Page 9 of People Skills

‘I doubt it. She had a bunch of meetings and then she’ll probably go straight to the town hall,’ I say. Her car isn’t here and there’s no way she would walk from the office to her house in her good clogs.

He looks at me pitifully.

‘I can go in and check,’ I say. I need to drop off Aggie’s skin medication anyway.

‘Thank you,’ he says, closing his eyes again and nestling his head back on the headrest.

I get out of the car and walk up the winding path to Hillary’s front door. It has a fancy keypad lock, and I know the code. When Hillary interviewed me for the job, one of the selling points of moving here she kept emphasising was ‘Barwon Bay is the kind of town where no one locks their doors’ and then later I realised she meant, certain people don’t lock their doors, people with nothing to lose maybe, but she most certainly locks hers, and she has a whole elaborate security system in place.

I punch in the code and walk into Hillary’s house. It’s big and airy and recently renovated, with warm white walls and a huge painting of the ocean and a custom-made oak side table holding a vase of fresh flowers greeting you as you walk in. It’s the kind of beautiful coastal house that always somehow looks like it’s ready to be shot for a magazine.

Aggie comes trotting out to meet me, her claws clacking on the wooden flooring, and I pick her up, giving her cuddles as I put the medication in the fridge. I call out for Hillary and when there’s no answer, I carry Aggie back out with me to the car.

Xavier has fallen asleep again. I can hear him lightly snoring. Lovely. His passenger-side window is open and I hold Aggie in the window and let her enthusiastically lick his face.

Xavier shouts, lurching awake.

‘Fucking hell,’ he says, wiping his cheek.

‘Sorry, she really wanted to say hi,’ I say, biting down my smile.

He looks back at me through the window. He’s still without a trace of humour. But he puts an arm out and halfheartedly pats Aggie’s head.

‘Well, the coast is clear,’ I say. ‘No Hillary.’

‘Thank god.’

‘You should nap,’ I say.

‘I will.’

‘And, um, shower?’

‘Also on the agenda.’

‘Do you want me to come back and get you before the event?’ I ask. Like I’m his goddamn chauffeur to get around town, but I really don’t trust him to wake up in time to get there.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he says, now up and out of the car, and beginning the painful process of getting his suitcases.

‘It would be my pleasure,’ I lie. I hold Aggie and watch him slowly drag the two suitcases and backpack onto the lawn and then up Hillary’s driveway, moving at an excruciatingly slow hangover pace.

‘I just need an hour or two,’ he mutters. ‘And then I’ll be fine.’

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or just hyping himself up.

‘Hillary has Hydralyte and painkillers in her bathroom cabinet, in with the first-aid stuff,’ I say, holding the front door open for him.

I follow him down the hallway. When we get to the lounge room, he finally pulls off his hood, as if only just realising it was still up. His thick brown hair is standing up a little. He runs his fingers through it. Then he grabs the bottom of his hoodie and starts taking it off, and at first I think he has nothing on under it, because his torso is exposed, long and lean and tanned, and the sight of it shocks me. A little noise comes out of my mouth, a surprised noise, an are-you-getting-naked-right-now noise, but his T-shirt is just stuck to the bottom of the hoodie and it drops down after a moment, covering him.

Once the hoodie is off, he tosses it onto the couch. I look away, embarrassed that I was staring, that I made a noise.

‘Thanks for picking me up,’ he says, rubbing his eyes.

‘You’re welcome.’ I pause. ‘I guess Lana isn’t coming? Hillary asked me to reserve two seats.’

His expression flickers.

‘No. No, she’s not coming.’