I know it’s wrong. I know Mum will kill me, but I keep telling myself this is what she has driven me to. I’ll leave her a note, but that won’t save me. The only door I bother to close is the front one. No one worries about locking up around here; anyway, it would mean coming home to an oven that has been roasting all day. Rhi meets me at the front, ready to continue one of her long, gross sex stories. She’ll happily shame me out the whole way down to the truck park if I let her so I go on the offensive.

‘So whaddya get up to in Cracow?’

That keeps her busy on the walk. We round the corner past the Elders building and cross the road to the little stop with the round cement table and seats. Everyone calls it the truck park because trucks stop there; yep, we’re original when we name things in this town. Usually they stop just to run across the road to the only pub in town for a meal and a few beers, but sometimes they stay for a sleep. The local pub does a good counter meal and not much else. They rob people blind with the cost of alcohol and we all know it.

It’s a weeknight so the pub will be shutting soon and the truck park is where some hardcores will end up to keep partying. Straight out of lock-up it’s a safe bet that the boys will be thirsty. This early, we can sit and watch for them. It never crosses our minds that they’ll already be there with a few of their mob around. I wince when I see everyone and look to Rhi for reassurance.

‘Isn’t Clinton related to the Millers?’

‘Yeah, but Tyrone isn’t, and he’ll talk to me.’ She sees my worry and wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, cuz, there ain’t no Millers there.’

‘Yeah, right now,’ I mutter, but allow her to drag me towards them.

‘Well if it isn’t Run-around Rhi and Stuck-up Stacey,’ sneers a voice.

‘Shut up, Clinton, don’t be bitter cos no one wants your ugly arse.’ Rhi cuts him off at the knees and I snort. She stops to pat his arm comfortingly. ‘Aww, don’t worry. If you grow a nicer personality I’m sure one woman might … umm, you know.’