‘Okay. Tell me something else. Tell me about the music that was playing when you were born. What song was it?’

  The song Dad had sung while she was born and that he’d sung to her every year on her birthday and that would sometimes come on the radio or be playing in a shop and wrench her grief up to the surface within a few notes. The song was a massive hit that year and was loved by a lot of people, but no one would expect it to be the most important song in the world to someone her age. No one except Mum and Will and Nic, who knew and who silently reached for her if it ever came on when they were nearby. I just want you to know who I am.

  ‘Do you think we’re friends?’ she asked Josh.

  He bit his lip. ‘I wish we could be.’

  Lena finished her beer. Too much, too fast. Her eyes and nose watered. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Okay. But … can I see you again? I mean, I know it’s … I know I’m asking a lot, but … I really like you, Lena. I can’t stop thinking about when we—’

  ‘Thinking about? Or watching?’

  ‘How many times can I tell you I’m sorry?’

  ‘I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too, because I really like you. Or I did. I can’t trust you, though, so that’s it.’ She slid from the booth before he could speak again. God, she liked him. It was pathetic.

  As she walked out she saw Will had sent several texts, clicked open the first.

  I’ve seen the video. You need to get back here. Now.

  Lena turned off her phone. Josh was where she’d left him in the booth. He looked up with an expression she could only describe as fatally thirsty. Made her feel like a cockroach was scurrying up her spine.

  ‘This is a hotel, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Up out of his seat, moving towards her.

  Josh apologised that the room was corporate and bland. Lena’s word would be immaculate. She touched the smooth stone bench to the right of the door—empty except for a sparkling stainless-steel kettle and a glossy white dish filled with individually wrapped teabags. She touched the dust-free top of the big-screen TV, then the slippery, flawless ceramic of the lamp on the desk, and then the black leather folder with For Your Convenience embossed in gold on the cover, then the desk itself. A light touch, skimming past with her bare fingertips. Touch by touch the rope inside her uncoiled.

  She headed for the bathroom, wanting to press her hands against the un-smeared tiles with no mould in the grout, run her fingers over the hairless drains. But Josh was a step behind her, his breath on the back of her neck. Do ya take me for a pirate? Dad would’ve said. Bloody big parrot on my shoulder.

  She turned, tried to look at his face instead of the crisp white sheets on the queen-size bed.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You do what you need to do.’

  A lurch in her chest. How did he know the filth she had come from? But then he held up his phone and said, ‘It’s off. Look. You keep it until we leave.’ She took his black, dead phone, realised she should have asked for it immediately, should have been doing what he assumed and checking the room for hidden cameras. She really was asking for it. Dumb cunt.

  ‘Thanks.’ She made a show of double-checking his phone was off, shoved it in her backpack and continued her circuit of the room. Part of her wanted to ask him what it felt like to be the kind of person other people needed to check for spy equipment before they could relax around. Another part of her wanted to jump out of the streak-free window because what kind of a person hooks up with the kind of man you need to check for spy equipment? The biggest part—right now, anyway—wanted to scrub herself raw in a clean shower then climb into a clean bed, have a fast orgasm with a clean man, shower again and sleep through the whole night without waking to cough up dust.

  She finished her inspection of the bedside tables and the wardrobe and strode to the bathroom, Josh behind her the whole way. The shine coming off the tiles made her feel like weeping. The tiniest bit of dirt or dust would show up like an oil spill.

  She stood facing him, their doubles looking on from the wall-sized mirror. She had grown up believing that men who took care of their appearance were soft, dressing in the clothes Mummy laid out on the bed. But there was a manliness to Josh’s neatness; a confidence and certainty. He did not expect to be changing a tyre or digging a ditch—or ending up in one, for that matter. But if physical action was called for, he would be up for the challenge, his pants not too tight to squat in, his jacket easily slipped off.

  And what kind of woman would you expect to find in a nice hotel with someone like him? Not some scrawny bitch nastiest in this series yet good tits but arse like my granny 6 out of 10 are you kidding mate thats a four at best.

