Two days after the céilí, Kelly was in Lockie and Rupert’s room, sitting on Lockie’s desk, her feet up on his empty chair.
‘When will Lockie be back?’ she said, turning to Rupert. He was sitting at his desk, a magazine open on his lap, his long legs crossed, his loafered feet propped up on the dressing table. He held the magazine up for Kelly. ‘Simply: Galway.’ He flicked through the society pages. ‘Happy for Bridie and Nuala – they secured hats for the races. Sad for their gentlemen friends. Not ready to release the brown dress shoe, lads. Maybe after the full moon.’
‘Did he say,’ said Kelly, ‘how long he’d be?’
‘A run is a run,’ said Rupert. ‘But exam tomorrow – that’s like match day. Does that mean a longer or shorter run? I just don’t know. Possibly shorter. So he can stay up later to squeeze more Irish into him.’
‘Why aren’t you studying?’ said Kelly.
‘Why aren’t you studying?’ said Rupert. ‘I’m on literally a five-minute break. Round two will be carried out with Amber in the attic for the night.’
‘LB refuses to study with me,’ said Kelly.
‘Would that be because you refuse to study, so it’s like an infinity loop?’ said Rupert. He turned his attention back to the magazine.
‘She’s probably going to study with Réiltín,’ said Kelly.
Rupert kept turning the pages.
‘Her new bestie,’ Kelly added.
‘Not engaging,’ said Rupert. ‘Refusing to.’
‘I think LB thinks she’s her friend,’ said Kelly.
‘Who thinks the what now?’ said Rupert, looking up, eyebrow arched.
‘LB thinks Réiltín’s her friend, but she’s not; she’s just a total stalker.’
Rupert frowned.
‘Of Antsy!’ said Kelly. ‘I heard she’s got some massive limited-edition signed album art hanging in her bedroom. Like, who buys those except stalkers?’
‘Regular fans? With money?’
‘Then she’s suddenly getting all cosy with Antsy’s daughter?’ said Kelly.
Rupert gasped. ‘It all goes back to McQuaid. She eliminates the Irish teacher so she can lure LB and all her friends to an isolated Irish college where she speaks in tongues… that those friends then pay to learn how to speak in.’ He gasped again. ‘The cruel possible irony. In fairness, if anyone could organise an elaborate masterplan to… what, get her hands on a new poster?… it’s Réiltín.’
‘I’m telling you,’ said Kelly, ‘she’s a stalker. She wants Electric Picnic tickets. She’s after a backstage pass for a headliner. I’m telling you. I bet you.’
‘Headliner?’ Rupert looked up.
‘OK – no one’s supposed to know that,’ said Kelly, eyes wide. ‘It’s… like not even… “rumoured”. Don’t tell LB. She’ll kill me.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ said Rupert. He looked up. ‘But you do know that means that no – Réiltín is not after tickets to a gig she doesn’t know exists.’
‘That’s why the tickets would be so hard to get!’ said Kelly. ‘Unless you knew someone!’
Rupert was turning the pages of the magazine steadily, and too fast to be reading it. ‘She’s actually nice,’ he added quietly.
‘What?’ said Kelly.
‘Pardon,’ said Rupert.
‘Did you say she was nice?’ said Kelly.
‘I did,’ said Rupert.
‘You’re just saying that,’ said Kelly.
‘Why would I need to say that?’ said Rupert, glancing up.
‘Because she’s friends with Tadhg.’
‘Jealousy,’ said Rupert, eyes on the magazine, ‘is an ugly undergarment.’ He paused, mid-flick of a page. ‘Because it’s never the outer layer, is it?’ He looked up. ‘It’s always next to the skin.’
LB was sitting at her desk studying, her head in her hand, scanning pages of neatly written Irish vocabulary, some words highlighted in pink with little asterisks beside them.
The door was flung open and Kelly burst in. ‘Hello, bitchíocht.’
‘Hey,’ said LB. ‘How were Rupert and Lockie?’
‘Lockie is out for a run. And Rupert and Amber are about to join forces in the attic. I, on the other hand, am going for a shower.’
‘Are you going to…’ LB trailed off.
‘Who knows?’ said Kelly. ‘Who knows?’
When she was gone, LB looked over at Kelly’s desk, which looked like a cosmetics counter, and at her bed, which was covered in study notes that looked fresh from the printer. She reminded herself this was not her responsibility, and turned back to her revision.
Five minutes later, Kelly came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapping her hair up in a turban. ‘It is so weird being in the shower in silence,’ she said. ‘Silent showers are creepy.’ She paused at LB’s desk. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ said LB.
‘Cool,’ said Kelly. She looked over at her bed and let out a long breath.
LB turned around to her. ‘You could do an hour’s revision?’
‘Let me go moisturise, then see how I feel.’
In the attic room, incense was burning, tea lights were flickering, and Amber and Rupert were sitting cross-legged opposite each other, each on their own bed. They had notes in neat piles in front of them.
‘And correct!’ said Rupert, lowering the page. ‘Deich as deich!’ Ten out of ten.
Amber bowed.
‘We shall go to the ball!’ said Rupert. ‘I shall get the boy…’ He tutted. ‘Like he’s an object! Anyway, he’s probably straight and I’ve totally misread everything, and I have no clue how to even be gay. Maybe he thinks I’m straight. Oh my God. And he’s all friends with me because I’m one of the guys, which I obviously am, but…’ He let out a long breath.
Amber smiled at him. She climbed across her bed and over to his, and they sat side by side, arms linked.
‘I’m not sure I like being gay,’ said Rupert, eyes on the world beyond the window.
Amber, eyes on his downcast reflection, patted his arm gently. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She leaned her head against him, and he leaned his against hers.