How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(20)

I want to live in a world where I don’t have to keep my keys between my fingers in case I’m attacked walking home. Not that I do that. I find a serrated hunting knife and a syringe of GHB much more reassuring. I want Hen or Maisie or Tor to be able to make the journey from wherever we are back to their homes without having to ping the WhatsApp chat that they’re safe. I want to be able to walk around my beautiful London – this pocket of it at least – with earbuds in.

I remember this Influencer Party from a while back – however many rings of hell there are supposed to be, this place was an added extra. Everyone who attended was given a sparkly wristband with the influencer’s particular branding on it. I can’t even remember what the fuck it was about, some interiors shit. I arrived – with Hen – and the PR girl ticked our names off the list.

‘Here you go.’ She smiled and handed us two wristbands – one gold and one blue. Hen made a grab for the gold one like the magpie she is. ‘Oh no, sorry, no.’ The PR grabbed the bands back. ‘The gold one is Kitty’s and yours is the blue.’

Hen gave her dagger eyes as she slipped on the blue band. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’ she stage-whispered to me as we followed the red carpet into the venue, me squeezing the gold band onto my wrist. At the end of the red carpet there was another identical PR girl, guarding the entrance to the event like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell.

‘Can I just check your bands please?’ she almost sang at us. ‘Okay, blue guests are slightly further down the hall. Gold guests, through here and up the stairs to the SO VIP area.’

‘Excuse me. The what?’ I’d asked as Hen stared, jaw almost hitting the peep toes of her Jimmy Choos.

‘It’s the super VIP room. Where anyone with over a million followers on Instagram goes. It’s incredible. There’s even a hot tub,’ she whispered, like we would be impressed by a blow-up pond of STI soup.

‘But my friend can’t come up?’

The PR shook her blonde bob. ‘No. But there are loads of great people in the Blue Room who can talk to you about how to build up your followers.’ She smiled at Hen. ‘Isn’t that really useful? Great for networking.’ She raised her microbladed eyebrows and nodded encouragingly at Hen.

Hen opened her mouth to say something, but I knew whatever words were on their way out were not to be said out loud.

‘Actually, we’ve got another event we’ve said we’d pop in to and I don’t have a swimming costume with me, so I think we’re just going to go.’

Hen remained rooted to the red carpet, staring at Cerberus.

‘Come on, Henrietta.’ I slipped my arm around her shoulders and guided her back the way we’d come.

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘Clearly some stupid dick decided it would be a good idea to split guests by how “influential” they are as an Influencer.’ I made a puke face.

‘That’s a really shitty thing to do,’ Hen said. Her face looked like a balloon when the air starts to come out of it. She wasn’t wrong. It was gross and what a way to make people feel super terrible about themselves.

‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Fuck this shit anyway. Let’s go and get drunk at mine and watch True Crime.’

She stared at me for a beat, then smiled, ripping her wristband off and handing it back to the other gatekeeper of hell at the first door.

‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I’d said, giving mine back too.

‘Wait, wait!’ she’d called after us. ‘Did you get a picture for Insta with the wings? Did you get your SO VIP goodie bag, Kitty?’

I turned back round.

‘Ram it, Cerberus.’ I linked my arm through Hen’s as we went laughing into the night.

Anyway, the purpose of this little anecdote is, yes, I know it’s not all men. But unfortunately, they don’t come with coloured wristbands so we can tell the difference between the good guys and the bad ones. So there needs to be a system. It’s my calling. I hear you. And I’m coming.





16


THE BOTANIST, SLOANE SQUARE

Urgh. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, at one of my favourite eateries in SW1, to meet Maisie’s new boyfriend, Rupert. Joel is dead and long forgotten. By Maisie, at least. I asked her about him earlier and her eyes glazed over.

‘Oh, him,’ she’d said, laughing. ‘He lived with his parents, Kits. What was I even thinking? Wait ’til you meet Roo. You’ll adore him.’

I take a deep breath as I walk in and spot Tor and Hen already seated. Hen’s eating bread, which is never a good sign, and Tor’s looking around helplessly, knowing any moment, Hen will head to the loos and throw it all up. Is she nervous? Why would she be nervous? We’re only meeting Maisie’s new boyfriend.

I love the Botanist. The flowers outside make it seem like that gorgeous time of year where April bleeds into May and the cold, dark nights are such a distant memory it feels like they might never return. Considering the blistering heat we are still having, with no rain for weeks now, someone must be out there almost constantly watering the beautiful garlands that stretch round the awnings.

‘Hiyeee,’ Maisie says, as she ushers me into a seat next to Hen, while Tor’s smile is so glaringly fake, it could be seized by border control. ‘I’m so excited for you to meet Roo. He’s just over there, getting drinks in.’