Page 123 of People Skills

‘Oh, I…’ I say, not sure how to even begin to respond to this terrible, terrifying idea. ‘I’m nobody. I can’t do an in-conversation.’

Hillary gives me a long look.

‘You are not nobody. You are somebody. This festival wouldn’t exist if not for you. And you used to be an editor. You know how to engage with the work.’

‘People will expect a better in-conversation person than me.’

‘First, this session is conceptualised in a way that it can only be you, that you are the most interesting person to do it. Second, I hate to say it, but the audience doesn’t care who the chair is. They’ll be there for Xavier. A good in-conversation partner is someone who has no ego, who doesn’t centre themselves, who knows how to manage an audience and a conversation. Someone with great people skills. You’re perfect.’

I am nodding along as if this session is something that will happen.

‘I’ll talk to Xav. Or do you want to?’ Hillary says to me, barrelling ahead without noticing that I haven’t agreed to anything. She is also clearly under the impression that Xavier and I are still friends, that we still talk.

‘Um, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s best if you do it. More official.’

I am very confident he’ll say no. I know he’ll say no.

‘Okay, leave it with me, I need to find the right approach,’ Hillary says, looking slightly more relaxed than she did a moment earlier, so that’s something. ‘Great brainstorming, you three,’ she adds, and we all work hard to keep straight faces. Jamila has closed her notebook and placed her hands over it.

Fifteen minutes later, Hillary comes running out of her office with such force I think there must have been an accident. Or, worse, she’s found that evidence of Graham cheating. She’s holding her phone in her hand, as if ready to show me an explicit video. I will not recover if I have to see Graham’s genitalia.

‘Ettie’s in labour!’ Hillary announces.

‘Oh wow,’ I say. She’s not due for another few weeks, and we thought Hillary would safely get through the festival before the baby arrived.

‘I’ve got to get to the hospital,’ she says.

I remember Hillary telling me that Ettie doesn’t want any family at the hospital until after the baby is born. But I guess labour can be quick.

‘Graham and I are going to sit in the waiting room,’ Hillary says.

‘Ettie’s okay with that?’ I ask.

‘She doesn’t know. I won’t barge in without her permission. I just want to be close, in case she needs me. When I was pregnant with Ettie, I thought I didn’t want my mother, I told her to go on a cruise, of all things, which meant she would be away in the lead-up to my due date, and she went, and then when I actually went into labour, my god, I wanted my mother so badly I sobbed for her. For weeks, she was the only person I wanted. Not Graham. Certainly not my mother-in-law. Not my dad. Just my mum. So I want to be there for Ettie, in case she feels the same way. Sometimes you don’t know who you want until it’s too late.’ Hillary pauses. ‘I can also keep Robbie’s mother out.’

I feel unexpectedly emotional at this, at young Hillary crying out for her mother.

‘Right. Shall I keep Aggie?’

‘I’ll take her up with me, I might be there overnight,’ Hillary says. ‘I only need one thing from you,’ she says.

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘Get Xavier to agree to the session. He’s much more likely to say yes to you than me anyway.’

‘Oh. Sure. Okay.’

Just that little task.

‘I’m off,’ Hillary says, and she’s gone, leaving me with the one job I absolutely cannot do.

37

I IMAGINE MESSAGING Xavier. But what would I say? I can’t pitch the idea over text, the first message I send him can’t just be this huge block of words. And if I say something like, Hey it’s Charlotte here, can you call me about something, he’ll think I’m pregnant. Unless I put in brackets (I’m not pregnant) but that’s much worse. And if he gets wind that it’s about the festival, he’ll ignore me.

It has to be a phone call. The written word is full of traps and tricks, absolutely ripe for misinterpretation and overanalysis. A phone call, where we’re both so stressed we’ll basically black out and not remember any of it later, is much better. But what if he doesn’t answer? Am I going to leave him a voicemail? Yuck. A voice note? Only if I want to spend the next ten years of my life imagining my tinny voice whining through his headphones.

It reaches mid-afternoon and it’s becoming apparent I don’t have the capability to do this.