“What’s it like being on the game?” a man asks. He’s sitting next to me on the carpet. I turn to face him. His hair is short, dark blond, and looks a little greasy. He has stubbly cheeks and a goatee.

“Where did you come from?”

“You keep asking me that and the answers still the same – Elanora Heights.”

That isn’t what I meant, but I don’t want to appear rude. We’ve obviously been involved in conversation – a conversation I’m too drunk to remember. I’m furious with myself for telling a stranger what I do for work. I only do that when I plan to charge them. He doesn’t look like he can afford me. Another out-of-work, surfer type as far as I can tell.

“So what’s it like?” he says again.

I unscrew the cap on the bottle of Smirnoff in my hand. I gulp some down. It burns inside my chest. I look around the lounge. It’s spinning. We’re the only people awake. Others are curled up on the sofas, and dotted around the floor, asleep. “What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Stix.”

“Can you get any smack, Stix?”

“I knew you were on the gear.” He grins and his cheekbones become even more prominent. “People like us, we can tell.”

“We can. Can you get some then?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, standing up.

I already gave Lorna money earlier in the evening to buy smack. If she’s still here then I don’t need Stix, but it’s good to have a back up plan. I walk around the dimly lit room, looking for a body wearing my black, Moschino dress. There isn’t one. I go through to the hall and then the kitchen. There’s no one around. It would seem that the party’s over.

I’m too drunk to walk up the stairs in my heels. So I slip them off first. On the upstairs landing, all four doors are closed. The first door I open is the bathroom. There’s a woman on her knees, bent over the toilet. She’s snoring. I close the door quietly. In first bedroom, there’s four naked people entwined and asleep on the bed. None have Lorna’s long, blonde hair.

Slowly, I open the door of another bedroom. My black, Moschino dress is on the carpet by the side of the bed. Lorna is asleep under a duvet. There’s a man in the bed next to her. I can only see the back of his head. He has short, brown hair. I hope it’s not Mickey.

“Lorna,” I whisper, crouching by the side of the bed.

She doesn’t stir. I shake her shoulders gently. “Where’s my gear?”

“I’ve done it all,” she murmurs.

“But I gave you half the money.”

“You shouldn’t have had a hit without me then. You had one without me, so I had one without you. That’s how it goes big nose.” She turns in the bed, facing away from me.

Before I leave the room, I have to know if the man in bed with her is Mickey. I didn’t want to sleep with him before. Well, I did, but I couldn’t. But I don’t want her to.

I creep around to the other side of the bed. The room is dark. It’s hard to see. I take my lighter from my handbag. I hold the flame in front of the man’s face.

“What the fuck are you doing? Pyro-fucking-maniac!” Lorna shouts.

The guy, who isn’t Mickey, opens his eyes. Immediately, he sits upright. “Don’t do it, man.”

“I’m not… never mind.” Looking down at the carpet, I walk towards the door. “See you around, Lorna.”

Holding the banister, I carefully navigate my way down the stairs. I pick up my Louboutins when I reach the bottom. I’m not going to bother putting them on, not while everything’s spinning. I return to the lounge to find Stix. The goatee-surfer-man isn’t where I left him. I take my place on the floor again, sitting cross-legged, and wait.

My eyes are closing. I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting here for. I’m not wearing a watch. I never wear one. Time goes too slowly when I do. It feels like I’ve been sitting here for at least an hour. I’m in a stranger’s house where everyone else is asleep. I’ve nowhere else to go, not until Lorna wakes up. I don’t know how to get back to the Radisson from here. Lorna drove us. I don’t even know where I am. Some place called Dee Why. It doesn’t even sound like a real place.

It’s Christmas Day and I couldn’t feel any more lonely. I wish I was with my sisters and my brother back home in London. I don’t want to stay in Sydney anymore. I don’t want to be heroin addict. I don’t want to be a hooker. I don’t want to be anything.

“You said you wouldn’t try this again.” Lorna’s voice is harsh.

“I didn’t. I’m just sleeping.” I twist my body, turning to face her. My hotel suite still appears to be sinking. I struggle to keep my eyes open.

“You look fucked.” She sits down on the edge of my bed. “Where did you get the poison from?”

“How did you get in?”

“I had to get reception to open the door. If you keep OD’ing, I don’t wanna waste my time with you. This isn’t fun, Nicole. You better still be coming to the party.”

“I am. I didn’t OD. I just held a bit back last night. I was just topping up.”

“I’ve been hanging out all day, and you had some left!” Lorna throws a bag of heroin on the bedside table. “Gimme the spoon. You’re not having any more.”

“But I gave you half the money.” I open the drawer in the bedside table and take out the spoon.

“You can have yours later.” She snatches the spoon from my hand. “Go get dolled up. I need to borrow a dress. Can I have that Moschino one?”

Reluctantly, I slither out from under the covers. I walk over to the wardrobe and find the black dress Lorna wants. “Be careful with it. It’s one of my favourites.” I pass her the dress on the hanger.

My legs are unsteady as I head for the bathroom. I run the shower. I need to wake up and that should help. I brush my teeth then wash my face. My head is pounding. Smack does that sometimes, and especially after nearly overdosing I’ve found out in the last twenty-four hours. While I’m in the shower, I hear Lorna come through. She pulls the shower door open. Cold air rushes in.

“Mickey might be there tonight. I’d suggest you steer clear,” she says, holding the shower door open.

“What’s wrong with him? I thought he seemed nice.”

“He’s dangerous. That’s all I’m saying. What are you going to wear?”

I’m all goosebumpy with the cold air coming through. I hurry washing my body. “I don’t know yet.”

“Wear the purple dress. That would’ve been my second choice.”

The purple dress falls halfway down my calves. It’s high-necked too. It’s one I use for clients, so I look the part – and not like a hooker – usually at formal events. I don’t want to offend Lorna with my opinion of her taste. But I don’t want to wear that dress tonight either.

“What type of party is it?” I ask, rubbing conditioner through to the ends of my hair.

“A house party. I told you.”

“Don’t you think that dress is a bit too much? I’d be more comfortable in my black skirt and a top.”

“Wear what you want.” She slams the shower door.

I quickly rinse the shower gel from my body and the conditioner from my hair. I think about Mickey. I don’t want to stay away. He seemed so nice. A gentle soul is the impression I had of him. I guess Lorna might know him better. She must do. I’ve spent no more than a few minutes in his company.

In the suite, I step into my short, black skirt. Lorna looks at me disapprovingly. I look away. I rummage through the tops hanging in the wardrobe. I brought two large suitcases with me when I flew out here to Sydney. I’m not a discriminative packer. I’d have taken every item of clothing I own if I could have. I choose a purple top. That’ll keep Lorna happy, I hope. It’s something purple.

As I apply my make up in the bathroom, Lorna comes in. I see her face in the mirror above the sink. Her expression is hard. “C’mon, let’s go,” she says.

Hastily, I draw the black line above my lashes. “I haven’t done my mascara.”

“You don’t need it.” She grabs my arm, pulling me out of the bathroom.

I do need it. My lashes are blonde. Mascara opens my eyes up. I can’t say the words. She tosses my Louboutins at my feet. I slip them on. I run back through to the bathroom. I grab my mascara and pop it into my handbag. She can’t stop me applying it once we get there.

I know she’s angry with me. I can tell. I hate people being angry with me. I feel guilty. What happens to me is always the same – I lose my adult self and feel like a child.