Page 13 of People Skills

I have no idea what intervening would involve, but I know that Hillary will do it and I’ll be tasked with organising it.

Before she can say anything further, Jamila returns, followed by Antonia, and I make my escape.

6

I’M STANDING AT the back of the hall, watching as Hillary welcomes the crowd. Xavier’s reserved seat at the front is empty. Hillary’s eyes will go to it and she’ll be pissed off. No, she’ll be hurt. Pissed-off Hillary I can deal with, but hurt Hillary is harder. Rarer.

Then someone moves to stand beside me, and I turn, and see that it’s Xavier. Thank god. I resist the urge to wave to Hillary and point him out to her. He’s here, don’t worry, one of your children is here. Is it normal for her to want her children to witness her successes, even after so many? Or is it a symptom of something else: loneliness, emotional manipulation, insecurity? I don’t know. Hillary’s career is so singular that it’s hard to compare her to other parents of adult children. After her time as a political reporter, she had a stint on radio, then she pivoted from politics to the arts, helping to launch a theatre company, moderating events and doing a lot of speaking gigs and developing the television show Women You Should Know, each episode a deep-dive interview with a notable Australian woman. Hillary was not just the creator of the show, but the host, and when it was cancelled, it was a huge blow to her ego. And now she’s moved back to her hometown to launch a writers festival. ‘The town is small, but my vision is big’ is her personal motto for the festival. She wants it to eventually rival the Melbourne and Sydney arts festivals in scope and talent. And she has the connections to make that happen.

All her children live in her shadow, whether they want to or not.

‘You came back,’ I whisper to Xavier now.

‘I came back,’ he says, putting his hands in his pockets and giving me a quick smile. Smiling Xavier looks very different from serious Xavier.

I watch him as he watches his mother, his face impassive. Hillary is funny and articulate, as always, and maybe a touch self-indulgent, talking of her passion and her vision for the festival, and why it is so important to her, but she thanks the town for embracing it, the council for supporting it, and her wonderful team who will be making it happen.

Hillary moves from her introductory speech into her conversation with Antonia Li, and then, after several blessedly short and to-the-point audience questions, invites the audience to enjoy a drink and mingle.

My eyes are on Grady Anderson. He’s standing up, talking to someone but watching Hillary. Of course, he wants to suck up to Hillary. That’s why he’s here. She has a higher profile than he does, which he can’t stand, but he also needs to reassure himself that she’ll make a fuss of him. He’s the author of five literary crime novels, one of which won the Miles Franklin, but his sales have declined in recent years. If he’s here, it’s because he wants to be programmed in the festival.

Hillary is chatting to several audience members and has several more lining up to talk to her. Her eyes meet mine and I raise my eyebrows in a do-you-need-saving way, and she nods her head slightly.

I weave through the crowd until I reach her. A woman is talking very quickly and using a lot of animated gestures to get her point across. I catch the words ‘younger generation’ and ‘this country’.

I smile and politely break into the conversation. ‘Hillary, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Diana called and wanted me to give you an urgent message.’

There is no Diana, obviously. A fake urgent message is Hillary’s standard escape plan. I have been rotating through names from the British monarchy, waiting to see when she will notice. (She hasn’t yet.) Hillary excuses herself with several apologies, and then huddles next to me with a faux concerned face so it looks like I am giving her very important information from Diana.

‘So, Xavier came back,’ she says, looking at him over my shoulder.

‘He did. He was here for the whole event.’

‘Good. I just wish—’

Her voice is drowned out by a loud exclamation behind us.

‘Hillary!’

It’s Grady. I’d know his voice anywhere. He is a man incapable of speaking in a normal tone. He bellows. He booms. Or he drops his voice very low, making you strain to hear. I swear he must have read a business book years ago that highlighted it as an effective power tactic. Change the volume of your voice, keep them on their toes!

I see the corner of Hillary’s mouth twitch, her eyebrow arch slightly, before she flattens her expression into a smile. She doesn’t like Grady. Good.

‘Hi, Grady,’ Hillary says, moving towards him.

‘Wonderful to see you, Hillary. Good talk tonight. I don’t always agree with Antonia politically, but she’s quite interesting.’

I slowly turn around, keeping my face angled away from him, hoping he’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice me.

‘Thank you. And thank you for coming,’ Hillary is saying to him.

‘I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve been waiting to see what you’d do next, after what happened to your show. Terrible, to lose it. The state of the media in this country is a disgrace.’

I have been looking at the ground throughout this conversation, trying to remain out of Grady’s notice. This seems the perfect moment to slip away. I take half a step sideways, but Grady’s gaze lands on me.

‘Charlotte,’ he says, sounding surprised.

I swallow down the burst of anxiety I can feel rising from my chest to my throat.