It’s blacker than Satan’s bile when I wake. I don’t know if it’s Sunday night or Monday morning. Maybe the world exploded while I was sleeping and there’s no such thing as Monday anymore.

I can’t get back to sleep so at six I get up, shower and sift through the clothes on my floor – the sniff test isn’t a scientific approach but it’s effective.

I struggle into jeans and scan the floordrobe for a top.

It’s one of those nothing-to-wear days. Everything’s a fat top, a lumpy-arse jean, a wobbly-thigh skirt.

I think about finding the dress Vinnie liked and putting it on. Maybe even the pink skirt Nonna Sofia bought me. My ‘keep’, ‘donate’ and ‘burn’ piles never really found their way off my floor so now they’re all part of one big pile and I have plenty to choose from.

A black jumper will do. Forget the holes; it doesn’t matter.

The apartment is cold. Feels empty. For about three seconds I freak out that my nuclear bomb/meteor/alien invasion theory was correct and I’m the last person on earth, but then I press my ear to Vinnie’s bedroom door and the sound of her snoring steadies my heartbeat.

Kind of.

Vinnie hates me. Cara hates me. Nate hates me. And it’s Meeting Day.

I tiptoe to the front door. Buttons is perched on the sideboard in the corridor. He doesn’t run or hiss or flash me his arse. He just looks me over, eyes half closed, a steady purr. Great. I’m so pathetic even Spawn of Satan pities me.

I let the front door click shut behind me.

Outside it’s grey. Arthouse moody lighting. Like that shit film our media teacher tortured us with – three hours of black and white, some girl wandering round a mansion looking worried/upset/hungry. It was French – nuff said.

I wrap my coat tighter around me and hurry to the back of the yard because I have something important to do.

Willow branches slapping my face marks the spot.

I left the trowel stuck in the ground beside the trunk so I grab it – the handle is freezing. Why couldn’t I have done this at three in the afternoon? Why couldn’t I have done it in summer? On a tropical beach?

I crouch and drive the trowel in. I’m glad this time it’s kind of dark so I can’t see how many worms I kill.

How many wriggly lives have you got to ruin before you take a good hard look in the mirror, Frankie?

Dirt goes flying as I scoop the trowel in and out. This time I don’t have anything to add to my time capsule. I’m digging it up so I can throw it away. The necklace too. And the kitten statue. Every damn scrap of useless crap. The time capsule really was a dumb idea and I don’t even know why I did it. Stupid Daniel. Who wants to be reminded of stuff in twenty years time that they don’t even want to think about now?

I’ve decided to get rid of all my shitty memories, less-than-perfect actions, regrets and epic failures. It’s a fire sale – get in quick for a bargain.

As I’m digging I hear a creaking noise behind me.

You’d think I wouldn’t be surprised by Nate just turning up anymore. But I freak out so much I overbalance and almost fall backwards.

It’s not so dark that I can’t see him, leaning against the fence, arms behind his back. He’s not out of place in this French arthouse film of a morning.

I’m pretty sure the back gate was locked. No such thing as a locked-room mystery when Nate’s around, though. Agatha Christie would have hated him.

‘What the hell? Why are you here?’

‘The Fitzroy pool,’ he says. ‘I know the guy on the morning shift. He sneaks me in. It’s where I shower.’

I stare at him.

‘You asked,’ he says.

I guess that explains the chlorine smell. Not why he’s in my backyard at 6:30 in the morning.

‘I took a walk,’ he says. ‘Ended up here. What’s your story?’

I offer him a smile, just a small one. Because no one else I know wants to talk to me. I’m thin on friends and family.

‘I couldn’t sleep. I have this thing today. Kind of important.’ I drop the trowel. He’s watching me. Intently. ‘You know when a country invades another country and the UN have a meeting to decide if they’re going to bomb the shit out of everyone to stop the bad country from bombing the good country? Well, it’s kind of like that.’

‘So which are you?’

‘The bad country.’

He laughs, just a small one. With his head down. ‘Well, I’d better tell you something before they bomb you,’ he says.

I wait for him to go on, but we end up just standing there, staring at each other.

Forgive me for assuming that was the kind of sentence that has a swift follow up. Never assume, Frankie.

‘I broke a guy’s nose once,’ he says before I can chime in with something stupid.

‘Only once?’

‘And two teeth.’

‘Not bad. It’s not exactly breaking a nose, cracking a jaw and causing PTS with the collected works of Shakespeare, but you can join the teenagers with violent tendencies club. I’m president so I can guarantee you membership.’

‘It wasn’t just some guy.’ Nate takes a step closer, his boots squelching in the mud. ‘It was my dad.’

‘Did he deserve it?’

‘He deserved worse.’ He smiles, lopsided. ‘It’s how I got my first black mark. A fine and community service but it’s on my record.’

‘Which was expunged.’

‘Big word.’

‘I know. I must have picked it up somewhere. From someone pretty smart. For a dickhead.’

He brings both arms around from behind him. He’s holding something thin but square. Like a big piece of cardboard. With a drummer boy on the front. An Ideal for Living. The album is a bit damp around the edges from being shoved deep in a bin but I’m sure he’s still worth a few grand.

