If the checkout chick hadn’t already started scanning her shopping she would’ve taken off. She willed the girl to go faster, shoving the items into her backpack as soon as they were through, smashing her card against the reader before the girl could mumble Nineforty-sixcashorcard.

  She had one foot out the door when she heard her name. She turned and saw the trolley—with half-a-dozen canvas shopping bags and the toddler now slumped, hiccupping, with eyes half closed—wheeling straight for her.

  ‘Lena! Bloody hell! Lena Harris! It’s been like eighty-seven years!’

  Jersey tight against enormous breasts and several fat rolls, slicked-back blonde ponytail, black roots regrown to her ears. Something familiar about those green-grey eyes, though, and the dimples now she was smiling.

  ‘Shit! Kylie?’

  ‘In the flesh, mate.’

  ‘Shit!’ Lena laughed, slapped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘You’re blocking the entryway, girls,’ a man’s voice said, and without looking or responding the two of them moved out into the shopping centre, Kylie gripping Lena’s arm with her left hand, steering the trolley with the other until they were clustered against a railing.

  ‘How do you look the exact fucking same as when you were thirteen?’ Kylie said.

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Nah, you’re right. Your skin is way better. Still got no tits or arse, though. How’ve you managed that?’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Lena nodded toward the dozing, snot-encrusted child.

  ‘Lacey. Fucking menace, she is. Nah, for real, though, she’s a great kid. Just going through the terrible twos and all that. So how come you’re here? Like, on holidays or back for good?’

  ‘For good, I guess. I mean, I came back down for uni, but—’

  ‘You were always smart as fuck. Hey, listen, I’ve gotta get this little monster home, but why don’t you come with us? I’ll get her settled and then we can catch up properly.’

  ‘Oh, I should really …’ She shrugged her backpack, pointlessly.

  ‘Someone waiting for you?’

  ‘Nah. Not really.’

  ‘So come on then.’ Kylie started walking and Lena followed. When they came to the automatic doors, she wheeled the trolley right out on to the street and kept going, chattering away about what Jo and Nash and the rest of the old school crew were up to. It was three minutes or so before Kylie stopped out the front of a shudderingly familiar block. Four separate six-storey redbrick buildings, each divided into thirty units with a shared balcony connecting them. The ground in between was concrete and determined weeds, VB cans and ciggie butts and faded chocolate wrappers. It was like a TV executive’s idea of how poor people lived.

  Kylie scooped up her kid in one arm, grabbed shopping bags with both hands. Lena went to take some for her, but she was already marching up the path towards the middle building, the trolley left to fend for itself on the street.

  ‘You still with your mum, hey?’ Lena asked.

  ‘Fuck, no. I’ve got a place of my own one floor up.’

  ‘Cool. She’s still here then? Your mum?’

  ‘Yep. They’ll get her out of here in a body bag if they ever get her out at all.’

  These were the flats Lena thought of when that tower in London caught fire a few years back. It was much taller than the building she was following Kylie to, but the shape and feel of it—the paper-thin interior walls, the concrete external stairs and landings—had made her think of the place she’d spent so many summer days as a kid.

  Kylie climbed the three flights of stairs surprisingly quickly for a fat woman carrying a toddler and a week’s worth of groceries. Lena, half the size including her backpack, struggled to keep up, her lungs burning by the top of the first flight. By the second her knees were creaking, the left one threatening to give out as she reached Kylie’s floor.

  ‘Bit puffed, mate?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lena stood against the railing, catching her breath as Kylie unlocked the door to the unit at the far end of the landing. ‘This air’s so shit. Too much crap in the lungs, I reckon.’ Which might have been true, but also she felt her body becoming her father’s in the first months of his illness. The clicking and cracking that signalled he had stood or bent or knelt or sat; the breathlessness after walking from car to front door. Not the cancer turning his strong, young body ancient. Not directly, at least. Malnutrition, the doctor said, and she never knew whose idea it was but a regime of pot smoking was decided on and Will sent to procure the supplies, and Dad was better then, for a bit.

  Lena followed Kylie into the gloom, confused for a second by the thick, sweet smell of pot as though her thoughts had taken form. At the back of the room, a man in a tall black beanie leant over a state-of-the-art bong, coloured glass and engraved brass attachments, twice the height of the two-litre bottle of Pepsi sitting next to it.

