How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(21)

I look over at the bar and instantly spot what can only be described as a Blow-Dry in Red Trousers. I can feel Hen’s eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. I can’t even look at her, I’m already having to bite my tongue until I taste blood. Rupert is Maisie’s classic type. Her string of exes all look exactly like this. It’s partly why I found her attraction to totally-against-type Joel so weird.

‘He’s so nice,’ she stage-whispers in my ear.

Rupert heads back to the table, precariously carrying a tray loaded with drinks. Maisie stands up to help him. He gives me a smile that is nothing but gums.

‘Kitty, this is Rupert Hollingworth – my boyfriend. Roo – this is Kitty Collins, Instagram star and one of my very best friends.’

He puts the tray down on the table and holds out a hand and – as I move mine to shake it – he lifts it to his lips and kisses my fingers. My mind wanders to the hand sanitiser in my bag.

‘A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you, Kitty.’ He holds my gaze in a way he probably thinks is charming, but is actually just creepy.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Rupert.’ I smile at him and quickly pull my hand away before we all sit down and Maisie squeezes up to me gasping about how amazing and handsome Rupert is. I nod in agreement, pleased how happy she is, even though I have a feeling this will end in the same way as every other Hooray Henry she’s dated. With her heart in bits.

‘He was at Eugene and Jack’s wedding,’ she says and I think I have to be impressed by this, so I pretend I am.

Rupert can clearly hear Maisie’s ridiculous fawning over him and doesn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. He pours me a glass of Veuve.

‘So, how exactly did you guys meet?’ I ask. Hen rolls her eyes. She’s obviously heard this story several times. Tor stifles a giggle into her glass.

‘Fate,’ Maisie sighs.

‘He’s Maria’s brother,’ Hen says. ‘He’s been in various institutions for the majority of his life.’

‘Maria? Institutions?’

‘Extra with the bad tit job. Boarding school then Harvard, via Oxford.’

Ah, of course.

‘We probably met when we were kids,’ Rupert says to me. ‘You see it on social media all the time, don’t you? Naked toddlers in a paddling pool meeting up years later and recreating the photo.’

‘Do you?’

‘Kitty’s childhood was a bit more Carrie than Little House on the Prairie,’ Hen says.

‘Of course, our very own Pork Princess. How’s the dead animal business?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t have anything to do with it.’

Rupert looks dubious.

‘I’m serious. Apart from the apartment, which my mother paid for, I live from my Instagram money. I have no interest in literal blood money.’

‘But you must be worth millions?’ Rupert’s highly educated brain is struggling. ‘What’s going to happen to all that money?’

‘Well, my mother is doing a jolly good job of spending a lot of it in the South of France.’ I smile. I turn to Hen, not wanting to keep this conversation going in this direction. Talking about money like this is tacky, Rupert and his expensive education should know this.

‘Where’s Grut tonight?’ Hen’s been fucking the frontman of one of her dad’s signings on and off for about six months. They either seem to be engaged in weeklong shagathons or she’s screaming about what a cheating dick he is and drinking herself into a coma.

‘I think Sweden.’ She shrugs. ‘Some shitty showcase thing. Dad’s over there with them. They’ve taken the yacht so you can imagine the kind of trip.’

‘I’ve got a yacht,’ Rupert says. ‘Probably not quite in league with your dad’s though.’

Hen’s dad has a ridiculous superyacht as well as a fleet of slightly smaller boats in various moorings around the world. We usually take one of them out several times a year. James was happy to teach me to sail, seeing as Tor was far more interested in lying on the deck and working on her tan.

‘I’ve given in and joined Tinder,’ Tor says.

‘And how’s that working out for you?’ I ask.

She takes a big gulp of her drink. ‘Well, I’m not going to be finding the love of my life on there, but I’ve had three pretty decent fucks this week. One thing I will say about dating apps is that they’ve normalised casual sex so much, men now don’t need their map app to find my clit.’

A few people look around in horror and Rupert stares at her. His jaw on the floor, until Maisie nudges him in the ribs.

‘I don’t care,’ Tor continues, just as loudly. She’s addressing the table of slightly older women next to ours. ‘I have a clitoris, I am a woman and I enjoy getting my brains fucked out. Anyway, aren’t your gen supposed to be all Sex and the City and sexual empowerment?’

They ignore her.

‘They’re all married,’ she says. ‘Probably haven’t seen a cock in months.’

Christ. How much has she had to drink?

‘That leaves you then, Kits. Anything going on for you action-wise?’ Maisie is desperate to make Rupert feel comfortable. But putting this on me is a terrible idea.

‘Tons of action. Just a few weeks ago I killed a man by stabbing him through the eye. Then I chopped him into pieces and fed him into the mincers at one of my meat factories. There are probably a few sausage-roll fans chowing down on him as we speak. Before that I killed a creep who followed me home and threatened to rape me because I didn’t fuck him for buying me a few glasses of shitty wine. And have I mentioned my dad?’