-Not bad.

-How's Abdullah?

-Good.

-Tell ya about the other day, when I hung out with him?

-No. Why, what'd you do?

-Just hung out and that.

She either didn't know or didn't care. The former, thankfully, was more likely.

That chick had gotten away. Bolted off without her pants and started yelling. They'd left the park straight away after she'd run, rather than chase her. Thankfully. Went and had another session with the pot they'd found in the chick's jeans. Abdullah had promised Charlie that next time, next time he'd get his end in. She wasn't an Aussie anyway, Abdullah had said, and wasn't enough of a s.l.u.t for all the boys to have a go. He did want to get his end in, but maybe not with a chick who's forced to do it with him. The way her voice sounded when she was running. It made him feel so sickeningly low. But Abdullah had promised that he'd get him laid. And even though the promise seemed more like a threat the more he thought about it, he had to come up with a way of getting out of receiving it. But he didn't want to tell Mia about it. How could he? Abdullah was her boyfriend. And why was Abdullah letting him see what he did to girls? It terrified Charlie that someone, who was now so close to their family, could have such alien ideas. He'd have to play along for now, he thought, because he'd rather have Abdullah think that they were friends than - what would they be if Charlie told Mia, or worse, Dad? Enemies?

-You feeling all right? he asked his sister after some silence.

-Yeah. I'll be okay, she replied.

FIFTEEN.

A plank of early afternoon sun lit Sonja's face as it broke through the sheet covering Whitey's window. She had the softest breathing when she slept, like a puppy. He moved his arm from under her and kissed her forehead. She woke and smiled. He loved that smile. It was for him, and he couldn't help grinning back, and kissing her again.

-Let's go shopping, he suggested.

He bought a longneck of Coopers and they walked through the plaza close enough to smell each other. Sonja was in her school uniform and people stared. So Whitey kissed her hair. In Panties 'n' Things he bought her some bra-and-underwear sets. He let her pick them, and was impressed by her taste. In Grace Sisters he bought her a pair of Lee stretch jeans, but was asked to ditch the beer. At Fonetastic he bought her and himself pre-paid mobile phones. They had honey chicken and beef with pepper sauce at Happy Chef in the foodcourt and then went back to his flat. Sonja laughed and tossed the shopping bags aside and then lay on top of him in her new bra and jeans.

-I love you so much, Patrick, she said. I want to move in here with you.

Whitey was suddenly aware of the stubble on his chin. He felt oldish.

-Sonja, baby, I'd love that too - but what about ya mum, and ya dad?

-They can stay where they are.

-Sonja, they won't like it.

-But I like it. I want it.

-I want it too.

-I want to stay here tonight.

He hugged her and they watched TV until they fell asleep in front of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. He woke in the still, black part of the morning and turned off the religious show that had been chasing his dreams, and knew that this daughter had now chosen him.

Sonja's eyes were something new in the morning. They were hungover from her last dream. They looked like innocence to Whitey, but also, nonchalance. Like her thoughts were anywhere but here, with him. Sonja got up to urinate.

-Good morning, baby, he croaked.

She didn't answer. She coughed and Whitey hugged her when she came out of the bathroom. There was still a lot of that dream in her eyes. She lay back down and closed them.

-Do you want coffee? he asked. Do you drink coffee?

-Mnmm.

-Okay.

He switched on the kettle and threw some powdered coffee into a couple of mugs.

-How many sugars?

-I don't know. How many do you have? I'll have the same.

Sonja sat up and wiped her mouth.

-My mum'll be freaking out, Patrick.

The front door was open as Whitey and Sonja got up to the Marmeladovs' flat. They walked in and Whitey could smell some of Sonja in the room. It was overwhelming, the familiarity and the foreignness of this place. The mother was sitting at the formica table. With two other people. Cops. f.u.c.k. Of course. He'd seen the car outside, but this was nothing unusual for Brunei Court's carpark.

-Sonja! her mother exclaimed. My G.o.d, Sonja!

She stood, the mother, but didn't go to Sonja. She looked to Patrick White, who had just become too aware of his arms. He moved them and interlocked his fingers as the mother said something - in Russian, he supposed.

-Sonja, the female cop said, shifting her chair to engage her. Are you okay?

-Yes. I'm okay.

-Are you a relative? Or family friend? the cop asked Whitey.

-Um, yeah, a friend.

The male cop got up. And hitched his heavy belt.

-And what's your name, sir?

-Patrick. White.

-Let's just step outside, sir.

Just outside the door, which the cop closed, Whitey was already missing Sonja's smell.

-How do you know Sonja, mate?

-I'm her friend.

-How long have you known her?

-A while. A month. Or two.

-And your address?

-Here. In Brunei Court.

-Why don't we go up to your place, have a talk there.