  ‘Ty, this is Lena. Lena, Ty.’ Kylie dumped the shopping in a doorway to her left and then placed the sleeping child on the overstuffed brown velvet sofa next to the bong and its user.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey,’ Lena said.

  Ty was older than them. Older than Will. Maybe even as old as her mum or Nic. It was hard to tell for sure with his face cloaked in shadow and smoke.

  ‘Leen and me were mates when we were small. She’s just moved back from Queensland.’

  ‘Fuck the Cockroaches,’ Ty said, but with so little spirit Lena wondered why he bothered.

  Lena asked to use the bathroom, took her backpack with the tampons. The toilet door had a laminated poster on it saying Best Seat in the House in fancy black font. Inside was a matching poster: Hello, Sweet Cheeks. There’d been a stack of similar posters at Nic’s. Cheap laminated prints saying things like This Home Has Endless Love and Laundry, Life is Short, Lick the Bowl and Siri, Pour More Wine. She wished she hadn’t chucked them now. They’d be a good gift for Kylie.

  She returned to the living room to find Kylie sitting on the floor in front of the lounge. She patted the carpet beside her, and Lena sat.

  ‘So tell us what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘Oh, well, you know. Like I said, came back down to go to uni …’

  ‘Ha. Fucking Queensland don’t even have any unis. Explains a lot.’

  ‘Ignore him. He’s an idiot.’

  ‘Least I’m not a Queenslander.’

  ‘Yeah, so uni, hey? You doing teaching? Tara’s doing teaching. Maybe she’s finished by now. I dunno. You remember Tara? Always scratching her arms until bits of skin flew off?’ Kylie shuddered, rubbing her own bare arms.

  ‘She had eczema.’

  ‘Yeah? Fuck, I thought she was just addicted to scratching and that.’

  ‘Mighta been on the ice,’ Ty said. ‘Seen a fella scratch right through to his insides once on that shit.’

  Kylie rolled her eyes at Lena, saying, ‘Yeah, Ty, she was on ice at the age of ten.’

  ‘Could be, could be.’

  ‘Anyway, I know she was going to uni to do teaching because she came into Mac’s—you know the chicken place up at the centre? Yeah, so I work there a couple nights a week—and she came in one time, like three years ago or something, and she said how she’d gotten into the teaching course and that. She looked pretty pleased with herself. Can’t remember if her arms were scratched up or not. That’d be a bit shit for a teacher to have skin flying off and that, hey?’

  ‘The treatment for eczema is heaps better now,’ Lena said, although she had no idea if it was true. She was sinking into a pleasure she’d long forgotten—being the clever one, being appreciated for that.

  ‘Good to know. So what are you going to teach? Like the little ones or … ?’

  ‘Yeah, primary. But actually, maybe not. I’m thinking of dropping out.’

  ‘How come?

  ‘Lots of reasons. I haven’t been going much, exams are starting and … I dunno. It just feels kinda pointless, you know?’

  ‘Fuck, what doesn’t, mate?’ Kylie said, but then reached behind and stroked the sleeping child’s arm and smiled a little.

  ‘Yeah, so, weird thing, though. You remember my aunty Nic?’ ‘Yes! She always had rainbow Paddle Pops in the freezer. And she painted our nails for us, like all different colours and with glitter and that. We used to pretend she was our mum. How’s she doing?’

  ‘Turns out she’s, like, a total hoarder these days.’

  ‘Fuck, for real? Mrs Kidd in the block one over’s a hoarder. Department’s been trying to get her out for ages, hey, but she’s got some lawyer or social worker or something, this smart bitch who keeps fending them off. They tried to get some cleaners in a while back. Poor Mrs Kidd. Screamed her fucking head off the whole time, cops came and all. Remember that, Ty? When the cops were up at Mrs Kidd’s?’

  ‘They were looking for her husband.’

  ‘No, they weren’t. That’s a stupid shit rumour.’

  ‘Yeah, well how come he just stopped turning up at the pub one night and then after that the mad old thing starts filling her house with so much shit no one can get inside? I’ll tell youse why. Because she’s knocked him off and his body’s hidden somewhere under all that crap. He’ll be dust before anyone gets to him.’

