How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(4)

Tor shrugs and attacks her eggs Benedict with surprising savagery. Pre-noon booze and righteousness have clearly built an appetite. I wince as she jabs her knife into the yellow jelly-ish domes, popping them and letting the yolk ooze out like pus.

‘That reminds me, have you been watching Dr. Pimple Popper? She’s squeezed out some mindblowers this series.’

Tor rolls her eyes at me. ‘Oh look, there’s Ben. Shall I wave him over?’ But she’s already doing it, so I don’t know why she bothered asking me.

‘Ladies.’ Ben (3,100k followers) is our friend Hen’s brother.

Yes, Ben and Hen.

He oozes like Tor’s eggs as he pulls out a chair without being asked and sits between Tor and me. He thinks he’s a total supermodel after getting a gig collaborating with a second-rate men’s fashion line. I mean, he’s not bad looking if you’re into really, really pretty boys who preen themselves and eye up women all day. He’s recently had a sleeve tattoo done and it reminds me of a mug I saw on Etsy saying, ‘It doesn’t matter how much ink you get, you’ll always be a mainstream cunt.’ He makes me shudder. Mostly because he looks like Hen in a wig.

‘You’re both looking very lovely this morning.’

He’s speaking directly to my boobs then brays like a posh donkey as he looks up at Tor and me. ‘You pair look all right too!’

Tor hoots with laughter that I pray isn’t real.

I smile sweetly but what I really want to do is take my spoon and scoop his eyes out, then use the back of it to smash them like the avocado on my sourdough.

‘Poor Kits is being hounded by that maniac again,’ Tor says to Ben, who isn’t listening. He’s busy trying to see down the waitresses’ tops when they lean over tables. ‘I’m telling her she should just carry on as normal, so he knows he’s not getting to her.’

‘He’s not getting to me,’ I attempt to interject.

‘Totes,’ Ben agrees, reclining back into his chair, with the arrogance only a rich, white man can possess, spreading his arms out wide. ‘Wait. What?’

‘Kitty’s stalker’s stalking her again.’ Tor frowns at him. ‘Have you always been this irritating?’

Ben nods, grabbing a roll from the breadbasket on the table. I won’t be touching that now. I don’t even want to think about where his hands have been. ‘Yeah, babe, it’s why none of you lot will go out with me.’ He laughs and Tor rolls her eyes again. She’ll end up with vertigo if this continues. ‘What you need is a night out, and some hot photos. Show the sicko you don’t care. It will make him so crazy,’ he says, nodding at me. Ben clearly has some nefarious anecdote about why this works but I’m not in the mood for his particular brand of misogyny right now.

‘We should go out tonight!’ Tor says, because she loves any excuse to go out and get annihilated. Even me being stalked by a maniac. ‘Get Maisie and Hen involved too. We haven’t had a proper Girls’ Night Out in aaaages.’

By ‘aaaages’ she means about a week and a half. Before Maisie and I went to Marbella. She’s doing the puppy-dog eye thing too. And her eyes are just so huge and brown and pleading that even I find her impossible to resist.

Ben stretches his arm out and around the back of my chair. ‘You know, I could tag along and pretend to be your boyfriend if you like, Kits? Scare him off with my extreme manliness.’

Ben has professional blow-dries and tints his lashes.

‘I think I’ll be all right, thanks.’

And so, it is decided. A Girls’ Night Out is ‘exactly what I need’ along with posting some ‘seriously hot pictures to the Gram’ to prove that I’m not going to be intimidated by mind games. It’s the last thing I want to do tonight but my friends can be very persuasive.

There’s a reason we’re called Influencers.

I’m not the biggest fan of girls’ nights out at all to be honest – in fact they’re something I detest with the full coldness of my heart – but I’ve quickly learned they’re something I have to tolerate. Aside from the whole clichéd female bonding experience, the worst thing about these nights is that they inevitably end up revolving around men. Either Maisie will be found sobbing in the loos about some prick who’s dumped her. Or Hen and Tor will be on the prowl for anything with a pulse and a penis. These ‘girls’ are educated, well-travelled women yet put them in spitting distance of anyone with a Y chromosome and a bit of chest hair and it’s like being on a hen party in Magaluf.

I’d imagine.

I can barely contain my unexcitement.





4


CALLOOH CALLAY, CHELSEA

We start the night off in Callooh Callay, which is one of the few places I can tolerate without wanting to stab someone in the eye with a cocktail stirrer.

It’s moderately busy when we arrive. Most people are outside enjoying the hot summer evening. We order cocktails and check out who’s around. Tor gives a half-wave to a group of other girls – we call them The Extras. We’re not really friends, but they seem to be omnipresent on nights out – and in our comments sections. I’ve looked them up on Insta, obviously, and their follower numbers aren’t particularly impressive. A couple of them could learn a thing or two from watching my make-up lives.