I only did what Mackey wanted me to do, back then. It never hit me, and it should’ve, that he would keep it tucked away in his back pocket: something he could use against me someday, if he ever needed to.
I said – keeping it down: his ear was pressed to the back of that door – ‘Mackey’s trying to fuck with us.’
‘There’s no
Like a punch in the jaw. It shouldn’t’ve hit me; she was right, it had only been one day. Got me goodo.
It must’ve shown. The face on me pulled some fleck of guilt out of Conway. She said, ‘I’ll give you a lift back to HQ – give me your mobile number, I’ll text you when I’m done here. Till then, get a sandwich. Go for a nice walk, admire the grounds. See if you can get Chris’s ghost to pop up for you. Whatever.’
I said, and I’d stopped caring about keeping it down, ‘You’re doing exactly what Mackey wants you to do. He wants me gone because he’s scared Holly’ll talk to me. You can’t see that?’ Nothing on Conway’s face. ‘He tried it on me, too: bitched about you, hoped I’d walk. You think I took any notice?’
‘Course you didn’t. You want to shake your booty in front of O’Kelly; doesn’t matter whose case you piggyback on to get there. Me, I’ve got something to lose here. And I’m not having you lose it for me.’
I gave Conway my phone number. She swung the door closed in my face.
One of Julia’s more impressive talents has always been the ability to barf at will. It was cooler back in primary school, before anybody noticed that public puking might not be particularly dignified – it even earned her a decent chunk of dosh, one way and another – but it hasn’t totally lost its usefulness since then. She just saves it for special occasions, these days.
Tuesday morning, April 23rd, Chris Harper has just over three weeks left to live. Julia eats the biggest and most varied breakfast she can handle, because an artiste has her pride, then waits till the middle of Home Economics and barfs pyrotechnically all over the classroom floor. Orla Burgess is within range, but Julia resists temptation: her plan doesn’t include Orla being sent back to the boarders’ wing to change. As Miss Rooney shoos her towards the nurse’s office, Julia – clutching her stomach – catches a flash of Holly and Becca baffled, Selena gazing out of the window like she hasn’t even noticed anything happening; Joanne’s flat-eyed smirk while she plans how to spread the word that that slut Julia Harte is pregnant; and Gemma giving her a look like a wink, amused and approving.
She does wobbly legs and some mild gagging for the nurse, answers the usual questions about her period – you could break your leg and the nurse would still want to know when your last period was; Julia suspects that being a day overdue would get you ratted out to the nuns for interrogation – and a few minutes later she’s all tucked up in bed with a glass of flat ginger ale and a pathetic look. And the nurse leaves her alone.
Julia works fast. She has it planned out: first Selena’s part of the wardrobe, then her bed, if she doesn’t score there she’ll pop out the bottom of Selena’s bedside locker – they figured out how to do it last term, when Becca lost her key – and if she still comes up blank then she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s going to do.
