No way is Julia bringing him to the glade. There’s a little rise among cherry trees, tucked away at the side of the grounds; the cherry blossom is out, which turns the place more romantic than Julia had in mind, but it has plenty of cover and a perfect view of the back lawn. ‘This way,’ she says.
No one else has got there first. The rise is still. When a breeze flits through, cherry blossom falls like a shake of snow on the pale grass.
‘Ta-da,’ Julia says, sweeping a hand out. ‘Will this do?’
‘Works for me,’ Finn says. He looks around, the bottle swinging from one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his navy hoodie – it’s cold, but there’s almost no wind, so it’s a mellow, clean cold that they can ignore. ‘I never even knew this was here. It’s beautiful.’
‘It’s probably covered in bird crap,’ Julia says, dampeningly. He doesn’t sound like he’s just playing Mr Sensitive to up his odds of getting into her bra, but you never know.
‘The element of risk. I like it.’ Finn points to a patch of clear grass among the cherry trees. ‘Over here?’
Julia lets him sit down first, so she can get the distance right. He uncaps the bottle and passes it to her. ‘Cheers,’ he says.
She takes a mouthful and discovers she hates rum as well as whiskey. She has no idea how the human race found out you could actually drink this stuff. She hopes she doesn’t just hate booze in general. Julia figures she’s ruled out enough vices already; this is one she was planning to enjoy.
‘Good stuff,’ she says, giving it back.
Finn takes a swig and manages to avoid making a face. ‘Better than the punch, anyway.’
‘True. Not saying much, but true.’
There’s a silence, question-marked, but not uncomfortable. The ringing in Julia’s ears is starting to fade. Bats are on the hunt overhead; far away, maybe in the grove, an owl calls.
Finn lies back on the grass, pulling up his hood so he won’t get dew or bird crap in his hair. ‘I heard the grounds are haunted,’ he says.
Julia is not about to snuggle up for protection. ‘Yeah? I heard your mum is haunted.’
He grins. ‘Seriously. You never heard that?’
‘Course I did,’ Julia says. ‘The ghost nun. Is that why you invited me out here? To look after you while you got your booze?’
‘I used to be petrified of her. The older guys made sure we all were, back in first year.’
‘Us too. Sadistic bitches.’
Finn hands her the bottle. ‘They’d come into our dorm last thing before lights-out, right, and tell us the stories? The idea was, if they scared us enough, some poor kid wouldn’t have the guts to go to the jacks and he’d end up wetting his bed.’
‘Ever get you?’
‘No!’ But he’s grinning too. ‘They got plenty, though.’
‘Seriously? What’d they tell you? She came after guys with garden shears?’
‘Nah. They said she…’ Finn glances sideways at Julia. ‘I mean, the way I heard it, she was kind of a slut.’
The word comes out practically radioactive with self-consciousness. Julia enquires, ‘Are you trying to see if I’ll get all shocked because you said “slut”?’
Finn’s eyebrows go up and he stares, half shocked himself. She watches him coolly, amused.
‘Well,’ he says, in the end. ‘I guess. Sort of.’
‘Were you hoping I would or I wouldn’t?’
He shakes his head. He’s starting to smile, at himself, snared. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Anything else you want to try shocking me with? You could go for “shit”. Or even “fuck”, if you’re feeling really crazy.’
‘I think I’m done. Thanks, though.’
Julia decides to let him off the hook. She lies back on the grass beside him and spins the cap off the bottle. ‘The way we heard it,’ she says, ‘the nun was shagging like half the priests from Colm’s, and then some kid found out and ratted her out to the Father Superior. Him and the Mother Superior strangled the nun and hid her body somewhere in the grounds, nobody’s totally sure where, so she’s haunting both schools till she gets a proper burial. And if she catches anyone, she thinks it’s the kid who ratted her out, so she tries to strangle them and they go insane. Does that about cover what you heard?’
‘Well. Yeah. More or less.’
‘Saved you some trouble there,’ Julia says. ‘I think I’ve earned this.’ She has another sip. This one actually tastes OK. She decides, with relief, that she doesn’t hate rum after all.
Finn reaches for the bottle, and Julia holds it out. His fingers skim over hers, tentative, light. Over the back of her hand, up to her wrist.
‘Ah-ah,’ Julia says, shoving the bottle at him and ignoring the leap of something in her stomach.
Finn takes his hand back. ‘Why not?’ he asks, after a second. He’s not looking at Julia.
Julia says, ‘Got a smoke?’
Finn props himself up on an elbow and scans the back lawn; somewhere far off a high squeal falls into a giggle, but there’s nothing that sounds like nuns on the hunt. He fishes in his jeans pocket and pulls out a very battered packet of Marlboro Lights. Julia lights up – she’s pretty sure it looked expert – and hands the lighter back.
‘So…?’ Finn says, and waits.
