Page 3 of People Skills

‘But I don’t have any way of getting from the station to Barwon Bay.’

I resist the urge to tell him about buses, and taxies, and Ubers.

‘I’ll be there to pick you up,’ I say, as if there’s nothing else I would rather do than ferry this man around. I am getting him to tonight’s event come hell or highwater. Hillary will be in a mood for at least a week if he doesn’t show.

‘All right. Okay. Thanks,’ he says. He does not sound thankful.

‘One-thirty train. From Southern Cross station,’ I say. ‘The regional trains are on the platforms that are further away from the entrance, so leave plenty of time to get there. I’ll see you at three.’

Does he need me to explain how to buy a ticket? How to board a train? No. I trust this grown man can navigate those tasks. I stop myself from telling him to text me if he doesn’t make it because I don’t want to put the option in his head. Sometimes if you just give people a time and a plan, they will go along with things even if they don’t want to.

‘Wait, one more thing,’ he says. ‘Is there any chance you can avoid mentioning this to my mother? The car trouble and getting the train and picking me up?’

He sounds so pathetic I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

I leave a beat of silence.

‘I’m not going to lie to Hillary,’ I say. I’m not going to lie to Hillary for you, is what I’m really thinking.

‘Not lying. Not lying. Just not mentioning the person you’re getting from the station is me.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I say.

‘I really need you to not tell her this.’

I don’t care for his insistent tone.

‘Why?’

‘Because she might want to pick me up herself, and I…just don’t want to see her right now.’

I don’t bother to point out how unlikely it would be for Hillary to set foot in a train station.

‘Okay, I won’t. See you at three,’ I say and hang up.

It takes a lot to make me hate someone before I’ve even met them, but Xavier might have achieved it.

2

COLIN IS NOT dead. He’s just been on an early lunch break. Well, he doesn’t think it’s early.

‘I’ve eaten lunch at ten-thirty every day of my life,’ he says. ‘Dinner at five, bed at eight, up at four.’

‘Up at four?’ I say.

‘Yes. And don’t drink too much water. Kids these days are so worried about water. I have black tea with breakfast, cordial with lunch and a nip of brandy with dinner. It’s the secret to a long life,’ he says. Then he pauses. ‘Not that I’ve had a long life yet. I’m only seventy-four.’

‘Of course.’

‘Now, this smell.’

‘It’s coming from under the floorboards.’

He nods.

‘Well, we better get under there.’

I watch as he carefully lowers himself down to the stage floor and unlocks a trapdoor I had no idea was there. We both stare into the darkness. There’s a ladder, but I can’t see the floor.