The Witch Elm: A Novel

by Tana French

  “Thanks,” Susanna said quietly. “We’ll take good care of it.”

  “We will,” I said.

  “I won’t let the baby fingerpaint on the walls,” Leon said, “cross my heart,” and Hugo laughed and reached for the rice, and we all went back to talking at once.

  I had caught something in Leon’s face, though. Later—when Hugo had gone up to bed, and the rest of us were tidying up, me and Leon loading the dishwasher together—I asked, casually, “Are you not cool with Hugo leaving the house to all six of us, no?”

  “It’s his house. He can do what he wants with it.” Leon didn’t look up. His voice was flat and brittle; now that Hugo was gone, he had dropped the chirpy act. “I just think it’s a horrible idea. That’s how you get family feuds.”

  “He’s doing his best,” Susanna said, over the rush of running water as she rinsed the takeaway containers. She looked a lot better than Leon did, fresh and rested in a soft sage-green jumper that suited her, hair studded with little bright flower clips that I figured had something to do with Sallie. “We’ll work it out.”

  “The five of you can work it out. I don’t even want to know. Send me a piece of paper to sign when you’ve all decided what you want to do.”

  “What?” I demanded. “You were the one who was losing your mind about hanging on to the place—”

  “That was before a skeleton showed up in the garden and fucked up our entire lives. Excuse me if that wrecked my happy associations just a teeny bit.”

  Or, more like, that had been back when a new owner with gardening ambitions could have set off the hidden landmine; now that it had already exploded, there was no need to be territorial any more. As evidence went it wasn’t much, but it gave an extra boost to the rising sense that tonight was my night, all its currents running my way. “Fair enough,” I said agreeably.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Susanna said. “It’s gone now. The grounds are a hundred percent police-certified skeleton-free. How many places can say that?”

  Leon shoved another plate into the dishwasher with a clatter. “Then move in. What part of ‘I don’t care’ is confusing you?”

  I recognized this mood, restless and electric and contrary, the mood that when we were kids had always ended with the whole three of us getting grounded, or having to hide the broken pieces, or on one memorable occasion being nabbed by a security guard and held in a back room full of cleaning equipment until I managed to talk us out of it by explaining in heartrending detail—while the others, in fairness to them, played along beautifully, Leon rocking and banging his heel off his chair leg while Susanna stroked his arm and made soothing noises—my poor little cousin’s disability and what it would do to his ailing mother if he got arrested. Getting anything out of him in this mood would be like pulling teeth. “What you need,” I said, “is another G and T. What all of us need, actually. Cucumber or lime, or both?”

  “Cucumber,” Susanna said.

  “Lime,” Leon said promptly. “It’s too cold for cucumber.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Anyway it’s warm, I don’t know why I even bothered with a coat—”

  “Hang on, let me check, is it June? Are we sitting on a lawn full of daisies? No? Then cucumber doesn’t belong in—”

  “We’ve got both,” Melissa said cheerfully. “I think there are lemons, too, although they might be a wee bit depressed. Everyone can have what they like best.”

  “Tom, what’s your vote?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Tom said. “Count me out. I think I’ll head home.”

  “No!” I said, doing deep disappointment. “It’s early. Just have the one.”

  “Ah, no. I’m driving—”

  “Oh, that’s right! You told me! Jesus, my head—”

  “—and I don’t want to leave my mum with the kids for too long,” Tom explained. “Zach’s been acting up a bit, the last while.”

  I didn’t blame him for being in a hurry; “acting up,” by Zach’s standards, probably involved a SWAT team and a biohazard squad. “I know Zach’s a little bollix sometimes,” Susanna said, reading my expression, “but we’ve been working on it. He just needs to get his head round the idea that other people are real too, and he’ll be fine. He was doing a lot better, but finding the skull threw him for a total loop. If other people are real, then obviously that means the skull was a real person, and that’s way more than he can handle. So his head’s wrecked and he’s being a pain in the hole.”

  “Right,” I said. “Fair enough.”

  “It is, really,” Tom said, patting his pockets and peering around as if he might have dropped something. “It’s a bit of a headwrecker even for us, isn’t it, and we’re grown adults. He’ll be fine in the end. Have a great night”—waving vaguely and benignly at all of us; and to Susanna, who tilted up her face to meet his kiss, “No hurry. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Sorry,” Leon said, to all of us, when he was gone. “For being bitchy.”

