But god she looked so great while she did it.

‘And besides,’ Cathy said, ‘Mum bought them for me.’

Becky looked shocked and Cathy nodded, enjoying Becky’s surprise.

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘I know! Isn’t it great?’ said Cathy. It had been a long time coming, but Cathy and Bette could be a bit of a team now – when they needed to be. Cathy could trace it back to the Secret Cake Days. That was where they’d first found their sweet spot.

‘It’s really great, Cathy. It makes me really happy to see you two getting along. I like Bette.’

‘I know you do.’

Cathy pulled out the cigarette packet hidden in her bedside drawer and the decision was made. She tapped one out and offered it to Becky. Becky smiled and took one. They smoked hanging out of Cathy’s window and waving their hands about to clear the air. They tried different cigarette holds and practised drawing back without coughing. Cathy, still in her bathers, struck magazine poses, though of course Dolly would never have someone smoking. Maybe she was just more hardcore than Dolly – that was a surprisingly pleasing thought.

‘So. Important business,’ said Becky. ‘Madonna.’

‘Yes.’

‘Old stuff or new stuff?’

They discussed this at length. Becky had really liked Desperately Seeking Susan. It was interesting to see Madonna so young, she said, and her music so poppy and different, and maybe she even liked it best. But Cathy thought it was nothing compared to Bedtime Stories, Madonna’s latest album, which had been on high rotation on her player all last year. Madonna had really evolved as an artist, Cathy said. Cathy had pretty much listened to that album nonstop since Danny got it for her the Christmas before last through a special pre-purchase order from Hannerby Music and Hi-Fi in Bendigo – he had connections there, some music mates. It was actually pretty sweet of him because he was usually such an indie dickhead about her music, pick-pick-picking at her about it. Mind you, he had also got her The Cranberries’ second album, the one they worked on with the producer of The Smiths: he said it was his attempt at drawing her step by step – not in a NKOTB kind of way, yeah, ha ha – into what he called ‘a better class of music’, by which he meant his maudlin indie grunge crap and the slightly bearable Britpop. He’d been trying to rope Leonie into teasing her too, but Leonie was way too nice to join in, and besides, she liked lots of different music herself. Cathy thought The Cranberries were okay, but they were no Madonna. You certainly couldn’t dance to them. Danny would not have coped with Becky’s eighties pop preference.

‘Okay then,’ said Cathy. ‘Next order of business: Johnny Depp or George Clooney?’

‘Johnny,’ said Becky. And then quickly rethought. ‘Well, unless gorgeous George-ous brings his scrubs.’ They both leaned back into the room to look at the particularly dashing poster of George Clooney in his Doctor-Doug-from-ER scrubs that Cathy had put up in prime viewing position over the bed.