‘You stole it? I left it in with the rubbish. With the rotting tomatoes, spoiled meat and congealed fat. How did you –’

‘Saw you dump it.’

‘You were watching?’

‘No, I was hiding because the cops were sniffing around.’

‘And you took it because?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s worth a shitload.’

Oh. Not what I was expecting, but hey.

I drop the trowel and reach out for the vinyl. ‘Four and a half grand. Sure you just want to hand this over?’

‘I’m guessing it’s worth more to you than me.’

There’s a second or two when we’re both holding on, one corner each, and then he lets go and it’s in my hands.

Hey, drummer boy. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble, did you know?

He takes another step closer. ‘I’m sorry about what I said to you.’

‘So you should be.’

A wayward curl covers his left eye. It makes him blink.

‘I mean, me too,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’

‘So you should be.’

I reach up and brush the curl aside. It’s almost a cool move, except my hand trembles and my uncut nail scratches his forehead. So not cool at all. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.

‘You should go,’ I say. I wrap my arms around the vinyl to stop any further embarrassing compulsions. ‘I can’t get into any more trouble or Vinnie will kill me. That’s not hyperbole, you know. For real. Kill me. Do you even know what hyperbole means? It’s when –’

Nate cuts me short by kissing me.

Really kissing me.

Vinnie’s-romance-novels kissing me.

Me-running-through-a-field-of-daisies-on-planet-hot-guy-with-the-music-swelling-to-a-moving-crescendo kissing me.

He pulls me close, both hands holding the sides of my face. His lips are soft – soft like Harold the polar bear’s fur and the guinea pigs and the silk blouse Vinnie wore when she collected me from the police station, me with the note in my pocket from my deadbeat mum. Soft like all the things that ever made life better.

He kisses me, hands sliding down my shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh of my arms, his teeth grazing my lip, his breath mixed with mine.

But I just stand there, clutching the vinyl, arms folded. I’m like a big, dead, wet fish.

Because I mean . . . so . . . just . . . wow. How did this guy become the guy? I try to process this totally unexpected wowness.

While he’s kissing me.

Kissing.

Me.

Until he’s not kissing me because the whole dead-fish vibe overwhelms him and he steps back. He looks as confused as I feel.

‘I don’t know why I did that,’ he says after a whole lot of frowning and staring. ‘I’m sorry I did that.’

I stare at him wide-eyed. I’ve lost my words – maybe they’re still prancing around planet hot guy while the rest of me is here on planet majorly embarrassing. I blink as my brain picks itself off the floor and my body unfreezes.

Okay, so I have processed the wowness and I have reached a conclusion: it must happen again.

‘Actually,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure why you didn’t kick me in the balls for doing that.’

I reach out, my fingers through his bramble of curls. ‘That makes two of us.’

He smiles. It makes me smile.

He steps in again, hands sliding up my arms, across my shoulders, fingers brushing up my neck.

‘Would you hit me if I did this?’ He leans forward, nose gently brushing my cheek.

I tilt my head toward his. ‘Maybe.’

He laughs. His lips pause against my skin.

‘You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?’ We’re so close that when I speak my lips brush his chin. It’s weird how you don’t know how much you want something until it’s right there in front of you, centimetres away.

‘I was thinking about it,’ he says. He grips me around the waist and pulls me closer.

‘Is it just to shut me up?’

‘Partly.’

‘What’s the other part?’

He lowers his head, and . . .

My phone rings.

Shit.

He steps back to give me enough room to squeeze my hand into my jeans. He clears his throat.

‘It’s not me,’ I say. ‘It’s my phone.’

I don’t recognise the number. Bill Green. Or Marzoli.

Either way, it’s too early for a call. A tremor runs through my chest: it could be good news. Or very, very bad news.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Sorry, Nate. Only be a sec.’ I press the phone to my ear. ‘What?’

‘That’s rude.’ It’s a girl.

‘Sorry, no. I thought you were – Do I know you?’

The voice on the other end pauses. She exhales loudly. ‘You’re looking for Xavier.’

‘Maybe. Who are you?’

‘Who are you?’

Nate gives me an eyebrow raise and for the first time I don’t want to slap him for it. Well, not completely.

I go back to the phone. ‘If you don’t tell me your name, I’m hanging up.’

Nate reaches out, his fingers brushing my hips. Maybe I’ll hang up anyway.

‘Fine,’ says the girl. ‘But I saw your poster. Thought you’d care.’

Nate squeezes the tips of his fingers into my waistband and draws me closer. ‘Get off the phone,’ he says.

‘I do care.’

‘I know you do,’ says Nate.

‘Shut up.’

‘You’re so rude,’ says the girl.

‘No, not you shut up. Him shut up.’

‘Who?’

I push Nate away.

‘I’m Xavier’s sister, okay? I am looking for him. What do you know?’

‘Shit. Hang on.’ There’s rustling, heavy breathing and movement. A door closes. ‘Sorry. Mum just got up. I have to go.’

‘Wait –’

‘Meet me at Bellini’s.’ Her voice is harried, whispered. ‘Eight am.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Reenie.’ Another door closes and her voice drops even lower. ‘I’m his girlfriend.’ Her voice catches. ‘I mean, I was his girlfriend.’

‘But –’

She hangs up.