How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(71)

‘Added a few little touches to the Ruben Reynolds scene. When did you get so careless? Don’t worry, Kitty I’ve got your back. But you need to start playing my game properly now. I’ll be in touch.’

So, the stalker does have plans for me after all.





60


GREEN PARK, LONDON

Despite it now being technically autumn, the heatwave is persistent. And now I’m feeling more like I can cope with real life, Charlie decides what I really need is a picnic. I hate picnics, but just to show how much this man is changing my life for the better, I’m willing to do this for him.

‘I don’t get the point of eating outside with no table service,’ I whine as he packs a hamper full of food. ‘Sitting on the floor.’

‘It’s romantic,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how familiar you are with the concept of romance, but trust me.’

‘But. Wasps. Ants.’

‘I will slaughter them for you.’

‘Hello? Vegan.’

‘Fine. I’ll shoo them away in a humane manner. Happy?’

I pretend to sulk, but actually I am happy. Ridiculously happy.

We head to Green Park in an Uber and set up our picnic in a not-too-crowded spot when my phone buzzes.

It’s from Hen. ‘Daddy’s having one of his parties. He’s adamant that you come and bring Charlie.’

James Pemberton’s parties are the things of legend. He’s always throwing these Gatsby-style affairs, usually when he’s signed a naive singer or band he knows will make him a ton of money. Growing up, we used to live for James’s parties, they were more raucous than the ones my parents threw – and usually filled to the brim with celebrities and models. And drugs.

‘Hen’s dad’s having a party,’ I say. ‘He wants us to go.’

‘Do you feel up to it?’

I think for a moment. ‘You know what? I do. But what about you? I mean, they’re pretty wild.’

Charlie laughs. ‘Let’s go. We’ve been cooped up in your flat for much too long. We need to remind ourselves how to socialise with other humans. Plus, we’re still relatively young, I believe.’

I tap out a reply. ‘We’ll be there. Any theme?’

James loves a theme.

‘Oh yes, Eighties cinema #eyeroll’

Yep. This was going to be pretty painful.

Weirdly, Charlie is more into the idea than I thought he would be.

‘I think it would be great to get to know your mates better,’ he says.

‘Really? I thought you thought they were vacuous airheads who don’t care about me?’

He grins. ‘I’m always happy to be proved wrong. And you can’t go wrong with some Eighties cosplay. So, who are we going as? Two out of four Ghostbusters? Doc and Marty? ET and Elliott? You’d have to be the funny-looking alien, of course.’

‘Hilarious. To be honest, anything that involves any kind of heavy make-up or prosthetic is totally out. I’d die in this heat.’

Charlie looks up at the sun, which is angrily glaring down at the planet. ‘Yeah, good point. How about Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke in 9? Weeks? They don’t wear a lot, from memory.’ He wiggles a strawberry suggestively in front of my lips.

‘I’ll bite your fingers off,’ I warn him. ‘Seriously though, if you’re going to do this, you have to do it properly. People really go all out at James’s parties. It’s like this huge thing.’

‘I am still capable of having fun, Kits. I’m not your carer.’

I watch Charlie for a long time as he eats and pours us sparkling water – I’m off the booze for a while as I’m meant to be letting the anti-depressants I’ve been prescribed kick in – and make myself a promise. I promise that I won’t do anything to wreck this. And that I won’t ever kill again. Not only could I not live with myself if I made another mistake, but this wonderful man who has saved my life can never know what a monster I am.

I lean in and kiss him.

‘I love you,’ I say.

He looks at me, tilts his head slightly and brushes my cheek with his thumb.

‘I love you back.’

And just for that moment, everything is perfect. But there are still a few tiny loose ends I need to deal with before I can put this all to bed.

And keep it there.





61


OAKTREE CARE HOME, OXFORDSHIRE

My heart is racing in my chest as I pull into the driveway of the care home. I’ve not visited before, but I’ve looked at the Grade II–listed building several times online, trying to imagine him there, imagine his life there. It looks nice enough. Ivy climbs the walls and the gardens are pretty. There are lots of flowers in bloom and the front lawns are startlingly green, even in this heat.

Adam always liked flowers.

It can’t be cheap, but I don’t think money has ever been an issue.

I take a deep breath in, count to five – and out, count to five, and sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. Of all my demons, this is going to be the toughest one to face. I keep up the breathing exercise as I get out of my car and head towards the double oak doors.

A receptionist is sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, surrounded by fake orchids. There’s a large blue sofa in the lobby, as well as a couple of well-used armchairs. The walls are painted a warm yellow and have a scattering of framed prints on them. All warm colours and cosy scenes. It all feels very homely, which is obviously the intention. It feels more like a hotel lobby than a care home. Apart from the smell. The bleach and misery reek of hospital. I walk to the reception desk and the receptionist, younger than me, skin to kill for, gives me a huge but eerie smile.