The Secret Place

‘Is it too heavy for you to carry by yourself?’

‘Hahahaha, such a comedienne. Come on.’

The force of her makes Holly feel better. Maybe she should have said something to Jules straight off; maybe the two of them together will come up with a decent answer. She swings her legs off the bed. Becca watches them out of the room. Selena doesn’t.

The early darkness outside turns the light in the corridor a dirty yellow. Julia leans back against the wall with her arms folded. She says, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

She doesn’t bother keeping it down; the rain battering the landing window covers their voices from any listeners. Holly says, ‘I was just asking her. What’s the big huge-’

‘You were hassling her. Don’t hassle her.’

‘Hello, how is that hassling her? We have to decide.’

‘It’s hassling her because if you keep going on at her, she’ll just get upset. The rest of us work it out, we tell her, she’ll be happy with whatever we think.’

Holly matches Julia’s folded arms, and her stare. ‘What if I think Lenie should get a say too?’

Julia rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Did you have a lobotomy for lunch? You know why not.’

Holly says, ‘You mean because she’s not OK. That’s why not.’

Julia’s face closes over. ‘She’s fine. She’s got shit she needs to sort out, is all. Doesn’t everyone.’

‘It’s not the same thing. Lenie can’t manage

. Like just normal stuff: she can’t do it. What’s going to happen to her when the rest of us aren’t there every minute of every-’

‘You mean, like, when we’re in college? Years from now? Excuse me if I don’t have a total drama attack over that. By then she’ll be fine.’

‘She’s not getting better. You know she’s not.’

It spins between them, razor-edged: she hasn’t got better since then; since that; you know what. Neither one of them reaches out to touch it.

Holly says, ‘I think we need to make her go talk to someone.’

Julia laughs out loud. ‘What, like Sister Ignatius? Oh, yeah, that’s totally going to make everything OK. Sister Ignatius couldn’t sort a broken fingernail-’

‘Not Sister Ignatius. Someone real. Like a doctor or something.’

‘Jesus Christ-’ Julia shoots off the wall pointing both forefingers at Holly. The angle of her neck is one degree off an attack. ‘Don’t even fucking think about it. I am serious.’

Holly almost slaps her hands away. The rush of fury feels good. ‘Since when are you the boss of me? You don’t get to give me orders. Ever.’

Neither of them has been in an actual fight since they were tiny kids, but they’re eye to eye, on their toes and boiling for it, hands twitching for something soft to gouge and twist. Julia is the one who finally drops back, gives Holly her shoulder and sinks against the wall.

‘Look,’ she says, to the landing window and the swollen streaks of rain. ‘If you care about Lenie, like even the tiniest bit, then you won’t try and get her talking to a psychologist. You’re going to have to take my word for it: that’s like the absolute worst thing you could do for her, in the whole world. OK?’

The immensity of it is coiled tight inside every word. Holly can’t get a hold on her, amid the relentless buzz of both their circling secrets, can’t catch at what Julia knows or guesses. It’s nothing like Julia to back down.

‘I’m asking you as a favour here. Trust me. Please.’

Holly wishes, right down into deep parts of herself that she didn’t know existed, that it were still that simple. ‘I guess,’ she says. ‘OK.’

Julia’s face turns towards her. The layer of suspicion makes Holly want to do something, she can’t tell what: scream it right off, maybe, or give it the finger and walk out of the door and never come back. ‘Yeah?’ Julia says. ‘You won’t try and get her talking to anyone?’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m so sure.’

‘Then OK,’ Holly says. ‘I won’t.’

‘Good,’ Julia says. ‘Let’s go get something out of the common room before Becs comes looking for us.’

They head off down the corridor, in step, baffled and alone.

Holly isn’t leaving it because Julia says so. She’s leaving it because she has an idea.

It’s the psychologist thing that made her think of it. She got sent to a counsellor, that other time. He was kind of a moron and his nose sweated, and he kept asking questions that were none of his business so Holly just played with his stupid puzzles and ignored him, but he kept talking and he did come out with one thing that actually turned out to be true. He said it would get simpler once the trial was over and she knew exactly what was going on; either way, he said, knowing would make it easier to put the whole thing out of her head and concentrate on other stuff. Which it did.