  ‘Maybe he took off because of all the shit. Didn’t want to live in it anymore.’

  Ty shook his head. ‘The shit came after he disappeared, I’m telling you. He’s in there somewhere.’

  ‘Grief,’ Lena said.

  Kylie raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Just … maybe he left her and then she started to just, like, keep stuff because she was sad and that.’

  ‘That what happened to Aunty Nic? Her bloke leave her?’

  Lena shrugged. ‘I don’t know what happened. Don’t think she had a bloke, though. Not anyone serious anyways.’

  ‘What does she say about it?’

  ‘Doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. Forbid me from cleaning up. Mum and Will reckon I should leave it, but they’re not here. They don’t get how—’

  ‘Will! God, I had the biggest crush on him when we were kids. Such a babe. How’s he going anyway? Staying out of trouble?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s good. Been up in North Queensland pretty much since he got out. Got himself a girlfriend, coupla stepkids. Living the dream, he reckons.’

  ‘Good for him. For real, stoked to hear he’s come through okay. Bloody Will, hey? Speaking of, do you want—’ Kylie cringed. ‘Not speaking of Will. Just, I was gonna ask if you wanted a smoke.’

  Lena laughed. ‘I’ll tell him his name makes you think of that now.’

  ‘Shit, I’m a dick. Forget I said it. But have a smoke if you want. Ty’ll give you some.’

  ‘I’m good. You go ahead, but.’

  ‘Nah, I don’t touch it. Not since …’ Kylie tipped her head towards Lacey. ‘Gotta stay sharp with a little one. Especially round here. All the stairs and balconies and bloody druggies and everything.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ty added, before sucking back again.

  ‘You want something to eat? I’m starving.’ Kylie crawled across the floor and rummaged through the bags she’d dumped earlier, emerging with a pack of Doritos the size of her child. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Nah, I’m good.’

  ‘Go on, you’re skinny as a rake, mate. You should eat up.’

  ‘Nah, really. I should go, actually. Call in at the hospital before I head back to the hoard.’ Lena stood, shook out her creaking knees. ‘Hey, I love that poster.’ Muhammad Ali in full glorious flight, white letters across his chest: The harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. ‘I should get that tattooed on my forehead.’

  Ty looked up. ‘I know a bloke can do it for you. Cheap and that. If you want.’

  Kylie laughed, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. ‘Yeah, Leen. Ty’ll hook you up for a cheap forehead tatt whenever you want.’

  Lena was overcome with the urge to hug Kylie, but instead she tapped Ty on the shoulder as she headed for the door. ‘Hey, good to meet ya.’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. Lemme give you my number.’ Kylie moving faster than seemed right, again, reaching towards Lena with open hand. ‘Give us your phone.’

  Lena’s phone hadn’t stopped vibrating in her pocket this whole time. What was waiting there when she pulled it out?

  ‘Dead battery. Gimme yours.’

  Kylie handed it over before she’d finished asking. A newer model than Lena’s but with a spider web crack over the top half of the screen. Lena added her number. Said goodbye. Kylie closed the space between them in an instant, gave her a rough, hard, fast hug and then disappeared back into the apartment.

  At the bottom of the stairs Lena leant against the wall, waiting for her legs to catch up to her heart. When was the last time anyone other than Nic had hugged her? Josh, when he said goodbye to her after they fucked. And before that? Annie a few times when she was smashed. Mum, saying goodbye at the train station more than nine months ago.

  Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out. A fuckload of notifications, but at the top, just arrived from Kylie: Glad your back nerd i bawled my eyes out when you left shutup but i did stay in touch xxxxxxx

  Lena scanned through the messages that had banked up in the hour she’d been in the supermarket and at Kylie’s. A missed call from Will. One text each from Lou, Annie and Mum. Eight unknown numbers. Three unlisted numbers. Two from Nic. Four from Josh.

  I guess you’ve blocked me and I’m sending this into a void. Have to try

  Can’t stop thinking about you

  If you’d give me a chance to explain

  Just meet with me one time then Ill never contact you again if thats what you really want. Please

  She stared at the phone. How could she speak to Nic without telling her about the giant yellow skip, to Mum and Will without admitting she’d quit her job and, by the way, was an accidental porn star, to Annie or Lou without letting on how broken and disgusting and ashamed she felt? How could she respond to Josh with anything except a raw, guttural scream?

