Page 56 of People Skills

Hillary doesn’t like to acknowledge that Xavier is working at Simone’s.

‘Well, he might, I don’t know what he’s doing,’ I say.

‘Tell him to call me if he can’t make it.’

I am certainly not going if Xavier’s not going. There’s no way I will let him not go. Which Hillary knows. I am her way of making sure Xavier turns up.

When I get home, I find Xavier in the backyard, pulling out weeds.

‘So we’re having dinner at your mum’s house tonight with James,’ I say.

‘What? No,’ he says.

‘Well, I’ve kind of already said yes for us both.’

‘Why is she inviting you?’ he says. ‘Sorry. That sounded rude. No offence.’

‘I assume she invited me to make sure you come.’

He frowns, stretching his neck to the side, looking at me through his messy hair that really needs a cut.

‘James is a shit and he’s going to be a shit tonight too. You sure you’re up for this?’

‘It’s fine. I have brothers, remember?’

‘He’s got eldest-brother syndrome.’

As an eldest sister, I bristle at this.

‘What’s that?’

‘Domineering golden child with a chip on his shoulder.’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’

‘He’s a dickhead but he can also be a lovable dickhead. You’ll probably like him by the end of the night.’

‘So what does that make you?’

‘The youngest child, the spoiled screw-up.’

‘You’re hardly a screw-up.’

‘Well, you haven’t heard my dad’s side of the story,’ he says.

‘I know your mum’s side well. And that version says you’re the genius.’

‘I’d rather be the screw-up, to be honest,’ he says.

17

I WAS GOING to drive to Hillary’s, but Xavier saw the keys in my hand, and he shook his head, and pulled them out.

‘You’re going to want to drink tonight,’ he says. ‘We both will. We won’t survive otherwise.’

I wasn’t planning to have more than one glass of wine, but maybe he’s right. Maybe we need a couple to get through this. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk. I’ve put on a pair of heeled boots that are a tiny bit too small, which I thought would be fine when I saw them on sale, but they are actually desperately uncomfortable. But I can’t bring myself to wear sneakers to Hillary’s house the first time I am there as an invited guest. I need to distinguish sneaker-wearing Charlotte who goes into Hillary’s house to restock her soap from fancy leather-boot-wearing Charlotte, who is an interesting, sophisticated guest.

‘Is what I’m wearing okay?’ I ask Xavier, doing a spin for him. I’m in a white shirt that Hillary always compliments because it’s from a French brand and ‘she can always tell when something is French’, wide-legged pants, and the dreaded boots. My hair is out and loose around my shoulders after I tried to put it in a cute updo I saw online and failed miserably.