Hidden River (Five Star Paperback) by Adrian McKinty Read Free Book Online

was still wearing her school uniform. Raincoat, umbrella. She came over. The car waited.
    I stepped out from under the overhang.
    “I’m so sorry I’m late but I was at a debate,” she said in that elocution voice.
    “It’s ok. Is that your dad?”
    She waved the car away angrily. Mr. Patawasti got out of the car, waved back.
    “Hello, Alex,” he shouted.
    “Hello, Mr. Patawasti,” I said. He stood there looking at us, grinning.
    “Dad,” Victoria said desperately.
    He got back in the car and reversed into the mist.
    “Well,” she said, taking out a lipstick and applying it.
    “Well,” I said.
    “Sort of awkward, isn’t it?” she said, touching up the lipstick with her long fingers.
    “Yes. Who won the debate?”
    “We did. It was about the European Union. It was a Catholic school on the Falls Road and there we were in our red-white-and-blue uniforms.”
    “Tough crowd.”
    She nodded. I looked at her, her hair was wet. She was tired.
    “What do you want to do?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” she said, wiping rainwater from her dark green eyes.
    “Do you want to just go for a walk, maybe talk a little?”
    “I’d really like that,” she said, her face lighting up.
    I wanted to ask what she’d done with Peter on their dates, but it wouldn’t be smart to bring him up. She’d gone out with Peter for a year and he’d dumped her for a girl in the fifth form. John had said that this was the moment to swoop in and ask her out. “Ok, she’s older, sophisticated, but now she’s vulnerable, she wants to show the world she’s ok. She’ll go out with you.”
    And sure enough, a little late, but here she was.
    “But, Alex, remember she’s on the rebound, she might just want someone to tide her through, till she gets her bearings,” John had also cautioned. Bastard had been right about that one, too. Peter owned a car, so they’d probably gone places—Belfast, the Antrim coast. They’d probably gone to pubs. I wasn’t old enough to get into pubs. I was only sixteen. What must this feel like for her? Walking around with some lanky wanker in Carrickfergus in the rain. A step down, tedious, a real sham—
    “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
    “Uh, poetry.”
    “Poetry?”
    “Yes.”
    “You don’t seem the type.”
    “What is the type?”
    “I don’t know, but you don’t seem it.”
    She was right, too. I didn’t fit into any of the cliques. I didn’t play rugby, so I didn’t fit in with the jocks. I wasn’t into Dungeons and Dragons, so I didn’t fit in with the nerds. I wasn’t sniffing glue, so I wasn’t in with the bad kids. Not tight with the creative types who worked on the school magazine. I didn’t quite fit in anywhere.
    “Yeats, I like Yeats,” I said.
    “You don’t find the fairy stuff wears a bit thin?” she asked.
    “Uh, no.”
    Silence again. And yes, there’s her back then and there’s me back then. Me, fifteen pounds heavier, no beard, tidy hair, clean and sober. She, Indian, beautiful, exotic. Me, of the hippie parents, the wunderkind with the discipline problem. She, the head girl. Both of us, though, outsiders. Aye. We were made for each other.
    “It’s all Celtic mythology,” I said.
    “It is?”
    “It is. For instance, you know why Celtic crosses have a circle on them?”
    “No.”
    “That’s the symbol of Lugh, the sun god. That’s also why the Romans made the Sabbath a Sunday.”
    “You know about that stuff?”
    “Not really,” I admitted, and caught her tiny smile.
    “I know a lot of Indian mythology,” she said.
    “Tell me some,” I said, breaking into a grin.
    “It’s pretty wacky. I’ll save it for next time,” she said coyly.
    “Will there be a next time?” I asked.
    “Maybe.”
    We walked to the cafeteria at the swimming pool, watched the swimmers go back and forth in lanes. We talked about school and books. Still raining. I saw her home. She was soaked. We stood outside her gate. Her father’s big house. A