The Secret Place

If it had been an hour earlier, when they were throwing off their uniforms in their room and singing Amy Winehouse, deciding whether to go across the road and watch the guys’ rugby match. If it were an hour later, when they would be in the canteen, sprawled forward over the table, catching last crumbs of dry cake with licked fingertips. None of them would ever have imagined what they had brushed up against; what other selves, other lives, other deaths were careening ferocious and unstoppable along their tracks, only a sliver of time away. The grounds are pocketed with clusters of girls, all blazing and amazed with inchoate love for one another and for their own growing closeness; none of the others will feel the might of that swerve as the tracks switch and their own power takes them barrelling into another landscape. When Holly thinks about it a long time afterwards, when things are starting to stay fixed and come into focus at last, she will think that probably there are ways you could say Marcus Wiley killed Chris Harper.

‘Maybe I’ll just do it about pretty flowers,’ Selena says. She stretches a lock of hair across her face – the last of the sun turns it to a web of gold light – and examines the trees through it. ‘Or ickle kittens. You think he’d care?’

‘I bet someone does theirs about One Direction,’ Holly says.

‘Aah,’ Julia says, sudden and too loud, disgusted and angry.

The others come up on their elbows. ‘What?’ Becca asks.

Julia shoves her phone back in her pocket, clasps her hands behind her head again and stares up at the sky. Nostrils flaring as she breathes, too fast. She’s red right down to the neck of her jumper. Julia never goes red.

The rest look at each other. Holly catches Selena’s eye and tilts her chin at Julia: Did you see what…? Selena shakes her head, just a millimetre.

‘What?’ Holly says.

‘Marcus Wiley is a douchewipe, is what. Any more questions?’

‘Duh, we knew that,’ Holly says. Julia ignores her.

Becca asks, ‘What’s a douchewipe?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ Holly tells her.

‘Jules,’ Selena says gently. She turns over onto her stomach to be side by side with Julia. Her hair is bright and messed, with bits of grass and cypress fans tangled here and there, and the back of her hoodie is ribbed with creases from lying on it. ‘What’d he say?’

Julia’s head moves away from Selena, but she says, ‘He didn’t say anything. He sent me a dick pic. Because he’s a fucking douchewipe. OK? Now can we talk about the sonnets some more?’

‘Oh my God,’ Holly says. Serena’s eyes are massive. ‘Seriously?’

‘No, I made it up. Yeah, seriously.’

The sunset light feels different, a slow grind like fingernails across every bit of bare skin.

‘But,’ Becca says, bewildered, ‘you don’t even really know him.’

Julia whips up her head and stares, teeth bared about to bite, but then Holly starts to laugh. After a second Selena joins in and at last even Julia, head falling back on the grass. ‘What?’ Becca wants to know, but they’re gone, their whole bodies are shaking with it and Selena is curled up to hold herself: ‘The way you said it!’ And ‘The face on you,’ Holly gasps, ‘“You’ve barely been properly introduced, dahling, why to goodness would he share his little friend with you?”’ and the fake English accent has Becca blushing and giggling too. Julia hoots up at the sky, ‘I don’t believe we’ve even taken tea and… and… and cucumber sandwiches together…’ and Holly manages, ‘Dicks should never be served until

after the cucumber sandwiches…’

‘Oh, God,’ Julia says, wiping her eyes, when it dies down. ‘Oh, Becsie baby, what would we do without you?’

‘It wasn’t that funny,’ Becca says, still red and grinning and not sure whether to be embarrassed.

‘Probably not,’ Julia says. ‘But that’s not the point.’ She props herself up on her elbow again and fishes in her pocket for her phone.

‘Let’s see,’ Holly says, sitting up and scooting over to Julia.

‘I’m deleting it.’

‘So let’s see first.’

‘You’re a pervert.’

‘Me too,’ Selena says cheerfully. ‘If you’re scarred for life, we want to be too.’

‘God, don’t be so gay,’ Julia says. ‘It’s a dick pic, not some kind of bonding experience.’ But she hits buttons, finding the picture.

‘Becs,’ Holly says. ‘Coming?’

‘Ew. No.’ Becca twists her head away, so she doesn’t see by accident.

‘Here you go,’ Julia says, and hits Open.

Holly and Selena lean in against her shoulders. Julia pretends to look, but her eyes slide past the phone, into the shadows. Selena feels her spine clamp up, and leans harder.

They don’t giggle or scream, the way they did when they went looking online. Those were primped and plastic as Barbie, no way could you imagine a real guy attached. This is different: smaller; shoving itself up at them like a thick middle finger, like a threat, out of a mess of dark sticky hair. They can smell it.

‘If that was the best I could come up with,’ Holly says coolly, after a moment, ‘I wouldn’t exactly advertise it.’

Julia doesn’t look up.