Sunday 28 August

On the train on the way back to Melbourne a woman comes and sits in our empty fourth seat. She has rings on every finger and a hacking cough and home hair-dye.

‘You know, girls,’ she rasps, ‘Mercury is in retrograde.’

We look at her blankly. She explains that when Mercury is in retrograde the world falls into ominous chaos and we can’t expect any gifts or resolutions until after October. At the next stop the woman stands up to leave.

‘Hang on,’ she says. ‘Stay strong.’

As the train moves from country green to urban grit we count the ways of Mercury in retrograde: Ady’s dad and Rupertgate; Stu’s sleaze, my swim-fail, my cold war with Iris; for Kate, it’s all about pressure.

We decide we’re going to counteract it and state what we want to happen.

Me: ‘I want to get over Stu, and along with Iris.’

Kate: ‘I want Iceland and I want my parents to be okay with it.’

Ady: ‘I just want to know that whatever happens I can handle it.’

Ady puts her thumb out and Kate presses hers against it. I bring mine into the mix like we did at the first Wellness class – we laugh at our daggy secret handshake.

When we get to Southern Cross, we’re exhausted, like we’ve travelled through time – and maybe we have, emotionally. We catch the tram back to St Hilda’s, Ady leaves at the gate. Everything is normal, but everything is different. Walking up to the boarding house Kate says, ‘It’s quiet . . . too quiet.’

Old Joy lets us in, treating me to her jowliest scowl. ‘Call your parents, Clem. Pronto.’

I hightail it to my room. Jinx is still at her aunt’s. My phone is plugged in and waiting for me. There are two missed calls from Stu, and a bunch of texts from Mum and Dad. I check the time, then dial their number. I have my line all ready, about how I don’t want to be a competitive swimmer, how I don’t want it enough, and I just want to explore other activities, but I soon realise they’re freaking out about something else altogether.

They pass the phone and it’s hard to keep up.

Mum: ‘You’ve got some explaining to do.’

Dad: ‘Who is this Stu person. What have you been doing?’

Iris told. I can’t believe it.

Me: ‘He’s no-one. He’s just a joke.’

Mum: ‘Tell me why we shouldn’t get on a plane right now and sort this out.’

Dad: ‘What school allows vulnerable girls to roam the streets, to be picked up by ne’er do wells?’

Ne-er do wells!

‘Calm down, Dad. Whatever Iris said, she’s lying. Don’t call the school.’

‘If you think you can take this person to your formal, think again. No formal Clem. You’re not going to Canberra either.’

‘I know I’m not going to bloody Canberra!’

There is silence. Then I’m crying.

Dad gets all uncomfortable. ‘I’ll pass you back to your mother.’

‘Clem?’ Mum says. ‘What’s happening?’

And I start to feel clear, and then I start to talk. I tell her I had a crush, but it wasn’t as big as Iris tells it and I tell her about my bathers being too tight, and how I hadn’t been enjoying swimming like I used to. I tell her I’ve lost my competitive edge but I don’t miss it. I tell her I also felt lost at St Hilda’s, but I don’t anymore, and if everyone would just give me a chance, things could be good again. I tell her I’ll be honest from now on.

After I hang up I get a sense of something. Iris! I tiptoe to my door and yank it open – and sure enough she’s there, caught in the act. She lets out a little meep and starts running back to her room. I call after her with a bounty hunter’s relish, ‘You’d better run!’

But I’m too tired to deal with her now. She can wait till tomorrow.