Christos Tsiolkas - Barracuda

And Wilco, of course Wilco has to say, ‘So who’s sleeping where?’

I look at my cards, the red and black numbers, the sharp diagonals of the kings and queens. I hear Coach say, ‘I am sleeping here,’ and look up to see him pointing at the sofa. ‘Danny has the front room; you and Taylor are in the spare bedroom.’ And before Wilco can say anything, Coach adds, ‘It is fair. Danny got here first.’

Wilco isn’t going to argue; even when he is in this odd lively mood, no one is going to argue with Coach.

And then Martin says, ‘Anyway, Kelly deserves it because he’s the best — he’s the best swimmer of any of us.’

Wilco sneers, ‘Says who?’

There is a beat; then Coach orders, ‘Come on, off to bed!’

But bloody Wilco isn’t going to let it go. He’s still sneering at Martin. ‘What’s going on between you and Kelly, Taylor? You bum pals — is that what’s going on?’

‘Nah,’ replies Martin coolly, and winks at me. ‘Nah, we’re just best friends.’

I can’t think about Demet and I can’t think about Luke. I wink back at Taylor. ‘Yeah, we’re best friends.’

After brushing my teeth and going to the toilet, I walk back through the lounge. Coach has a sheet folded over the sofa and is laying a blanket across it.

‘Thanks for tonight,’ I blurt out. ‘Thanks so much, Coach, it was fantastic.’

‘You had a good time?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I keep saying. ‘Yeah, it was a brilliant night.’

Coach is eyeing me keenly. He comes over and pats my chest. ‘You are strong here, Kelly, you can feel it, no?’

I’m not sure what he means, I know my pectorals are getting more developed, more powerful. I can feel that.

‘Next competition, I want you to compete in the butterfly. I think you will do well at it.’

I’m confused, I don’t know why he’s saying this. The butterfly is effort and skill and sheer bloody hard work. My body doesn’t know the butterfly, my body knows freestyle — my body knows that is my stroke.

‘Trust me,’ says Coach, as if he has read my thoughts, as if he is far ahead of me. ‘Listen to your body. I think the butterfly may be your stroke.’

The sheets are flannelette and far too hot. But the mattress is firm and comfortable and I know sleep will come easily. It’s not like being in a strange room — it is like I have always slept here, it is as if I am home in this room. I’m not thinking about the trip to Adelaide, I’m not thinking about the competition, I’m not thinking about swimming, or my strokes. I’m not thinking about Demet or Luke. Martin said we are best friends. All I can think of is that Martin said we are best friends; and that it feels as if I’m home.

‘Are you really sure you want to go home?’

Luke had a smartphone in his hand and another device that Dan didn’t recognise clipped to his belt. They were sitting in the Qantas lounge of the Hong Kong International Airport, on their second beer each. Luke apologised every time he had to check his phone. Dan told him not to worry, waved his OK as Luke grimaced and said he had to take the call.

Dan didn’t mind. He slowly sipped his beer, enjoying the thought of being in Asia, being one continent closer to home. He knew he wasn’t really in Asia, he was in the limbo of international transit. But the waiters and bar staff were all Chinese, and there were woody, spicy flavours coming from the Cantonese buffet. It wasn’t Scotland, it wasn’t Europe. It was one step closer to home.

He had been shocked by the tears stinging his eyes when the plane broke through the slate-coloured clouds and the islands of Hong Kong had appeared below. He had drawn in his breath: at the luminous sheen on the greens of the forest, the deep shadows of the water, the vivid clarity of the light. The European skies, seas and land were all muted beauty; these dazzling stepping-stone islands seemed of another world, one much closer to his home.

Luke had suggested they meet in Hong Kong. I can change my flight , he had emailed. I don’t need to be in Seattle till Thursday morning . Dan had four hours to kill before his connecting flight to Melbourne. He had hardly dared hope that he could meet up with his old friend, but when he checked his mail at a computer terminal at Heathrow, Luke had confirmed that he’d managed to change his flight. We can get drunk in Honkers , Luke had written. I miss you, Kelly, I can’t wait to see you .

But their first minutes together had been awkward. Dan was conscious that he smelled of the flight, and that his clothes were awful — a frayed mixed-blend hoodie and ugly baggy trackpants. Luke was dressed in a well-cut charcoal suit; he had the physique of a gym fanatic, and was sporting a neatly trimmed beard, which suited him and gave him gravity and solidity. Luke had wrapped Dan in a wrestler’s embrace, and feeling the silken beard against his cheek, and the strength of his friend’s muscular arms encircling him, Dan had marvelled at how they were no longer boys, that they were finally men.

Luke returned from his call and fell back into the club chair opposite. It was then that he had asked, unable to disguise his incredulity, ‘Are you really sure you want to go home?’

The question had brought back those last awful weeks in Glasgow; he could feel shame flame his cheeks. Clyde’s fury, all his regret and disappointment had been channelled in snide, bitter attacks on Australia. Go back to that fucken arse end of the world . Dan had worn the vitriol stoically and that had only enraged Clyde further. It had been a relief for Dan to get to London, to disappear into that vast, unknowable metropolis. He had rented a room at a hostel in Shepherds Bush, and apart from the most cursory of exchanges with his fellow plasterers and labourers on the cash-in-hand jobs he managed to find advertised on Gumtree or pub toilet walls he had not spoken a word to anyone. He’d had enough of words. No words had been able to appease Clyde.

He didn’t know how to answer Luke. He was trying to form an explanation, not sure that he could convince his friend, but Luke had already launched into a torrent of conversation, and didn’t wait for Dan to answer — it was clear that he was also feeling the unfamiliar and unnerving distance between them. ‘Katie and I can’t imagine going back to Australia. China has spoiled us, mate, every time we go back to Melbourne it’s like we’ve stepped back in time. The complacency, the inwardness, the self-satisfaction, it gets on your nerves.’

Dan nodded and feigned agreement; he had no defence and in the pit of his belly that familiar feeling of humiliation started to bite. He had no retort to Luke’s argument: the return had to be a retreat, the future was China and the EU and Luke’s world of trade and exchange and frequent flyer points. It was a cosmopolitan future that baulked at return, for return would always be a backward step. The future was change — how could Dan even admit his longing for things to stay the same?

‘I’m looking forward to the summer,’ he said, giving an embarrassed smile. But that was also the wrong thing to say.

‘What’s so great about an Australian summer?’ Luke countered. ‘I’m so sick of all the Aussie ex-pats banging on about how great our beaches are, how good our weather is. That’s what vacations are for, to get to a great beach, to experience the great weather. That’s not the real world,’ he ended accusingly.

The word is holidays , Dan wanted to spit out, we say holidays, not vacation . But he kept sipping at his beer, wishing they would call his flight, wanting to be in the plane, next to a silent stranger.