For telling my mum I’ll be back by ten, ten thirty at the latest, for paying for your smokes at Caltex and lighting yours for you, for drinking from the same bottle of vodka.

For lighting that fire on conservation land so you’d know I’m a bad boy, for pulling all the liquor out of my bag and saying I had no room to bring a tent, for setting up your tent just the way I like it.

For throwing my promise ring into that rock pool, for saying You oughta dive in and get it, for saying Wet T-shirt contest! and cackling and standing above, kicking water on you.

For cooking your sausages, for asking you to dish out the coleslaw and buttered white bread, for saying I shoulda married you instead.

For laughing at your weekly dates that never turn into relationships, for saying there’s no good men out there, ’less there’s something wrong with you, for guffawing.

For storming into the pines, for letting you cheer me up, for making you put down your ciggies and smoke something else.

For making a bonfire, for my knee touching yours, for stroking a twig out of your curls.

For saying I should’ve brought something warmer than a singlet, for flexing my biceps as I rubbed my goose flesh, for asking Who’s gonna cuddle me? in a baby voice.

For spinning the bottle, for letting the bottle point at you, for saying You don’t have a boyfriend, you got no excuse, you hafta spin.

For letting the last witnesses stumble into their tents, for saying Let’s play Truth Dare or Promise, I’ll go first, for pressing your shoulders into the sand.

For saying you’re beautiful.