‘I’ve decided to do a portrait for my final art project this year, and I need a model.’

‘You want to paint me again?’

‘No, I’ve been concentrating on photography recently.’

She screws up her face.

‘I need to do something different,’ I say quickly. ‘Mix things up. I’ve already got enough sketches and paintings in my folio. Let me show you.’

I pull up some Bill Henson images on my phone, the ones that look like teenagers have had a wild night out, and Liana scrolls.

‘Nope nope nope,’ she says. ‘They’ve hardly got any clothes on! You want me to flash this butt around in public? On a car bonnet?’ She scrolls. ‘Mum’d have a heart attack and they will throw me out of the church choir.’

‘It’s more the light and the mood. You don’t have to show any skin at all, if you don’t want.’

In my folio I’ve pasted Henson images alongside Vermeer paintings as examples of the light and mood I’m trying to capture, as well as all sorts of other things that have caught my eye. Advertisements featuring sleeping or reclining women, exposed and abstracted parts of women’s bodies, fairytale illustrations from falling-apart anthologies, newspaper snippets about missing women. I have no idea yet if any of it fits together.

‘I thought we could go out to the netball courts at sunset?’ There are rickety bleachers at the courts behind Meridian. If Liana sat right at the top, her hair might fly around in the wind, maybe the streetlights and the sky might combine to make something good.

Liana hands my phone back. ‘Sorry babe, you know I’m way too self-conscious.’

‘It’s okay.’ I half-knew she would say no. It would have been a nice excuse to spend more time with her.

‘Why don’t you stick to your drawings? They’re so good.’ Liana squeezes my arm. ‘I’ve still got every single one you’ve given me.’

I stare at the rising flames.

I know Katie and Liana say they miss me, but no one has asked me about anything but the kidnapping. And while they’ve filled me in on the Morrison news, they don’t seem that interested in what’s going on in my life. I could tell them how I’m avoiding Dad’s calls or that Arnold got in a fight with Ron and Pearl’s cat or that I think Mum has a crush on someone at work but I can’t figure out who.

‘Shit!’ Tim hops around the circle swearing. Dirty grey smoke plumes off his shoe. Brandon picks up the esky full of ice and instead of tipping it on Tim’s foot, tips it over his head. Tim swears even more and starts swinging furiously at Brandon.