On the way up to his flat, Whitey again felt something familiar and foreign. He'd been through this s.h.i.t before with the cops. But Sonja hadn't. Should he lie? He'd never worried about lying to the cops before. Or keeping things to himself. What would Sonja keep to herself?

There was also the cold familiarity of incarceration. Or at least the familiarity of dealing with people trained to treat you as incarcerated.

They stood in his flat.

-Do you have some ID here somewhere, mate?

-Yeah. Licence.

-What happened to Sonja last night?

-She was with me.

-Do you know her mother was unaware of Sonja staying out last night?

-No. Well yeah, I guess.

-Are you having a relationship with Sonja?

-I guess.

-s.e.xual?

-I'm her boyfriend.

-And how old do you believe Sonja to be?

-She's a teenager.

-Yes, she's a teenager. And you're how old, sir?

Whitey looked at his sink. With the two coffee cups in it. He didn't answer.

-I'll just have to check your ID down at the car, mate. Stay here for a while, okay, we'll come and have a word with you shortly.

The flat was raw. Concrete walls. Sink. It smelt only of himself. Sonja had taken her scent home with her. Whitey smoked a few cigarettes. Drank tap water. Both cops came back, and told him that Sonja and her mother had decided to leave things the way they were now, with Sonja staying at her mother's place. Whitey was not to go over there and to avoid any further contact with the Marmeladovs. No charges would be pressed. The constables were aware that Patrick White had recently done some time.

-It would be a good idea to stay well away, the male cop advised him. The girl could get you into trouble.

Whitey went out for a walk. There was too much of that imprisoned feeling growing. You learn to live basically when you're in prison. You take some solace in it. But this was complex. A complex stripping of liberties. Nevertheless, it brought back his sentence. He'd been able to not think about it, to move forward. Because of Sonja. But now it came flooding back.

You have the basics in jail. Water. Shelter. Food. Company. The taps are like outdoor domestic ones. But stronger, and unbreakable by hand. And the water tastes like a garden tap's: tinny - flavoured by the corroding pipes. The thick walls only let in a faint, filtered figment of the elements. And though removed of choice and taste, the food was looked forward to. And you could talk. And bulls.h.i.t. Or confess. Or listen, and try to work out what was bulls.h.i.t. Whitey had tried, in his first few weeks inside, to think that things could be worse. He could have been dest.i.tute, or dying slowly and painfully. But it was best not to look for comparisons. Or to think too much about anything. Especially time. The way he'd been made to pay. It was an experience that would one day be over - gone with the accompanying slice of his life. Things could only be worse if he was serving more time, like most of the other guys in there. So he kept this thought to himself and watched the other guys, without looking, or being seen to look. Whitey was thankfully excused, because of his short term there, from the bulk of the politics. There were networks of hatred. Allies. Dogs. c.u.n.ts. But they did all live together. Mostly the hatred just simmered. And mostly it was misdirected. True enemies existed outside the walls of H Block.

These bricks of memory began to mesh and set with the present. So he walked and tried to direct his mind into another stream. He hadn't drunk or smoked pot or had any speed while in jail. He hadn't really missed it either. There were drugs in there, but Whitey couldn't afford them, and no one had offered to blow him out. He'd have to be careful now, if he was going to play along with this new imprisonment, as he'd be under surveillance now. Sonja's gone. Drugs'll have to go, for a while, he thought. Or I'll have to move. Because the cops, he knew, wouldn't look away for long this time.

He did want Sonja though. And really, he was prepared to defy law and family to be with her. It all depended on her.

They both cried when she turned up later that afternoon. They cried and hugged in the kitchenette. Until Whitey broke from her, and wiped his face with his T-shirt.

-So, he said.

-I'm going to stay here, with you.

-The cops'll come and get you.

-My mum won't call them. She hates them. They weren't very nice to her before we got there this morning. She hates them anyway. So does my dad. They always have, I think. She says I made her desperate though. Now she knows where I am, she won't call them.

-What did your dad say?

-He doesn't know. Mum isn't going to tell him. Until he's better. Until he comes home.

-So you're mum's just letting you?

-Well, I won't be seeing her anymore.

-What do you mean?

-She said to make a choice. If I thought I was old enough to have a boyfriend, I was old enough to make a choice. Between her and you. And I'm here, Patrick.

-f.u.c.k.

-That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for, she said.

-No. No, not a bad f.u.c.k, I mean, you know, it's heavy, but I love you. You know.

-So. Can I stay?

They hugged and kissed and had s.e.x in the kitchenette, Whitey pulling her close to get her scent on him. Because each inward breath that caught her scent excluded everything in the world but her, and his immediacy with her.

After, they lay on his mattress, Sonja with her head on Whitey's chest. Home and Away was on, but it was just providing a perfect half-light.

-What about your family, Patrick, you've never mentioned any of them once. Tell me about them.

-I don't talk to 'em. Well, haven't for years. I think maybe we don't care for each other, at least not the way your family cares about you.

-Tell me why.