephen. I’m not feeling the love.’
‘If you’re my best buddy,’ I said, ‘go ahead and tell me what you think I need to know about Conway.’
Mackey leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t bothering to smoke his fag; it had done its job. He said, ‘Conway’s a leper, kid. She didn’t mention that?’
‘Hasn’t come up.’ I didn’t ask why she was a leper. He was going to tell me anyway.
‘Well, she’s not a whiner, anyway. I suppose that’s one plus.’ He flicked ash. ‘You’re no thicko. You had to have some clue that Conway’s never going to win Miss Congeniality. You didn’t mind teaming up with that?’
‘Like I said. I’m not looking for a new best friend.’
‘I’m not talking about your social life. Conway: her first week on Murder, she’s bending over writing something on the whiteboard, and this idiot called Roche smacks her arse. Conway whips round, grabs his hand, bends one finger back till his eyes pop out. Tells him next time he touches her, she’ll break it. Roche calls her a bitch. Conway gives his finger one more jerk, Roche yells, Conway lets go of him and goes back to the whiteboard.’
‘I can see how that would make Roche into a leper. Not Conway.’
Mackey laughed out loud. ‘I missed you, kid. I really did. I’d forgotten how cute you are. You’re right: in a perfect squad, that’s how it should work. And in some squads, in some years, it actually would. But Murder’s not a cuddly place right now. They’re not bad lads, most of them, in their own way; just a bit rugby-club, bit in-crowd, bit no-neck. If Conway had said something smart, or laughed along, or grabbed Roche’s arse the next time she caught him bending, she’d’ve been grand. If she’d just made
