How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(82)

Poor Charlie. I walk over to him. ‘Poor baby,’ I say, standing on tiptoes so my lips can reach his. He slips a hand under my robe. ‘Is there anything I can do to ease your stress before I go?’ His thumb rubs across my right nipple and it stiffens immediately from his touch. He pulls the cord on my robe, making the whole thing drop to the floor. Then he turns me around and both his hands are on my tits, squeezing and kneading, while his mouth makes its way from my ear, down my neck, down my back.

I suppose I can get ready quickly.





67


THE PEMBERTON APARTMENT, BELGRAVIA

Luckily, I know exactly which Belgravia apartment Hen means. We used to hang out there when we were younger, pretending to be adults.

I’ve begun to think of my kills as something of a performance. I’d have liked to have been an actress. I mean, it’s just pretending, isn’t it? And I’m quite good at that. I mean, look at what I’ve done. What I’ve got away with.

Every performance needs a good costume. My costume for James is something special. A Victoria’s Secret eyelash lace corset, Fleur of England suspender belt and a pair of black Wolford stockings, 20 denier. I round the look up with some classic black Louboutin pumps. I don’t go as gaga as my friends over shoes, but there is something about Louboutins that gives me a little thrill. I think it’s the red sole. It reminds me of blood. Fresh blood, straight from the body, before it has a chance to darken and congeal. Which, yes, is weird for a vegan.

I’ve gone to town on my hair and make-up: lashes, glossy red lips, bouncy hair. When I’m done I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror.

I look like a walking wet dream.

I’m hideous.

Luckily Charlie didn’t see me as I hollered a ‘bye’ and basically ran out of the apartment.

Even in the lifts at the Pemberton apartment – which I still have a key for – the temptation to rub it all off tugs at me. What I really want to do is go home and snuggle up with Charlie. Back in our bubble where men don’t lie and cheat and rape and abuse. But I remember the words of Maribelle’s victim statement. He told me there was no point telling anyone because who would believe that a woman had gone into a hotel room alone with him and not known what to expect.

I check that everything I need is ready: stun gun from one of the abattoirs, the handcuffs, the gloves, the syringes – just a little backup in case anything goes wrong.

This is it. The final one. The big one.

My last hurrah.

I don’t use the key. Instead, I knock on the apartment door and James opens it.

‘Inside,’ he snaps, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the apartment, shutting the door behind him before sliding three industrial bolts over it and punching numbers into what looks like an iPad on the wall. He stares at me like I’ve crawled out of the sea.

‘What the fuck are you doing here? And what are you dressed like that for?’

I’m confused.

‘You know why I’m here. We’ve been texting.’ I drop my coat to the floor, revealing myself to him. I can’t read the look on his face but it’s not what I’m expecting and I’m suddenly cold with embarrassment. There’s no way I’ve read this situation wrong. He was thirsty as a fuckboy in the desert on text. ‘Well, aren’t you going to come and get your prize?’ I ask him, but my voice sounds wrong. It’s not husky and sexy.

It’s awkward.

‘Kitty. As much as I appreciate the effort you’ve clearly gone to for me – and don’t take this the wrong way, you look incredible – I really don’t think this is the right time for me to be shagging my daughter’s friends. Do you?’

‘James. We were texting about this. Literally an hour ago.’

‘I can assure you, Kitty, whoever you were messaging wasn’t me. I’m in hiding in case you hadn’t realised. Pour yourself a drink or something.’ He takes a long, regretful look at me standing there. ‘And then fuck off. Jesus Christ.’

‘We were texting …’ I say, more mortified than anything. ‘It was your phone. So if it wasn’t you … then who?’

We both jump as we hear an internal door slam and the click-clack of heels making their way slowly down the marbled floor of the corridor.

‘It was me. Now both of you sit the fuck down and I’ll tell you how this is going to go.’





68


THE PEMBERTON APARTMENT, BELGRAVIA

‘Kitty,’ Hen says. ‘Would you like some wine?’

‘No thanks, how about you just tell me what the fuck is going on here?’

She pours a glass anyway and hands it to me. ‘Trust me, you will be wanting this when I explain.’ Then she glares at her dad. There is absolute hatred in her eyes. ‘Fucking bail.’ She almost spits at him.

James is staring at the floor. He won’t look at either of us.

‘It’s all true,’ Hen says, more to him than me. ‘Every word of it. And I know that he tried it on with you at the party too.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I know everything, Kitty.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I know everything from the sleaze that followed you home that night, to Mykonos. I know about it all.’