  ‘All clear?’ he said, moving towards her.

  ‘I’m hungry.’ She left the bathroom, flipped open the room service menu, nearly choked at the prices.

  ‘What?’ He was behind her, breathing on the back of her neck.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You made a noise.’

  needs a gag on her noisy bitch

  She turned, shoved the menu at him. He sighed, already reaching for the room phone with his other hand. ‘What do you want then?’

  She’d been so distracted by the prices she couldn’t remember any of the items they referred to. ‘I’ll have the forty-seven dollars ninety-five with a side of eighteen dollars and a glass of twenty-four,’ she could say. Nic’d laugh at that, reply, ‘Oh, forget your diet. Go for the thirty-eight seventy-five with the eighteen and the twenty-three dollars on the side and a whole bottle of a hundred and ten.’ But Josh wouldn’t get it so she said, ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ and he ordered two Wagyu burgers with beer-battered chips and a bottle of something she’d never heard of.

  ‘What’ll we do while we wait?’ he said, coming at her again, touching her this time, his lovely, clean hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I need a shower.’

  ‘Shower after.’ His hands moving down her arms.

  ‘Shower first.’

  ‘Okay, but I can help.’ Hands moving around to her back now. ‘Scrub the places you can’t reach.’

  She pulled away, turned too fast to see his reaction. ‘Nah, I’ll be right. I’m very flexible.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’

  ‘Yeah, you and the entire internet.’ She was in the bathroom by then, shutting the door. She locked it, stripped, turned the shower on full. The water came from a silver disc in the ceiling above and covered her so completely it was like being submerged, but with deliciously hard water darts striking her all over. She lathered her hair with shampoo that smelt like freshly squeezed lemons, lathered herself with body wash the texture of whipped cream. Blood and grime swirled at her feet, then was gone.

  If she told Josh she had her period would he be disgusted and leave? Would her relief be more powerful than her shame? She watched the water run clear over her feet and down the drain, imagined having that clean bed to herself all night.

  Maybe he deserved to be bled on without consent, to know what it was to feel violated and stained.

  He might not even notice.

  The towel was softer than her good sheets, almost as thick as her pillow. It wrapped around her twice, hung past her shins. She never wanted to wear anything else ever again.

  Josh was on the bed, stripped to shimmery grey boxer shorts, watching a screeching high-speed car chase on the TV. ‘Finally she emerges.’ He glanced at her, smiled, turned off the TV. ‘Sorry to tell you, Harris, but you’ve wasted your time.’ He got to his knees, his hard-on obvious. ‘I’m going to get you filthy.’

  It wasn’t normal to feel like throwing up right before you had sex with someone you were attracted to. Wasn’t right to feel torn between kissing or stabbing the near-naked hottie reaching out to you from the biggest, cleanest, softest-looking bed you’d ever seen.

  ‘Seriously, you need to get over here now. You’re so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it.’

  Cover that ugly wound next time don’t know whether to barf or wank nice nips pity about the rest

  There was a knock. Josh strutted to the door, adjusting his shorts as he went. Lena hovered near the edge of the bed, out of view. A voice said, ‘Good evening,’ and Josh said it back and then there was a man in a waiter’s uniform three steps away from her. ‘Good evening,’ he said in her direction, though not, thank god, looking at her. He placed a gigantic silver tray on the table and had Josh sign something—called him sir, told him to enjoy—and floated out of the room like it was nothing.

  It was nothing, she understood. Just another rich bloke who needed feeding; another dumb cunt without her clothes on in the background.

  Josh carried the tray to the bed, smiled at her as he put it down. ‘Picnic in bed.’

  She stood, frozen in her corner. ‘I didn’t know you were going to let the guy in. I’m not dressed.’

  ‘So? He doesn’t give a shit.’

  ‘I do.’

  A sigh. ‘Here we go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To the place where your body is so precious and special it needs to be locked away in a fucking vault.’

  ‘Wow.’

