Read Online The Secret Place by Tana French - Free Book Online

solve. I did.’
    Her voice was indoors-quiet, small-room quiet, falling through the wide sunshine. I felt the size of the stillness and green all round us. The breadth of it; the height, trees taller than the school. Older.
    ‘The groundskeeper alibied out. He’d had mates round to his gaff for poker and a few cans; two of them kipped on his sofa. We got him for possession with intent, but the murder . . .’ Conway shook her head. ‘I should’ve known,’ she said. She didn’t explain. ‘I should’ve known it wasn’t gonna be that simple.’
    A bee thumped into the white of her shirt front; clung on, addled. Conway’s head snapped down and the rest of her went still. The bee crawled past the top button, reached over the edge of the cloth, feeling for skin. Conway breathed slow and shallow. I saw her hand come out of her pocket and rise.
    The bee got its head together and took off, into the sunlight. Conway flicked some speck off her shirt where it had been. Then she turned and headed down the slope, past the hyacinths and back to the path.

Chapter 4
     
    The Court, the biggest and best shopping centre within walking distance of Kilda’s and Colm’s, the wrapping of every moment in the world that doesn’t have some sour-faced adult looming over it ready to pounce. The Court pulls like a towering magnet and everyone comes. Anything can happen here, in the sparkling slice of freedom between classes and teatime; your life could lift right off the ground and shimmer into something brand-new. In the dizzying white light all the faces glimmer, they mouth words and crack open in laughs you can almost catch through the cloud of sounds, and any one of them could be the heart-stopping one you’ve been waiting for; anything you can imagine could be waiting for you here, if you turn your head at just the right second, if you just catch the right eye, if the right song just comes spinning out of the speakers all around you. Sugar-smell of fresh doughnuts drifting out from the kiosk, lick it off your fingers.
    It’s the beginning of October. Chris Harper – scuffling with Oisín O’Donovan on the rim of the fountain in the middle of the Court, mouth wide in a laugh, the other Colm’s guys around them whooping them on – has a little over seven months left to live.
    Becca and Julia and Selena and Holly are on the opposite rim of the fountain, with four open packets of sweets in between them. Julia has one eye on the Colm’s guys and is talking fast and snappy, telling some possibly mostly true story about how this summer she and this English girl and a couple of French guys blagged their way into a super-fancy nightclub in Nice. Holly is eating Skittles and listening, with one eyebrow at an angle that says Yeah right ; Selena is lying on the battered black-marble edge of the fountain with her chin propped on her hands, so that her hair drapes over her shoulder almost to the floor. Becca wants to lean over and cup it in her hands, before it touches the grime and the ground-in gum.
    Becca despises the Court. Back at the start of first year, when the new boarders had to wait a month before they were allowed off school grounds – until they were too worn down to run away, she figures – that was all she ever heard about: oh the Court the Court the Court, everything’ll be so fab when we get to go to the Court. Glowing eyes, hands sketching pictures like it was shining castles and skating rinks and chocolate waterfalls. Older girls trailing back smug and sticky, wrapped with scents of cappuccino and tester lip gloss, one-finger-swinging bags packed with colours, still swaying to the dazing pump of glossy music. The magic place, the shimmering place to make you forget all about sour teachers, rows of dorm beds, bitchy comments you didn’t understand. Vanish it all away.
    That was before Becca knew Julia and Selena and Holly. Back then she was so miserable it astonished her every morning. She used to ring her mother