  She deleted everything. Called no one back. Decided to skip the hospital for the second day in a row. When your whole life has become unspeakable, you’d best avoid speaking.

  WILL

  Will was waiting on Aunty Nic’s porch when Lena started up the path. He’d been planning to leap up and shout, Surprise! but her expression as she approached was pure terror, like there was an axe murderer charging at her. He barked with laughter, snapped a series of fast photos as recognition hit.

  ‘Will? Holy fuck! You bastard! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

  ‘Wanted to surprise you. Which, mission accomplished. Your face, mate. Bloody unreal.’

  Truth was he felt a bit shocked-and-awed himself now he was looking at her up close and personal. When he’d said goodbye to Lena in Brisbane she was a sturdy, sun-browned fourteen-year-old. He’d seen plenty of photos of her since, knew she’d got skinnier as she grew taller, but none of the photos captured this frailty. Her collarbones stabbed up between the straps of her dirt-streaked pink singlet; a pair of navy school shorts hung low and baggy off her bony hips. And that goddamn vicious purple scar, more obvious than ever against the unnatural, wintry paleness of her skin.

  He swallowed the gut-cramping panic the scar always produced in him, gestured to the front door. ‘Can we go inside before the lung cancer sets in or what?’

  ‘Yeah, ’course.’ Her huge, wet eyes blinked fast. She unlocked the door, hesitated. ‘Actually, just let me put this shopping away and then we’ll go see Nic. She’ll be so excited.’

  Lena turned on her heel and Will followed her into the house. It looked about the same as in the pictures Lena had sent, which was weird given the skip he’d walked past on the way in had been half full.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yeah, but …’ He put his backpack on the floor at his feet. ‘Can we take a minute to catch up first. I haven’t seen you in—’

  ‘Nic’s expecting me.’

  ‘—six years,’ he finished.

  ‘We’ll catch up later. Come on.’ She squeezed past him, out the door. ‘Make sure the lock clicks shut,’ she called, already on the footpath, moving away from him.

  Aunty Nic was in a different hospital from the one Dad had died in. This one was on an inner-city street so chaotic that making it from the bus stop to the front door was like a game of Frogger. Motorbikes and delivery vans and SUVs screamed to a stop milliseconds before slamming into Lena as she dominated the crossing, seemingly oblivious to it all. Will kept stopping before the vehicles did, not sure they wouldn’t speed through, leaving a vaguely man-shaped smear on the road. By the time he reached the entrance Lena was tapping her foot. ‘Keep up, country boy,’ she said.

  Once through the sandstone arches and across the granite and stained-glass foyer the hospital felt remarkably familiar. The same poster chiding lazy lift-riders about the missed opportunity to be good to their hearts by taking the stairs. Same creepy instrumental versions of Elvis Presley songs playing just loud enough that you can’t ignore it, interrupted by the same decibels-louder pre-recorded announcements about proper hand-washing and the fines applicable to anyone found smoking in the building. Same aggressively chemical scent in the public areas, not always disguising the reek of piss or shit or vomit or blood wafting from the wards.

  Outside Aunty Nic’s room, Lena reminded Will not to say anything about the house. ‘As far as she knows, I left and never went back.’ He thought it was stupid to lie about it—she was going to find out sooner or later—but this was Lena’s show; he was merely the supporting actor.

  If Lena hadn’t been there it would’ve taken him an age to figure out which of the six seemingly comatose, elderly white people was Nic. But Lena went straight to the middle bed on the right-hand wall, plonked herself in the visitor’s chair. ‘Wakey, wakey, Nic. Big surprise for you today. Huge!’

  The eyes opened, blinked a few times and there, instantly, undeniably, was Aunty Nic. For a terrible second he was sure he’d burst into tears, instead he said, ‘Haven’t you been in the wars?’ like an awkward grandpa talking to a toddler. Lena had taken the only chair, so he hovered a minute and then perched on the end of the bed, millimetres from the blanketed lump of his aunty’s left foot.