Friday 29 July

Clem has definitely not dressed like that for coffee with me and Kate.

She sits down in a drift of perfume, with her silver shoes and visible breastage. All wrong. She’s good-looking in her usual careless no make-up state, and she could look great in full glam, but all she’s managed to put together is a desperate eat me, drink me thing.

‘What are you staring at?’ she says.

‘Just wondering why you didn’t use a mirror to put on your make-up.’ Too mean. It’s not like you’d have much time for playing with make-up on the swim team. But so what? Girls like her, girls on the outer, dismiss me as a rich bitch and hate me on principle.

She gives me a narrow-eyed look of pure irritation, but doesn’t bite. She is barely present. We grind our way through the most tedious, stilted exchange to tick the box on this idiotic social outing as the thumb-size group that should get to know each other, according to Malik’s bizarre dream of arbitrary and random friendship sparks.

Clem spends the whole time looking around us and through us, until she spots him on the other side of the road. By now I’ve sent back the inedible cake, and Kate has drunk a pot of tea and been to the loo, which she said is manky and best avoided.

Clem throws down five bucks and virtually sprints towards her dude. A protective pang for her springs from nowhere. I want to say, Be cool, don’t show him you care this much – but why? Who decided that wearing your heart on your sleeve is the big love crime? It’s the upper hand, power play school of dating. Second nature to me and my friends. Maybe that’s my problem. If I could just crack open my rib cage and let that heart out for a walk down my sleeve.

So now it’s just the two of us.

Me and Kate.

Kate and me.

She’s balancing on the edge of her seat as though she’s got a big announcement. I don’t need further communication. Let this ordeal be over. Let me mindfully notice odd others from a safe distance.

Clem, a twin, loves jacket guy. Clem is duplicitous. Kate, of delicate complexion, likes Earl Grey tea. Kate enjoys playing cello. Fini.

‘I told my head of house that you invited me to dinner at your place,’ says Kate.

I wasn’t expecting that. ‘Why?’

‘I’m going to a club. But you can’t write that on your pass-out request form. We’re basically prisoners.’ She looks apologetic. ‘It’s just – once I had permission for our coffee encounter, lying about dinner with your family was my best shot to stay out.’

Kate Turner’s going to a club? This is like M&M’S suddenly becoming salt-and-vinegar chips. Quiet musician breaks the rules to walk on the wild side. She looks anxious, and where is the harm? Sure, I could squash her like an ant, but why bother? What has she ever done to me?

‘Fine. Whatever. I won’t blow your cover.’

We leave the cafe and walk along together for a bit, and I’m wondering exactly when she’s going to peel off and leave me alone.

‘Anything else I can do for you?’ It was rhetorical with a hint of snark; I wasn’t expecting her to take me up on the offer.

‘I’m not meeting my – person – there till later, and I need somewhere to be for a bit, so I thought maybe . . . I wouldn’t get in the way.’

So, she not only wants to pretend to come to my place, she wants to come to my place for real?

‘Okay, but I’m planning to walk home along the river path. It takes half an hour from here.’

She looks relieved, smiles and puts her headphones on.

*

Kate gives the house an admiring look and I feel a pang of anxiety. Don’t sell it, let me keep living here, this is my home. I lead the way along the tangled garden path, in through the back door, and head straight for the stairs. I instinctively try to distract Kate from the sound of my parents arguing by saying the first thing that comes into my head. I offer to help her get ready: she cannot wear what she’s got on, which is basically stage blacks. Way to be inconspicuous.

‘I do this all the time, so don’t be offended . . .’ I say, opening the door to my bedroom and leading her through to my walk-in wardrobe. ‘Think of it as a clothes library – it’s the only way I can justify having all this stuff.’

Kate gives a wow whistle as she takes in the extent of it. Cool response. I’ve only ever seen-heard that in films. Having superior whistling skills must be a subset of being musical.

I flip through a few options and – perfect! A high-buttoned, ankle-length, silk-velvet, gored coat-dress. An op-shop find that I couldn’t resist, but have never worn.

She nods as I hold it up. She turns and slips her arms in. Transformation. The antique gold colour glows against her fair skin. Perfecto. Now she’s dressed for a night out. Now her black boots look deliberate and ironic. Clothes, I love you.

She runs her finger along the nap of the velvet. ‘Wild fabric.’

‘Yeah. Suits you.’

We mess around with some hair and make-up until our stomachs start rumbling, so I go down to the kitchen to see what’s on offer. There’s no smell of cooking, and no sign of Charlie or Clare. A door slams from the direction of the argument. I grab some leftover frittata, a chocolate brownie, two apples and a SodaStream bottle from the fridge, and run back upstairs.

Just before I close my door, my mother’s voice floats up; she’s calling my father ‘a complete world-class bastard loser’ at high volume. Welcome to my family. Kate blushes – embarrassed for me, no doubt. Country parents are perhaps more polite to each other.

‘You’re probably already going out,’ she says. ‘But this club – Orion – is supposed to be good; it’s a new music venue.’

Am I laughing in disbelief and saying, No thanks? Don’t seem to be. Am I really about to ditch my plans and go to a club I’ve never heard of with a boarder I don’t know at all? Apparently.

I have the strong feeling that city clubbing is not a regular thing for Kate. ‘Have you got ID?’

She opens her wallet and shows me. ‘It’s my cousin’s old learner’s permit.’

They look similar enough for it to work.

‘Country pubs can be pretty strict,’ she says.

Mine is a high-quality fake organised by Tash’s older brother. I’ve never been questioned.

Strangely, this is exactly what Malik was talking about in class – making friends outside your friendship group. If you want to get to know someone new (which I didn’t think I did), he said, take down some barriers (or let your screaming parents take them down, whether you like it or not) and let them into your world (well, Kate asked herself, but I did say yes). I didn’t intend to take down the whole family privacy barrier; it more or less fell over in front of Kate.

It feels like this night is constructing itself around me – I’m reacting, not planning. But perhaps that’s okay. It’s like I’m a tram taking an impossible left turn off the tracks and onto the road.

‘I’m going to that party,’ I yell on the way out. ‘Won’t be late.’ It’s already in my mother’s diary that I’m going out to a sixteenth tonight, back by midnight. I check the change bowl, usually good for the odd ten or twenty bucks. Empty. ‘I won’t bother introducing you to the train-wreck parents. You’ve had more than enough exposure to them for one night. Better if they think I’m doing what I said.’

Kate looks relieved. Good instinct.