Page 72

‘No, stay,’ Xavier says, touching my arm. I look at him. I told him I would stay if he asked me, but that was last night. Everything from last night feels suspect, murky, like it happened in a dream.

I nod and smile at him, and Hillary says, ‘Yes, Charlotte, stay and have brunch with us. I have bagels and eggs and orange juice.’ She opens the fridge and frowns. ‘Wait, I don’t have juice. Or bagels.’

‘Oh, I’ll run and get some,’ I say.

‘No, no—’

‘Honestly, it’s fine, I have to go down the street anyway.’ I feel a sudden, urgent need to get space between me and Xavier.

‘I’ll go with you,’ James says, startling me and also Xavier, who makes a don’t-you-dare-both-leave-me-here face at us. James gives him a smug little smile and wave from the doorway, and I shrug and mouth sorry, and Graham and Hillary look excited at their chance to have Xavier alone—another lecture incoming perhaps. Hillary sits down on one side of him on the couch, and Graham sits on the other.

I’m amused, until I realise that now I’m alone with James.

‘So, what is it really like to work for my mother?’ he says, when we’re in the car.

He lowers the window and then puts it back up, lowers it again. I want to childlock it.

‘It’s great,’ I say.

‘Oh sure, I bet you love getting her dry-cleaning and doing all her errands.’

‘I do,’ I say. ‘It’s what she’s paying me for.’

He gives me a long look. ‘You’re a hard one to crack,’ he says.

‘In what way?’

‘I can’t tell when you’re lying and when you’re not. And I’m very good at knowing when people are lying.’

‘Just assume I’m not lying.’

‘Or maybe I should assume you’re always lying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘What’s it really like living with Xav?’

‘It’s great.’

He laughs, shaking his head.

‘You are way too involved with my family.’

‘I definitely am,’ I say, turning into a parking spot outside the supermarket.

‘Is Xav okay? In your opinion?’

I ponder this. ‘He is. Especially considering.’

‘Considering what?’

‘The breakup, the book pressure, being homeless, hitting rock bottom.’

James shakes his head. ‘Oh please. His rock bottom is living with a hot blonde by the beach. Sorry. Is it okay if I call you a hot blonde in this context?’

‘I’ll allow it,’ I say. Maybe deep down the only reason I went blonde was so I could be casually referred to in this way. All my feminist ideals have left me. But going blonde is very expensive, the upkeep is exhausting, so I need to enjoy any perks I can get.

‘My rock bottom was a lot worse,’ James says.