Olivia was feeling anxious about Eliza’s imminent questions. She wished it was possible to ask her to submit them beforehand, to give her and Maxie some insight into what she wanted to know. She had to be honest with herself: it was also so she and Maxie could get their stories straight. Decide which questions they really could answer truthfully. Work out in advance which ones they couldn’t.

Eliza wanted to ask them about her father, of course. They’d been waiting for her to ask for years. Not that she and Maxie would be any help. Jeannie had never told them the whole story, either. She’d insisted she would tell Eliza first on her eighteenth birthday, and then the two of them the next day. But what else would she ask about? Jeannie’s childhood? Her family? Her overseas travels?

She and Maxie had never known for sure where Jeannie got the money to go travelling. She’d once mentioned something about a necklace her grandmother had owned and bequeathed. Another time she’d spoken about an inheritance from an old uncle.

She was away for nearly a year. She’d returned full of stories, of this scrape with the law, that late-night adventure. But she hadn’t been pregnant. She had even talked about going back to study again, appearing interested in how their courses in Sydney were going. Olivia had been in the second year of her art history degree, while Maxie was studying drama and also getting the occasional bit part on low-budget TV soaps. They were living in a student house in Newtown, run-down but cheap.

But then Jeannie decided she wasn’t ready to ‘settle down and study’ yet. She got a job in a pub in Melbourne, a music venue. She’d spent time working in pubs in London and Ireland, and had more than enough experience to talk her way into a job, in any case. They’d been jealous of her, Olivia remembered. Jeannie was earning money. She got to hear live music seven nights a week if she wanted.

Living in different cities meant they didn’t catch up as often as they’d have liked to. She and Maxie were also serious about their studies. They had exams. They’d made other friends from their courses. Still, one cold April during their uni holidays, they bought bus tickets and made the twelve-hour journey from Sydney to Melbourne to visit Jeannie.

They arranged to meet at the Collingwood pub she was working in. The reunion was instantly fun. She’d take them to her share house later, she said, apologising in advance that it would be mattresses on the floor. She showed them around the pub, introduced them to her boss and the other staff. She was excited, sparkly eyed, full of stories about the bands, the customers, her regulars.