Page 71 of People Skills

‘That would never happen,’ Xavier says.

‘Maybe it would be nice,’ I say. ‘Don’t all kids of divorce dream of getting their parents back together, or maybe that’s a major misconception I absorbed through pop culture.’

‘The thought of them getting back together gives me heart palpitations,’ James says, dramatically touching his chest.

‘That’s your cholesterol,’ Xavier says.

‘Don’t joke. This is serious. I could be going into shock.’ James glares at Xavier, as he stretches out on our couch, fluffing the pillows like he’s settling in for a while.

‘At least Dad’s gout didn’t hold him back,’ Xavier says.

‘Mum was on top, so it probably did.’

‘Jesus! Gross. Do not give me any more details,’ Xavier says, whacking James. ‘Mum is going to be wondering where you went,’ he adds.

‘I’m not going back to that house alone,’ James continues.

‘Well, I’m not going,’ Xavier says. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Doing what?’ James says.

‘We’ll all go,’ I say, before it can descend into an argument. ‘I need to drop some dry-cleaning over to Hillary anyway.’

James suddenly blinks and looks at Xavier as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Wait. What did you do to your hair?’ he says.

Xavier runs his hands over his buzzed head and smiles at me.

‘Something different,’ he says.

19

XAVIER, JAMES AND I walk up to the front door of Hillary’s house.

James looks pale. He takes a deep breath. ‘Knock loudly,’ he says. ‘Really, really loudly.’

I do. There’s no answer. I knock again, and Graham opens the door.

‘Here he is,’ he calls out behind him. ‘With Xavier and… um…everyone’s here.’ He smiles at me, too bright, as if the smile can make up for him obviously forgetting my name.

I smile back (strained) and walk in with the dry-cleaning, and Hillary greets us.

‘Thanks Charlotte,’ she says. ‘Xavier! My god. Your hair.’

‘I shaved it last night.’

‘Why?’ She looks aghast.

‘It was getting too long.’

‘He was looking very surfer bum,’ James says.

‘Now he looks like a thug,’ Graham says.

Hillary steps closer to Xavier, examining him, frowning.

‘You look nice, darling. And don’t worry, it’ll grow back soon.’

‘I’ll leave you all be,’ I say, turning to go, suddenly feeling acutely like a stranger crashing a family function. I am scanning Hillary for any signs that she’s different, that she’s done the unthinkable, that she had sex with her ex-husband, but she looks normal. Her hair, maybe, is a little less put together but that’s to be expected on a Sunday morning. She’s wearing make-up, just a little, enough for me to notice, but again, nothing out of the ordinary. She always does her face. Is she more dressed-up than usual? No, if anything, she’s less. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, tucked in, and she looks young and fresh. Maybe that’s the sign.