  He lifted the silver cover off the tray, put it on the bedcover, not even checking if there was sauce or something clinging to it. ‘Listen, you have a nice body. Gorgeous. I mean it. But hot girls are everywhere. People on the internet don’t care about your hot body. That dude out there doesn’t care. Stop acting like the world’s going to end if someone sees your precious tits.’

  Lena perched on the edge of the bed, picked a chip off her plate. It was barely warm, soft and soggy. She ate it because otherwise she might scream so loud that the people in the next room would call security. She might punch Josh until his face looked like the chopped salad in front of her. She ate another chip and then another. She hadn’t eaten potato for years. Hadn’t eaten anything fried for months. The chips were starchy and salty and slicked with fat. She had to concentrate on chewing and swallowing each one completely before picking up the next. If Josh wasn’t there she would have been shoving them in by the handful. I’m so fucking easy. Josh’s hand on my leg and I’m a senseless whore. One not-even-good chip and I’m a greedy pig.

  Josh was making fast work of his burger. He didn’t look like a greedy pig, though. He looked like a man with a well-earnt appetite. A man in a hurry, but not so much he couldn’t enjoy his food. He was near naked, too, and not self-conscious about it. Not self-conscious about anything. In his skin and in this room and everywhere else. What must it be like, to be so at ease?

  ‘So, ah, I think my brother knows.’

  He stopped mid-bite. A millisecond but she saw it. Ha. Good. He chewed, swallowed, said, ‘About this?’

  ‘About the video.’

  ‘Shit. Should I be scared? Is he gunna come at me? Bash me farkin’ ’ead in.’

  ‘What is that accent?’

  Josh took another bite. Chewed aggressively. Swallowed. Smiled. ‘That’s how he talks, right? Like you, when you get upset or turned on and forget to posh up.’

  ‘And the way you talk when you’re turned on? Is that how your family speaks back on the porn set where you grew up?’

  He laughed at that, loud and surprising and real, a bolus of burger flying out and landing on the bed, all red and brown and wet and gristly. He covered it with a napkin and swept it out of sight like it was nothing. Everything was nothing with him. It was a superpower.

  ‘Is your brother as funny as you?’

  ‘God, no. He’s earnest as fuck.’

  ‘Pity. I wouldn’t mind him bashin’ me ’ead in if he did it in a funny way.’

  ‘Nah, most humourless head bashing ever, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘I better stay away from him then.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  ‘No, I mean … I could’ve gone somewhere else. I wanted to be away from him, and I wanted to be with you.’

  Josh pushed the tray to the side, leant in and kissed her. ‘I don’t even care why. Not really. I’m so into you, Harris, it’s not funny.’

  ‘Not laughing.’

  ‘You laughed all the time when we first met. Now, barely at all.’

  ‘You talk like we’ve been married seventy years. You hardly know me. Don’t know how often I laugh.’

  He bit her lip, held it there between his teeth until she ached all over. He pulled away, said, ‘I can’t bear it that I’ve made you unhappy.’

  ‘You have to.’

  ‘When you walked into the bar it was like seeing someone at a funeral. I wanted to bash my own head in.’

  ‘You should do that, for sure. You’ve got it coming. But not too hard. Only some of the funeral face is because of you.’

  ‘I’m sorry for that, too, then. That I’ve done this to you when you’ve got other hard shit going on. Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded, kissed her, soft and chaste. ‘You can, you know. I’m not only here for the sex.’

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘You do want to have sex with me then?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. It had been good, hadn’t it? Would feel good again if she could shut all the other stuff out? And after, she could have another shower, wrap herself in another fresh, clean towel like this one, go to sleep in this clean, soft bed.

  ‘With me?’

  ‘Is there anyone else here?’

  ‘Right. See.’ He sneered. Face of a college boy who scores you out of ten while you pull on your undies. ‘You don’t even like me. You just want to get fucked and I’m the only one who’ll do it.’

  ‘Get over yourself, mate. You are not the only one who—’

  ‘Since the thing, though.’ Smug, superior, shit-eating grin. ‘How many queuing up to take you out since they’ve seen you riding me?’

  Her body was too used to crying. The tears came easily, hot and fast. She tried to get up, but he held her by both arms.

