I said, ‘Your friendships: those mean a lot to you. Keeping them strong means a lot. Amn’t I right?’

‘Duh. So?’

‘So that little prick Chris was after wrecking them. The four of you weren’t acting like friends – Jesus, Holly, no you weren’t. Selena’s in love and doesn’t even tell the rest of you. You’re spying on her, but you don’t mention that to the other two. Selena gets dumped flat on her arse, her first love gets killed, and you don’t even give the poor girl a hug. Is that how you think friends act? Seriously?’

Good cop, Conway had said. In the corner of my eye I could see her leaning back in her chair, fake-easy, ready.

Holly snapped, ‘Me and my friends are none of your business. You don’t have a clue about us.’

‘I know they’re the most important things you’ve got. You burst your bollix getting your da and ma to let you board here, because of the three of them. You hung your whole life on your friends.’ My voice shoving at her, harder and harder. I couldn’t tell why: prove to Conway I wasn’t the Mackeys’ bitch, prove it to the Mackeys, get back at Holly for thinking she could waltz in with her postcard and fold me into origami, get back at her for being right— ‘And then Chris came on the scene, and the four of yous went to pieces. Split apart, went to crumbs, easy as that—’

Holly was shooting sparks like an arc welder. ‘We did not. We’re fine.’

‘Someone wrecked me and my mates like that, I’d hate his guts. Anyone would, except a holy angel of God. You’re a good young one, but unless you’ve changed a load in the last few years, you’re no angel. Are you?’

‘I never said I was.’

‘So how much did you hate Chris?’

Mackey said, ‘Aaand scene. Smoke break.’

Mackey never minded being obvious, so long as you couldn’t stop him. ‘Filthy habit,’ he said, sliding off the table and giving us a great big grin. ‘Need some more fresh air, young Stephen?’

Conway said, ‘You just had a smoke.’

Mackey’s eyebrow went up. He outranked the pair of us put together. ‘I want to talk to Detective Moran behind your back, Detective Conway. Was that not clear enough, no?’

‘I got that, yeah. You can do it in a minute.’

Mackey rolled his clay into a ball, tossed it to Holly. ‘Here you go, chickadee. Play with that. Don’t be making anything that’ll shock the detective; she looks like the pure-minded type.’

To me: ‘Coming?’ And he strolled out. Holly smashed the ball of clay flat on the table, viciously, with the heel of her hand.

I looked at Conway. She looked back. I went.