Page 10 of People Skills

‘Okay, I’ll reserve a seat for one.’

‘I don’t need a reserved seat,’ he says.

‘Hillary wants you front and centre,’ I say, all innocence.

He bites his lip, like he’s trying to stop himself saying something. ‘Okay. Front and centre,’ he says, in the tone of a man about to face a firing squad.

5

I HESITATE OUTSIDE Hillary’s front door. It’s five o’clock, and I’m here to collect Xavier, which might involve dragging him out of bed.

Should I knock? He might be walking around naked after his shower. Surely not. But people are weird. He might still be in a hungover fugue state. He fell asleep in a train station. It is not beyond possibility that he has sat down on Hillary’s beautiful cream couch in a towel and fallen asleep and the towel has fallen open and his bits are spilling everywhere. The very last thing I want is to see Hillary’s son naked.

I knock, wait ten seconds, knock again, and then open the door.

Xavier is standing on the other side of the door, reaching to open it, and he makes me jump.

‘Sorry,’ he says, also jumping back. He has showered and shaved, his hair is still wet, and he’s wearing chinos and a dark-blue shirt. His feet are bare. He looks totally refreshed.

He looks, I hate to admit it, almost suave.

If I was as tired and hungover as he was earlier, I would need fourteen hours sleep, a haircut, a cold eye mask, a full bottle of foundation on my face along with ten layers of bronzer, and some kind of rejuvenation IV drip to look respectable again. Apparently he just needs a power nap and a shower, and suddenly, his puffy eyes are bright, his hair is falling artistically, and he looks energised. It’s very irritating.

‘Hi,’ he says. He’s holding a cup of coffee, and Aggie is sitting at his feet.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘You look a lot better.’

‘Looks can be deceiving,’ he says. ‘But thank you.’

He puts the coffee cup back in the kitchen and puts on his shoes, and then follows me out to the car. I smile at him awkwardly and he smiles back at me, also awkwardly, and we drive several blocks in dead silence.

‘I’m not normally like this,’ Xavier says, interrupting the quiet.

‘I don’t judge anyone,’ I say, which isn’t strictly true, but I have perfected the art of appearing not to. ‘Okay, maybe I’m judging the two cans of Coke plus a coffee. That’s a lot of caffeine.’

‘My heart is racing and my eyes feel too big for their sockets,’ he says. ‘But otherwise, I feel great.’

I laugh at this.

It’s a balmy evening, and the town hall is a little warm but not too suffocating inside. The smell, blessedly, is gone. Hillary is standing on the stage, like she was this morning, and she sees me walk in and starts speaking, but then she sees Xavier behind me.

‘Xavier!’ she says.

She frowns, looking between us, and then walks down the stairs and meets us halfway across the hall.

‘What are you doing here so early sweetheart?’ she says.

‘Charlotte was kind enough to pick me up from the train station,’ he says.

‘You did?’ she says, turning to me slightly startled.

‘Yes, I didn’t get a chance to tell you.’ This is an obvious lie since we speak fifty times a day.

I wait, tense, my heart fluttering, waiting for her to catch it, but thankfully her full attention is on Xavier.

‘My god, Xavier, Charlotte is busy, she has a job, she has a life, and that job is not being a driver for you. Wait, why were you on the train?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘Long story, I’ll tell you later,’ he says. That will never fly with Hillary.