How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(76)

‘What?’

She nods. Wipes her arm over her face.

‘Your dad adores you. Anyone can see that,’ I say.

‘He adores money. And power. Not us. Well, not me.’

‘Hen hun, you’re in a bad mood and I think this is the drink and …’ I pause and take a look at her nose. Sure enough there’s a slight trace of crusty white powder around her right nostril. ‘Have you thought about maybe getting some professional help if you really feel like this?’

Her sad, tired eyes are suddenly blazing with fury.

Oh God.

She’s about to kick off.

I’ve seen this look many times before.

‘A counsellor?’ She rises to her feet, looking down on me like I’m beneath her in so many ways. ‘A counsellor? Wow. One failed suicide attempt and suddenly Kitty Collins is a qualified psychotherapist.’

I stand up to face her. ‘Hen, you know I didn’t mean that in a derogatory way. I just …’

‘What? You just what? Wanted to remind me of yet another way that you are better than me? You’re so kind and compassionate now?’

‘I’m trying to help,’ I say, helplessly.

‘Ram it, Saint Kitty. I’m going to find some drugs.’ She pushes past me and stomps down the stairs.

That was a lot.

I leave it for a couple of minutes, breathing deeply, and head after her, hoping she’ll have calmed down enough to let me talk. She’s becoming quite an aggressive drunk.

When I catch up with her, she’s half dragging one of the Extras out of the front door.

I can hear her yelling.

‘You weren’t even invited so stop trying to use my party and my hashtag to make your sad little account better. You don’t even have ten thousand. Why are you even here?’

The girl – Tasha maybe – looks mortified while Tor is trying to calm Hen down. I’m really not in the mood for this.

And I still need to pee.





64


JAMES PEMBERTON’S RECORDING STUDIO, PEMBERTON MANOR BASEMENT

I carry on with my journey towards the basement studio and am pleased to see it’s completely empty.

Good.

I could do with a few moments to clear my head after that monstrous row. No one else would dare come down here.

The recording booth looks sad and abandoned, one lonely microphone standing in the middle of it. I head into the bathroom at the back of the studio, pee, flush and wash my hands. I check out my face in the mirror, no mascara under eyes. Good.

I head back out to the main studio, slump into one of the seats by the mixing desk and take some deep breaths. I look down and realise my hands are shaking. Maybe Charlie was right and coming to a massive party was too much too soon. I’m going to go and find him and go home. All I want is my blanket, my head in his lap and some awful TV.

I’m about to stand up when I hear the door close softly behind me. I spin round, startled when I see James standing there, a glass of something in his hand and a strange look in his eyes. They’re slightly glazed over.

‘Kitty, Kitty, Kitty. You know you’re not supposed to be down here, you bad girl.’ He waggles his finger, mock-scolding me.

‘I know, sorry. I came down here to use the loo. The others were all taken.’

‘Yes, it’s starting to get a bit wild up there. My bloody daughter throwing a hissy fit over some girl. I came down for some peace.’ He takes a little bag of white powder out of his shirt pocket and waves it at me. ‘But you’re here.’

‘Honestly, I was just leaving. I’ve literally been in here for five minutes. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. It was a pleasant surprise. Be peaceful with me for five?’ He waggles the baggie again.

‘Nah, I don’t really do all that anymore.’

‘No coke woke enough for you, eh?’

‘Ha. It’s not that. I just had, I guess, what’s called a life-changing experience lately. It’s good to see you. Let’s catch up soon.’

‘No, no.’ There’s an edge to his voice and I don’t like it. ‘Stay and have a drink and a line with me. We haven’t spoken in ages. I do worry about you, Kitty. Your dad always told me to look after you if anything happened to him.’

He sits down on the leather couch and pats the seat next to him for me to join. I really want to find Charlie and go home but I awkwardly perch myself as far away from him as I can without seeming rude.

‘So how are things, Kitty? I heard you spent some time in hospital?’ He leans over the coffee table, which looks more like a piece of modern art than furniture, and empties the contents of the bag onto it. He roots around in his pocket again, this time pulling out a bank card. ‘Was that the life changer?’ He begins to chop the powder, separating it into smooth white lines.

‘Yes, but it was accidental. And I’m fine now. Charlie’s been looking after me.’

He nods. ‘That’s right. Little Charlie Chambers. I have to say, Kitty, I always thought you would’ve preferred a man over a boy.’ He leans back into the sofa, crossing his legs so his right ankle is on his left knee. His eyes make their way from my face down my body and then back up again. It’s a far more sexual move than the Chelsea Once Over. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in warning.