How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(31)

Charlie gets an impressive round of applause and then Jenna begins talking about the dots of ash thing. He heads back over to me. ‘Wanna get out of here?’ he whispers.

‘Yes please. If that’s okay?’

‘Hey, babe, you’re with the boss. Everything’s okay.’ He winks again, but it’s far more suggestive than the one Jenna got and my soul is immediately soothed. ‘I’ve just got to say a few goodbyes and we can go.’

The ‘few goodbyes’ actually take forty-five minutes as Charlie flits around and says goodbye to everyone on the planet while I nurse a glass (paper cup) of warm white wine and watch him. He’s so easy-going and it doesn’t escape me how many of the women look at him with doe-eyed admiration.

Adam, Adam, Adam, my brain screams at me out of nowhere. I imagine there are amber warning lights flashing around in my head too. I shake the memories away.

Eventually Charlie makes his way back over to me and hustles me out of the door.

‘Quickly, before anyone else tries to talk to me,’ he whispers in my ear, close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck.

‘So, what would you like to do now, Kitty Collins?’ he asks when we’re back outside in the sticky evening air. It’s so humid, it feels like trying to breathe in soup. ‘A drink? Do you have a glamorous event you need to attend? A photoshoot?’

I laugh. ‘A drink sounds good. But could we go somewhere a bit less …?’

His turn to laugh. ‘Yes, let’s definitely go somewhere a bit less.’

We wave down a black cab and have it take us into the centre of town. We stop by Green Park, deciding to walk until we find somewhere ‘less’ enough.

‘So, what did you think of it?’ Charlie asks, smiling, those dimples making me feel like the most important person in the world.

‘It made me feel quite uneasy actually,’ I answer, honestly.

‘Yes!’ He turns to me, those green eyes sparkling. ‘That’s exactly the way it’s meant to make you feel. That and fortunate, spoiled. We see so much of the suffering on the news that it’s easy to become desensitised to it. What the pieces do – especially the one with the kids – is show it to us simply. It’s even more awful in a way, don’t you think?’

I nod. He’s right. I feel ignorant and spoiled.

‘What happens to the others? The ones who don’t make it?’ I ask.

‘The kids? Well, lots of pretty terrible stuff can happen. They can be kidnapped and trafficked, some are subjected to horrific abuse and killed, others just don’t even last the boat journey to safety.’

‘And you help them?’

‘We try to. We do as much as we can to educate, to help get mums and kids to a safe place and to reunite anyone who’s been separated. It’s hard though. It’s a very corrupt world and obviously funding is an issue.’

‘Do you get very hands-on?’

He takes a deep breath, which he exhales quickly, making his cheeks puff out.

‘Yeah, I spent quite a lot of time in Kos helping with the refugee crisis over there, as well as in Calais. We set up some places to feed them, made sure there were warm blankets and clothes for when they arrived. But it wasn’t easy. Seeing families torn apart, people having to leave lives, careers, relationships they’ve been building for years, it’s horrible.’ He looks at me, concern etched on his gorgeous face. ‘You’ve gone quiet. What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, it’s just very humbling, I guess. It’s hard when your privilege hits you right in the face.’

‘True – it can be. But you also have to realise that everything is relative. You could have and be everything you want in the world and still be unhappy.’

I shiver.

‘Look,’ he says. ‘There’s a pub there. Let’s go and get a drink. This really has been far more righteous than I intended.’





23


THE GRAPES ON THE VINE PUBLIC HOUSE, W1

We head into a smallish pub, one of the only places that isn’t bursting at the seams with Londoners and tourists making the most of the long evening and beer garden weather. Of course, there’s a reason this particular venue isn’t packed and that’s because it smells very strongly of damp. Which, mixed with a long humid summer and bodies everywhere, isn’t very nice.

‘We can go somewhere else?’ Charlie says as we take our drinks to a table with actual seats, sniffing the air and making faces.

‘And trade the luxury of space for standing room only and being squashed at the bar for forty minutes trying to order? No thanks.’

‘Well, if you’re sure you can stomach the stink. It smells like something died in here. I got you something, by the way.’ He grins in a way that makes him look like a shy schoolboy as he fishes around in his pocket. ‘Here. They were selling them on one of the stalls on Oxford Street. It’s silly really.’ He hands me a small paper bag with the Union Jack emblazoned on it.

I open it and pull out a key ring. It’s a small, white cartoon kitten, wearing a Union Jack T-shirt, with a pink bow on her head.

‘Hello Kitty!’

‘I warned you not to expect much.’

‘No! It’s cute. I love it. Thank you.’

There’s a moment of silence. Not exactly awkward, but loaded with … something. ‘I haven’t got you anything. Sorry.’