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