Tuesday 30 August

Laundromat, 4 pm?

The easiest thing would be to not go, but I can’t help it, I have to see him. I need to say something – if he’s sorry well, I’m not going to go back with him, but maybe I can believe he’s a good guy. If he’s not, at least I’ll know. I’ll know that all the things I thought were good were actually bad. All the things I thought were romantic were actually sleazy.

Ady says life’s not black and white like that. ‘And I should know.’

I slug from class to class feeling drained. It’s not just about Stu; it’s Iris. I haven’t seen her since our fight. I keep going over what I said to her. I’ve been trying to map back to the start of our troubles, and I think it might be me. I might be the evil twin. I was the one who wanted to move away, to separate, cut the cord, whatever.

When the last bell goes I check in with Kate.

‘Seen Iris?’

‘Not since this morning.’

‘How was she? We had a fight.’

‘Come to think of it, she was kind of quiet – I thought it was just because she missed out on the weekend. Don’t worry. She’s pretty thick-skinned.’

‘I don’t know. I used to think she was, but I don’t know if she is.’

Kate tilts her head at me. ‘How are you?’

‘Stu texted me. He wants to meet.’

‘I hope you told him to fuck off.’

I don’t say anything.

‘Clem,’ Kate says warningly.

‘It’s okay. It’s just for closure.’

She’s quiet and I know she’s thinking about Ben. I have a flash of him rowing. Feel again the silent warmth of his leg against mine on the rock.

‘Ben rang me.’

‘I know. He told me he was going to.’ Kate frowns.

‘What?’

‘He’s my best friend, so don’t play him.’

‘I’m not going to play him. I like him.’

‘Good,’ Kate says.

‘Great,’ I shout. Then we laugh.

*

The laundromat windows are so fogged up that at first I don’t see Stu. I feel a bit relieved – maybe I don’t have to do this – but then I see him over by the powder dispenser. When I push the door open I am assailed by laundry smells: filter lint, damp socks, eucalyptus wool wash. I’ll associate these smells with Stu forever now.

He tips the powder into the washer and shoves the coins in. He hasn’t seen me yet. His face is moody/bored/beautiful. He’s set up at the table, the local paper is open and the brown paper bag with the egg-and-bacon toastie is waiting for us.

I clear my throat.

When Stu sees me he looks so happy I could forget everything. Except I can’t.

‘Where have you been?’ He steps forward to kiss me and I step back.

He tries again and I dodge him.

He pauses, reaches past me for the brown paper bag and takes a half of toastie out. He bites into it and watches me.

‘Are you mad at me?’

I nod, once.

‘Want to tell me why?’

I feel so anxious. My stomach in knots. I also feel angry. Hurt. Embarrassed.

He searches my face. Then has another bite of his sandwich.

I start, ‘The other night, at the Blue House, I looked at your phone.’

There is a pause and then his shoulders drop a little.

‘Zaftig,’ he says, like he’s telling me off.

‘I saw your messages, and your pictures.’

‘Okay.’ He looks uncomfortable but not terribly. Not as much as I wanted him to. And he only looks that way for a second before shoring up.

He points his toastie at me. ‘We never said we were exclusive.’

‘I didn’t think we had to say it.’

‘See, that’s ’cause you’re young.’ He finishes eating and wipes his hands on his jeans. Then he tries to hug me but I push his shoulder, hard.

‘Easy!’ He’s half-laughing.

‘I thought you liked me,’ I say.

‘I do like you. I like a lot of girls.’ He smiles. ‘I’m nineteen. I live in the moment. What – did you think we were going to get married?’

‘No.’ I can feel my face burning, because what did I think?

I thought I was special.

Stu dips his head, and I imagine he thinks he’s being gentlemanly. ‘I apologise,’ he says, straight-faced. ‘We should have had a conversation about it.’

I stare at him and feel myself go hard-boiled.

‘Zaftig –’

‘Don’t call me that.’

Stu sniffs and clucks his tongue. ‘Fine. You’re upset.’

I get his scarf out of my bag and hand it over.

‘Why thank you,’ he says, acting charmed.

‘It’s got snot on it.’

He nods, smiling, sarcastic. ‘Great.’

I stare at him and he doesn’t look so beautiful. He looks petulant and douchey. I stare until his mask cracks and then I take a mental picture – CLICK – I get the shimmer of regret, the bead of recognition of shady behaviour. Then I take my half of the toastie, bite into it and leave.