Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [55]
‘Nial says the girls are scared.’ Isabelle gave a sad smile. Outside, Nial was bent over, using a Magic Marker to sketch on his van the patterns he was going to paint. ‘He half thinks he’s going to be the white knight – just the way you painted him in those cards. Protect them all. Like that’s going to happen with Pete around.’
It sounded about right, Sally thought. Sweet little Nial, secretly her favourite of the boys. Too small, too timid, he was totally overshadowed by Peter. He was good-looking, but in the way that wouldn’t show itself properly until he was in his thirties. When handsome boys like Peter would be getting heavy and losing their hair, the boys like Nial would be growing into their looks. Just now he was still too small and feminine for the girls to notice him. Her favourite tarot card depicted him as the Prince of Swords, on the one hand angry and sometimes vengeful, on the other reserved and hugely intelligent. The sort who could lead rebellions with his insightful ideas. She’d chosen to clothe him in a robe of velvet and brocade, blue, to bring out his eyes.
‘Do you think they’re right?’ she said. ‘To be scared, I mean. Do you think it was one of the other schoolkids?’
‘God, I don’t know. But there is one thing I can tell you.’ She nodded at the teenagers. ‘There’s something they’re not saying.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, but I do know my son. And there’s something he’s not saying. Something he really wants to say but can’t. He and Peter are really secretive at the moment.’ She used her toe to push the glass door open a little more. The sound of birds singing came through it, with the bleat of lambs and the distant noise of traffic on the motorway. She was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘Peter was in love with Lorne – did you know that?’
‘Yes. I mean, I suppose everyone was in a way.’
‘I think she wasn’t interested in him, but he loved her. So did Nial, I imagine. But …’ she said, lowering her voice a little ‘… I think the thing with Peter was what really finished Millie’s friendship with her.’
Sally shot her a look. ‘Millie’s friendship?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Look at them out there, Sally. Really look at them.’
Sally did. Millie had separated from the group and was under a tree about ten yards away, sitting on the swing, one toe on the grass, twisting round and round, making her shadow twirl on the ground. Now, as she watched, Millie raised sullen eyes to the others. Sally followed the direction of her gaze and saw Peter, crouched next to the van, examining something in the tyre. She looked back at Millie and saw the expression on her face. It hit her like a train. That was what Isabelle meant. Millie was in love. In love with Peter. Good-looking, brazen, self-assured Peter, who was completely wrapped up in himself, and completely oblivious to Millie.
‘Is that …’ She paused, feeling stupid again. ‘Is that why Millie stopped seeing Lorne? Because he was in love with her?’
‘Did you really not know?’
‘Uh,’ she said dumbly. She rubbed her arms. ‘Yes. I mean, I suppose.’
The two women were silent for a while, watching the kids. Something sad and lonely and familiar was thumping in Sally’s stomach. The sick knockings of being the loser – the way Millie must feel about Peter. It had been the same for her at boarding-school, where she’d learned early to exist at the bottom of the winning pile. While Zoë, of course, at the other school, knew what it was like at the top.
‘Oh, Isabelle,’ she murmured sadly. ‘They’re growing up. It’s happened right under our noses.’
27
Sally had put the dinner in the oven and was making chocolate fudge for Isabelle to take home, cutting it into squares and putting it on greaseproof paper. Isabelle was outside but now she came in through the back door, huffing and puffing and kicking at the grass clippings