  ‘I mean, you’re damaged goods now. No one wants to drive a car some other bloke crashed. Even if it’s been cleaned up okay, you know it’s not right.’

  ‘Let go or I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.’

  ‘I love it when you talk houso, Harris.’

  She kneed him hard in the stomach, sprang off the bed. He was doubled over, gasping. ‘Psycho bitch. That hurt.’

  She should pick up the bedside lamp and smash it over his head. Kick him. From this height she could land a good blow on his ear, set the bells ringing. ‘Lucky I didn’t do worse.’

  ‘Jesus, calm down. You said mean shit to me, I said mean shit back. No need to get violent.’

  ‘You’re a nasty, spoilt little cunt.’

  ‘And you’re a foul-mouthed houso slut, but I still want to be with you, so why don’t you calm down, come back over here and kiss me better.’ He lay back, eyes closed, pointing to his lower stomach.

  Like nothing had happened. It hadn’t, had it? Not for him.

  ‘You want to be with me? Really? Even though I’m damaged goods. Wow.’

  ‘You say that a lot. Wow. It’s irritating. But, yeah, Harris, I actually do want to be with you and not just like this, either. I’m into you, you psycho.’

  ‘Sure you are. So into me you want to fuck me then take me to your college parties so everyone can see how much you’ve owned the six-out-of-ten bitch with the ugly arm wound?’

  He flopped back on the bed. ‘You’re not ever going to let it go, are you?’

  ‘Seriously? It happened, like, ten days ago!’

  ‘I don’t see how we can be together going forward if you’re always harping on about this one mistake I made.’

  ‘How about this: I’ll get over it when the file is no longer anywhere on the internet.’ She walked to the bathroom, dressed fast. Didn’t even look at the heavenly, purifying, life-affirming shower because she didn’t want to change her mind.

  When she went back into the room, fully clothed, his face fell. ‘You’re seriously leaving?’

  ‘Yeah. Don’t contact me again.’

  ‘Fuck you. You’re the one who asked for this.’ He spread his arms wide, taking in the whole fresh-smelling, dust-free, smudge-less, uncluttered loveliness.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a psycho bitch, like you said.’ She pulled his phone from her backpack, chucked it hard at the wall. Didn’t hear the crack of glass, which would be just his sweet luck. And she left, hair still wet from the magic shower, tongue still tingling with salt and fat.

  When she turned her phone back on, there were no new messages from Will. Nothing from Nic. But there among the unknown numbers and caller ID unavailable, between a message from Annie and one from college admin, was Kylie.

  Whatcha up to girl Bubbas at mums tonight wanna hang

  The message had come in two hours ago, at 7 p.m.

  Lena texted back: Sorry just got this. Are you still up and keen to hang?

  Kylie answered straight away: Come now I have sambucca

  Do you reckon I can crash there? Okay if not …

  NIC

  Nic wakes to pitch-black and silence, terror squeezing her throat closed. A few seconds until she remembers where she is, what’s happened. Not silence, really: water is dripping somewhere, the building creaking, someone snoring aggressively. Not pitch-black, either: she can see the cracked open door to her room, the bulky dresser against the wall, the lighter blanks of the windows. She can see all the nothingness in between. She listens. How long since she’s heard someone sleeping in her home? Ah, not so hard to remember. These same world-busting children, back when they were all easy hugs and ear-splitting squeals. When they fought to sit on her lap or next to her at the table, and wanted nothing more than to listen to her tell them stories until their determined little eyelids gave up, fluttered closed. When she could tell which was which from the night sounds of them: Lena’s fast, short little breaths, as though she were jumping up and down on the spot even in her dreams; and Will’s breaths so slow and deep that Nic sometimes held her own breath waiting to hear the next one kick in. It always did, just when you thought it really wouldn’t this time, that something catastrophic had happened, that you’d lost the most precious of treasures even as you stood there sending every bit of love you ever had and then some. The certainty and horror and then—ahhhhhhh—there it was, slow, soft miracle breath. It always came.