  “You’re OK,” I said. Melissa smiled and threw him a lime: “There,” she said. “To make things better.”

  “I’m just a total stress ball today. I got a really pissy phone call from my boss, throwing a massive fit about when I’ll be back—”

  “In fairness,” Susanna said, slicing cucumber neatly, “you can see how they might want to know.”

  “He didn’t have to be a gigantic arsehole about it.” Leon leaned back against the counter and pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know why I let it get to me. I’m probably going to move anyway. I’m bored of Berlin.”

  “What?” I said, startled, turning with the gin bottle in my hand. “What about Whatshisname?”

  “His name’s Carsten. Do I go around forgetting Melissa’s name?”

  “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 ever
yone 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?”

  “You were doing coke—oh, come on, Toby, I know I was naïve but you weren’t exactly subtle about it. You snuck off down there together, and then you came back snickering and rubbing your noses and putting each other in headlocks and talking a mile a minute. Remember?”

  The thing was, I did. C’mon, Henno, I need a word; hurrying down the garden, Dominic swearing as his foot went deep in mud, me laughing at him, lines chopped out on an old garden table by the light of my phone. “Why the hell would I want the key?”

  Susanna shrugged, sitting up to take the joint off me. “How would I know? I figured maybe since you’d gone off Faye—duh, of course I knew you were hooking up with her—I thought maybe you didn’t want me to let her in any more.”

  “I didn’t give a damn whether you had Faye in and out every night of the week. And I didn’t go off her. It’s not like we were going out. We just— You know what, never mind. Forget it.” I didn’t feel like having this conversation in front of Melissa.

  “Or else I thought maybe Dominic had tried to rob the key, for a laugh, and you’d taken it off him and lost it— I don’t know, Toby, I didn’t exactly spend a lot of time analyzing the possibilities. I just sort of figured you had it.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Jesus.”

  Susanna shot me an oblique look. “You don’t even remember doing the coke. How do you know for sure you didn’t take the key?”

  “Because there’s no bloody reason why I would.”

  “Huh,” Susanna said, on a long thoughtful stream of smoke. “Then I guess it must have been Dominic.”

  “Did you say that to the detectives? That you thought it was me? Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Of course I didn’t. I said, ‘Dominic Ganly’s ballsack.’” Leon started to giggle again.

  “Su, seriously. Did you—”

  “No, I didn’t. I said I hadn’t got a clue. Relax.”

  The thing I’d almost missed, in the middle of being annoyed with Susanna: she was right. If I hadn’t taken the key, and no one else had been down to the bottom of the garden, then Dominic had to have. “Why would
Dominic want a key to our place?” I asked.

  Susanna shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe he was just robbing random stuff because he thought it was funny.”

  The joint was kicking in properly; my G and T tasted novel and starry, I could feel every individual bubble popping on my tongue. “One time Dec robbed Mr. Galvin’s shopping list for the laugh,” I said. “Right off his desk, when we were bringing up our homework. It was like, ‘Ketchup, Heineken, shaving foam, condoms.’ So Dec took a photo and made it the screensaver for the entire computer room.”

  “That was Dec?” Leon said, impressed. “Everyone said it was Eoghan McArdle.”

  “Shh. Nobody has to know.”

  “I wish I’d known you all back then,” Melissa said; dreamily, gazing out over the darkening garden, but she had caught the opening I was throwing to her; I felt the shift in her, her body drawing itself together, ready steady go. I gave her a tiny encouraging squeeze.

  “You don’t,” Susanna said. “Believe me.”

  “Why not?”

  “No one’s at their finest at eighteen. You probably wouldn’t have liked us.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” I said, dropping my head to nuzzle Melissa’s hair. “You would’ve loved me.” Leon made a faint sound that was just far enough from a snort for plausible deniability. “And I would have loved you.”

  “I imagine you being lovely,” Melissa said. Leon offered her the joint; she shook her head and passed it to me. “All happy and silly together, having picnics on the grass and staying up all night talking. Toby tells me stories about it, sometimes.”

  This time Leon’s snort was harder to miss. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

  It was clearly meant to sound jokey, but enough edge slipped through that Melissa turned her head to look at him, puzzled. “But I love those stories. Was it not like that? Was Toby not happy?”