Bats call, up in the dark air. The cypresses lean closer to watch, intent, approving. The rush and whisper of them lifts the girls, surges them on.

‘OK,’ Julia says. Her voice comes out stronger than she meant it to, so strong it startles her; her heartbeat feels like it’s going to lift her off the ground. ‘OK. Let’s do it.’

She brings her hand down on top of Selena’s. The small slap echoes across the clearing. ‘I swear.’

Becca, thin hand light as a dandelion clock on Julia’s, wishing fiercely and too late that she had looked at the photo, that she had seen what the others were seeing. ‘I swear.’

And Holly. ‘I swear.’

The four hands twist into a knot wrapped with moonlight, fingers tangling, all of them trying to stretch wide enough to tighten round all the others at once. A breathless small laugh.

The cypresses sigh, long and sated. The moon stands still.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Rebecca O’Mara, in the art-room doorway, hovering on one foot with the other wrapped round her ankle. Long dark-brown hair in a ponytail, soft and straggly, no straighteners here. Maybe an inch taller than Holly; skinny, not scary-skinny but definitely could have done with a pizza. Not pretty – face still catching up with her features – but it was coming soon. Wide brown eyes, on Conway, wary. No glance at the Secret Place.

If Rebecca was low on the old confidence, the old self-esteem, I could bring that. Give it the sweet big brother, looking for help with the important adventure and shy Little Sis is the special one who can save the day.

‘Rebecca, yeah?’ I said. Smiled, not too big, just easy and natural. ‘Thanks for coming in. Have a seat.’

She didn’t move. Houlihan had to dodge past her, scurry off to her corner. ‘It’s about Chris Harper. Isn’t it?’

Not scarlet and tangled up this time, but her voice was barely over a whisper. I said, ‘I’m Stephen Moran – maybe Holly’s mentioned me along the way, has she? She gave me a hand with some stuff, a few years back?’

Rebecca looked at me properly, for the first time. Nodded.

I held out a hand at the chair, and she pulled herself out of the doorway and came. That gangly teenage half-prance, like it was only the heavy shoes bringing her feet back to the ground. She sat down, tied her legs in a knot. Wrapped her hands in her skirt.

Sucking feeling in my chest, like water draining: let-down. From knowing Holly, from Conway saying Just something, from all that wide-eyed shite about freaks and witches, I’d been expecting these to be more than the last lot. This was just Alison over again, a bundle of fidgety fears wrapped in a grow-into-it skirt.