Past the curly iron gate and into the trees, and all of a sudden the grounds are a swirl of little paths that Holly never knew about, paths that don’t belong just a corner away from a main road: sunspots, flutters, crisscrossing branches overhead and splashes of purple flowers catching in the corners of your eyes. Up and off the path, Becca’s dark plait and Selena’s stream of gold swinging in unison as they turn, up a tiny hillside past bushes that look like they’ve been clipped into neat balls by elf gardeners, and then: out of the light-and-dark dapple, into clean sun. For a second Holly has to put her hands around her eyes.

The clearing is small, just a circle of short grass ringed by tall cypresses. The air is instantly and utterly different, still and cool, with tiny eddies moving here and there. Sounds drop into it – a wood-dove’s lazy coo, the fizz of insects about their business somewhere – and disappear without leaving a ripple.

Selena says, only a little out of breath, ‘We come here.’

‘You never showed us this place before,’ Holly says. Selena and Becca glance at each other and shrug. For a second, Holly feels almost betrayed – Selena and Becca have been boarding for two years, but it never occurred to her that they would have separate stuff together – until she realises that now she’s part of it too.

‘Sometimes you feel like you’re going to go crazy if you don’t go somewhere private,’ Becca says. ‘We come here.’ She drops down on the grass in a spider-tangle of skinny legs and looks up anxiously at Holly and Julia. Her hands are cupped together tight, like she’s offering them the glade for their welcome present and isn’t sure it’s going to be good enough.

‘It’s great,’ Holly says. She smells cut grass, the rich earth in the shadows; a trace of something wild, like animals trot silently through here on their road from one nighttime place to another. ‘And nobody else ever comes?’

‘They’ve got their own places,’ Selena says. ‘We don’t go there.’

Julia turns, head tilted back to watch birds wheeling in the circle of blue, in and out of their V. ‘I like it,’ she says. ‘I like it a lot,’ and she drops down on the grass next to Becca. Becca grins and lets her breath out, and her hands loosen.

They stretch out, shift till the slipping sun is out of their eyes. The grass is dense and glossy, like some animal’s pelt, good to lie on. ‘God, McKenna’s speech,’ Julia says. ‘“Your daughters already have such a wonderful head start in life because you’re all so literate and health-conscious and cultured and just super-awesome all over, and we’re so totally thrilled to have the chance to continue your good work,” and pass the puke bag.’

‘It’s the same speech every year,’ Becca says. ‘Every single word.’

‘In first year my dad almost took me straight home because of that speech,’ Selena says. ‘He says it’s elitist.’ Selena’s dad lives on some commune place in Kilkenny and wears handwoven ponchos. Her mum picked Kilda’s.