The bathroom was nicer than any she’d seen in her life. Maybe any room at all. She sat so long on the padded stool in front of the softly lit mirror that Lou came looking for her, worried she’d passed out or was yakking. Who knew there were bathrooms like this in Brisbane and that you could sit in their gentle light and barely-perceptible-yet-soul-lifting scent clouds, use their hand lotions and impossibly soft hand towels, all for free? How did people who came to places like this handle ordinary bathrooms with their stiff brown paper towels and ammonia stink? How could you live in the rough and fluoro-lit world once you knew there were places like this? Places like this were why girls her age fucked old men in Armani suits. Why people smashed up luxury shopfronts and dragged their keys down the side of BMWs.

Sitting in this hotel bar bathroom in Sydney, which was even nicer than the Brisbane one—the padded chair softer than her bed, the light golden—she looked at her hands, turned alien from the harsh chemicals she’d used to clean Nic’s bathroom. Skin rough and splotchy on top while the palms and fingertips were flaky white with angry crimson cuticles. She’d worked so hard, clearing and soaping and rubbing and scraping. When she’d finished, had sat back on her heels drinking water which she had been keeping in the living room fridge but which nonetheless seemed laced with detergent, she was confident the room had never, ever been cleaner. She’d even used a high-end brand of toilet duck (salvaged from the hoard) in the hope the scent would be more floral than chemical. She’d salvaged, too, a fluffy, peach-coloured bath mat with tags still attached, chucking the old one which was caked with dried lotion and soaps and fuck knew what else. She’d replaced the threadbare, scratchy towels on the rack with soft, thick, brand-new ones she found in a Kmart bag under the sofa. And even so, the room was grim and nasty. The cleanest it would ever be and the kind of person who came to hotels like this would take one look and decide to hold their pee in rather than use it.

Josh was waiting in a dim, narrow booth close to the bar. He was wearing a navy blazer with a crisp pinstriped open-necked shirt beneath it. His hair was freshly cut and immaculately styled to look ruffled. He froze when he saw her, pressed his lips together and raised one hand. The other was wrapped around a half-drunk beer on the table.

She backtracked to the bar and bought the cheapest beer on the list, taking a huge gulp before she approached Josh again. It was bitter and gassy and made her eyes water, which was a great way to start things off.