About a Girl by Joanne Horniman

Author:Joanne Horniman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Final pages, corrected, Juvenile
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2011-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

LAURA HAD ASKED me over to her room, so I went, not knowing what to expect or what I really wanted.

Fenner Hall was an off-campus university residence on Northbourne Avenue, two tall towers of grey brick with a multitude of small windows. As I chained my bicycle to the rack outside, I noticed a girl squatting in the narrow garden at the edge of the car park. She bent towards a tiny mirror propped against one of the logs, and made up her face. She wore a diaphanous white dress; you could see her camisole and knickers through the thin fabric. It was late afternoon, and becoming quite chilly.

The entrance had a security door. Laura was expecting me, so I sent a text message, and waited. People came and went, and I could have skipped in behind any of them, but I didn’t know her room number. I stood and peered up at the array of windows, long row upon row of them. Michael and I had often wandered past the building late at night or in the early hours of the morning, and there were always lights dotted here and there, no matter what the hour. We thought of it as a repository for restless souls, and speculated that the lights meant diligent students were swotting away.

I glanced at the girl making up her face. She was outlining her lips carefully with dark lipstick, working with an intensity I imagined reserved for works of art. Surveying herself critically, she set to work on her lashes. I wondered whether she was making herself beautiful for someone, or simply for her own satisfaction.

So taken was I by the girl, I’d almost forgotten why I was there, so Laura’s arrival was something of a surprise. Her face had a fresh-scrubbed look to it, and she was dressed casually in trackpants and singlet, as though she’d been working out and had just had a shower. She swiped her card to let us both into the building.

‘Have you been here before?’ she asked. I hadn’t, so she offered to show me round. Downstairs, we peered into spacious common areas facing out to courtyards, but I was only interested in looking at Laura. She often wore her fair hair loose, but today it was pulled back from her forehead into a thick plait that shone under the fluorescent lights.

It was a self-catering residence, and there was a whole basement floor dedicated to rows of identical kitchen units made up of bench, sink, stove, fridge and table. Students, singly and in groups, clustered around preparing or eating food. Laura showed me the unit she shared with three people; they all cooked at different times, and she hadn’t really gotten to know them. ‘I’d like to find someone to cook with,’ she told me. ‘It’s lonely eating on your own.’

I followed Laura into the lift. Her trackpants sat low on her hips and her singlet was tiny, revealing a strip of tanned skin around her narrow waist.

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