How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(55)

‘Chairete, Cavoo Resort,’ the receptionist answers.

I feel my heart freeze. ‘Um … oh, hello? Do you speak English?’

‘Ah English yes, yes. How may I help you today?’

‘I was a guest at the hotel about a week and a half ago and I think I may have left something in the room.’

‘Ah okay, one moment. I put you through to housekeeping.’

There’s an excruciating wait as I’m put on hold, forced to listen to some tinny Greek folk music.

‘Hello, this is housekeeping number. How may I help you today?’

‘Oh hi, I was a guest a week or so ago and I think I left something in my room?’

‘Okay. No problem. You tell me which room?’

‘Er, it was a Platinum Villa. Azure, I think.’

‘Okay. Azure. You stay there I will look in book. Thank you.’

And I’m back on hold, listening to the ear-bleeding music again. I feel like I’m waiting for ten years before the phone is picked up again.

‘Hello miss? There is nothing here from Azure suite. Sorry. Have a good day now.’

‘Wait, are you sure? Nothing that might have been given to, I don’t know, the police or something?’

There’s a laugh from the other end. ‘Why we give anything to police? Your room clear. Sorry. What you loss is not here. Good bye.’

‘Thank you,’ I mumble but the line is already dead. I’m beyond confused. My phone pings and the Instagram app tells me that I’ve got a DM. I sigh and open it.

‘What happens in Mykonos stays in Mykonos. Or does it?’

The Creep is back. This is exactly the opposite of what I need right now. I grab three Vallies, knock them back with a neat shot of vodka – I’m still working with Greek measures – and head back to bed.

An almost continuous ringing eventually brings me out of my drug coma. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark. It takes me a few moments to realise the ringing is coming from my door buzzer. Police? Wouldn’t they just let themselves in or get one of the concierges to? I stumble blindly to the door and see Tor standing outside. Or a version of her. She’s in flat shoes, jogging bottoms and a cap.

‘Kitty. Open this door now.’

Urgh. I rub my eyes and open the door. Tor storms in, switches on lights, heads to the bar, pours two glasses of expensive Sauvignon Blanc and parks herself at the kitchen island before she even speaks to me.

‘Sit,’ she orders.

Not really understanding what is going on, I pull out one of the bar-stools (Danetti, lime green faux leather) opposite her and sit down. I take a sip of wine and Tor slams a bag on the island between us. It’s a plastic bag from one of the gift shops in Mykonos.

‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Open it.’

I don’t need to open it to know what’s inside. But I go along with her anyway. Tor is clearly not in a mood to be messed with. I unwrap the bag and pull out a red sundress and pink blazer covered in dried blood. Tor is eyeballing me like a psychopath. But I could still kiss her.

‘What the fuck?’ she says. ‘And don’t bullshit me, girl. I know you.’

There’s silence while I weigh up whether to tell her the truth. But before I can speak Tor is scrolling through her phone and starts reading a news report out to me, the one about the three missing men.

‘Tell me that this’ – she gestures at the dress – ‘has fuck all to do with this.’ She waves the phone in the air. ‘No bullshit, Kitty.’

And so, I take a deep breath.

And I tell her everything.





47


THE BALCONY, KITTY’S APARTMENT, CHELSEA

That’s what I let her think anyway. Of course I didn’t tell her everything.

‘I had a miscarriage,’ I say, stunned at how easily the lie comes out as we sit in the late afternoon sun. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone because I hadn’t even told Charlie and didn’t know what to do about it. It’s partly why I wanted to get away. To think. He thought I was cheating on him, I was going to tell you. But then you were attacked and this happened that night after … and I couldn’t say anything then. Not after what you’d been through. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just shoved the clothes I was wearing into the wardrobe.’ I’ve managed to make myself cry, probably because I’m such an awful person. Who lies to their best friend about something like this?

I suspect a monster.

‘Kitty, you should’ve told me.’

‘You’d been raped, Tor. It was hardly the time to make it about me.’

‘So you went through it all alone. Don’t ever do that again.’

‘Sorry,’ I mumble. And I am. For letting her believe something that wasn’t true.

‘Are you okay? Now, I mean. How do you feel?’

I sigh. ‘I’m okay. Please don’t tell any of the others though. I don’t want it getting back to Charlie and him feeling like he has to talk to me. It was obviously not meant to be. I don’t want to dwell on it. It’s gone.’

Tor keeps staring at me and tops up my wine. ‘I wish you’d told me.’

‘I wasn’t even very far gone. It can’t have been more than four weeks or so.’