“You probably would if you’d taken a bang or two to the head,” I said. It was getting easier to say stuff like that, which was useful but bothered me all the same.
“I wouldn’t,” Leon said, smiling across at Melissa, although it clearly took an effort. “She’s unforgettable. Anyway”—taking the knife off Susanna, starting on the lime—“Carsten’ll survive. I think he might be cheating on me anyway, or at least thinking about it.”
“He’s not cheating on you,” Susanna said, like she had said it several times before.
“He keeps mentioning this ex of his.”
“Mentioning him how? Like, ‘God, I miss Superex so much, lucky I didn’t delete his number’? Or like, ‘Oh, right, I remember that film, I think I saw it with Whatshisname’?”
“Does it matter? He’s mentioning him.”
“You’re looking for an excuse.”
“I am not. I’m just sick of Berlin, and I’m not going to hang around for someone who can’t stop banging on about some other guy. What do you care? You don’t even know Carsten—which by the way isn’t my fault, I’ve invited you over like a million times—”
“Totally looking for an excuse. That’s why you’re still here, too. You’re hoping work will get sick of it and fire you.”
“Can we not talk about this any more?” Leon asked abruptly. His voice was a notch too high. “Please?”
“Your wish is our command,” I said, giving him a clap on the shoulder as I passed—he winced. “Tonight’s about relaxing, remember?”
“That reminds me,” Susanna said. “Here.” She fished in her jeans pocket, pulled out something small and tossed it to Leon.
He caught it, peered and did a jaw-dropped double take. “OhmyGod. Are you serious?”
“Anything for you, babe. Plus if you keep stressing out, you’re going to start stressing me too.”
“You beauty,” Leon said, with heartfelt awe.
“Skin up. Before you give yourself a stroke.”
“You are a beauty,” I said. This was perfect, exactly what I needed to loosen everyone up. I should have thought of it myself, but the fact that Susanna had done it for me seemed like a gift dropped from the heavens straight into my hands. “I thought you didn’t want to do anything dodgy in case the detectives find out.”
“I don’t. But I don’t want Leon to give himself a nervous breakdown, either.”
“I actually went looking for some,” Leon said. “Hanging around the jacks in this terrible nightclub—I’d forgotten how shit Dublin clubs are, I might have to go back to Berlin just for some decent nightlife. I got offered several interesting things, but no one had hash. Is there a shortage?”
“Apparently, yeah. I had to go through practically everyone I know to get this.”
“Does Tom know you smoke?”
Susanna raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’m some hardcore stoner. I only do it a couple of times a year.”
“So he doesn’t know.”
“He does, actually. Does Carsten know you’re a git?”
“You two stop bickering,” I told them. “I want to take that stuff outside and get acquainted.”
We took everything outside—glasses, gin, tonic, ice tray, limes, cucumbers, depressed lemons—and laid it out on the terrace. Leon spread out a Rizla and started dismantling a cigarette. Melissa and I brought throws and cushions from the living room—Susanna had been exaggerating; the evening wasn’t a cold one, but it was starting to get dark and there was a sharp-edged, fidgety breeze prowling the garden, with no plants or long grass to soften it, tugging at branches and jabbing its way into corners. I poured the drinks—good and heavy on the gin for Leon and Susanna—and Melissa added in the bits and pieces. “There,” she said, putting a glass by Leon’s elbow. “Loads of lime.”
“And loads of cucumber for me,” Susanna said, stretching out on her back and waving her glass at Leon. “Seeing as it’s June on the daisy lawn.”
“Shush, you,” Leon said, holding up a sizable, expert joint. “Now. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
He lit it, took a deep drag and held it. “Oh sweet mother,” he said in a heartfelt, compressed squeak, eyes watering. “That’s gorgeous stuff. You”—Susanna—“are a saint. And you”—me—“you’re a genius. Tonight was actually a genius idea.”
“I just figured we all needed a chillout evening,” I said modestly. I settled myself against the wall of the house, legs stretched out, and pulled Melissa in against my chest; she tucked a throw over the pair of us. “Like Tom said, all of this would wreck anyone’s head.”
“They’re such a pair of fuckers,” Leon said. He leaned back against the wall and took another drag off the joint. “The detectives. They really are. I honestly think they’re full-on sadist psychopaths; they’ve just found a way to get paid for it.”
“It’s their job,” Susanna said, pulling a throw over herself. “They need people headwrecked and bickering. So don’t fall for it.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Shh. Have more of that.”
“That key to the garden door showed up,” I said. I wasn’t going to mention the hoodie cord, not unless they did. “Did they tell you?”
“Oh God yes,” Susanna said. “Big dramatic reveal, dun-dun, look what we found in the tree! And then the two of them sit there and give you the headmaster stare: I’m waiting for an explanation, young lady, and we’re all going to stay here until I get one.”
“Sweet baby Jesus, the stare,” Leon said, passing Melissa the joint. “I’m petrified I’m going to say something awful. It’s like being in church when you’re a kid, you know, you start wondering what would happen if you yelled ‘Ballsack!’ right at the most solemn moment, and then you can’t stop thinking about it and you’re getting more and more terrified that you’ll actually do it? Swear to God, if those guys keep giving me the stare, sooner or later I’m going to snap and yell, ‘Dominic Ganly’s ballsack!’”
“‘What was your relationship with Dominic Ganly’s ballsack?’” Susanna inquired, in what was actually a pretty good impression of Rafferty’s rich, unrufflable Galway. That accent was getting on my nerves more every time I heard it. “‘Did you have any disagreements with Dominic Ganly’s ballsack?’”
“Stop it, you.” Leon was getting the giggles. “Now I’m definitely going to do it, they’ll arrest me for being a smartarse and it’ll be all your fault—”
“‘Was Dominic Ganly’s ballsack behaving oddly that summer?’” I asked. “‘Did Dominic Ganly’s ballsack seem depressed to you?’” Leon doubled over, flapping a hand at me and wheezing with laughter.
Melissa was laughing too, spluttering—she wasn’t much for hash, or for anything else really, a couple of drinks was her limit. “Are you OK?” I asked. She nodded, holding up the joint to me over her shoulder, still speechless.
“Whoa,” I said, when the first wave of it hit me. “That is good stuff.”
“Told you,” Leon said, on a happy sigh. He had his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes closed.
“Back then I thought it was you,” Susanna said, to me. “Who took the key.”
Smoke went down my nose. “Me?”
She shrugged. “It went missing at Leon’s birthday party. I’d forgotten, but I’ve been thinking back, and I’m positive. It was there that afternoon—remember, Hugo was digging stuff up to put in the rock garden, and we were taking rubbish out to the laneway? But the next day, when I went to let Faye in, it wasn’t there. And you and Dominic were the only people who had gone down to the bottom of the garden during the party. The ground down there was a mess, someone fell in a hole and got all muddy, so after that the rest of us stayed up this end.”
“Yeah”—I had just about finished coughing—“I know that. Why would Dominic and I have been down there?”