Joanne shrugged. ‘Not diet pills, anyway. Unless she’s anorexic, and I don’t think she even has enough self-respect to bother. She doesn’t even wear makeup.’

‘Probably hash.’ Orla, knowing.

‘What kind of loser does hash by herself? OhmyGod, that’s so sad.’

‘She could’ve been buying for all four of them.’

‘Hello, like they’d send her? If they were all in on it, they’d send Julia or Holly. Rebecca was there because she wanted something.’

‘Ro’s hot body.’

‘Ew ew ew, pass the brain bleach?’

They were on the edge of getting the giggles again. I said, ‘When was this?’

That brought them back. Quick spatter of glances under their lashes. Joanne said, ‘We were wondering when you’d ask.’

‘Last spring?’

Another fizzle of glances. Gemma said, ‘The next night, Chris got killed.’

A second of silence, while that spread up and out, into the branches.

‘So,’ Joanne said. ‘See?’

I saw.

‘You said someone was meeting up with Chris, after him and Selena broke up. Like I told you, no way would he meet up with Rebecca O’Mara because he was into her. But if she was buying something for him? She would totally have done it; she would’ve done anything for him. And he would’ve met up to get it. He might even have thrown her the odd charity snog, give her something to dream about.’

Orla’s snuffly laugh.

I said, ‘Did you ever see Rebecca going out on her own at night?’

‘No. So? We stopped watching the corridor like weeks before Chris got killed.’

Chris’s tox screen had come back clean, Conway had said. No drugs in his gear.

‘And then,’ Joanne said. Sliding in closer, her legs brushing up against mine. I couldn’t see her eyes, through the floodlights glittering on their surfaces. ‘Maybe Rebecca thought they were like together or something. And when she found out they weren’t . . .’

Moths whirling, out over the lawn.

I said, carefully, ‘Rebecca’s only a little thing. Chris was a big strong guy. You think she could’ve . . . ?’

Gemma said, ‘She’s a stroppy cow, is what she is, when she feels like it. If he really pissed her off . . .’

‘The papers said head injuries,’ Joanne said. ‘If he was sitting down, then it wouldn’t matter that she was smaller than him.’

Orla said, practically lifting up off the grass with the thrill, ‘She could’ve hit him with a rock.’

‘Ew.’ Joanne, reproving. ‘We don’t actually know it was a rock. The papers never said.’ And looked at me, question marks popping out all over. Gemma and Orla watched too, eager, bubbling with curiosity.

Not faking. None of them knew about the hoe.