Page 60 of A Very Happy Easter

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

Sixteen

“What the fuck is that?” Heath whispered into my ear.

“A turtle?”

We’d only planned to attend one show at London Fashion Week, my friend Joanna’s, but then Kirsten had a spare pair of tickets for Ishmael’s extravaganza two hours later, and I decided to go. Firstly, because Ishmael’s creations were both out of this world and legendary. Secondly, because I hadn’t left the house all week and I really needed to get out more. Thirdly, because I’d have an excuse to spend more time with Heath.

After my confession about the past, he hadn’t looked at me as if I were crazy. In fact, he hadn’t treated me any differently at all, not unless you counted calling me each evening to check everything was okay. He’d stayed for two nights until the crew finished upgrading my security. Now the exterior of my property was being monitored in Blackwood’s control room, and I slept better knowing I wasn’t completely alone.

Heath had stayed, but he didn’t sleep much. He told me not to worry if I heard him moving around, that he was just checking on things, and he’d spent several hours outside, watching and listening.

Nothing had pinged his radar.

And the security system hadn’t picked up more than an urban fox prowling through my courtyard. Salma thought I should get a dog. I was considering it, even though I was allergic to dander. Whenever we visited Grandma Elizabeth, I’d run around gleefully with her menagerie of pets, sneezing and wheezing until Mama caught up with me and reminded me to take another antihistamine pill. Thankfully, horses didn’t have the same effect.

“Why would someone want to look like a turtle?” Heath asked.

“Beats me,” Kirsten’s latest milquetoast boyfriend muttered.

“It’s to highlight the plight of the oceans,” Kirsten explained. Did I mention she worked for a fashion magazine? “We’re invading their habitats, so they’re taking steps into ours.”

Heath sucked in a breath. “Are turtles that big? Poor girl looks as if she’s suffering.”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” The shell backpack was three feet high. “It’s good from a safety point of view, don’t you think? How would a pickpocket even begin to steal your wallet out of it?”

“They could make a bulletproof version,” the boyfriend added. “You know, for the American market.”

If Heath hadn’t been so polite, I suspected he would have rolled his eyes. “You ever seen a turtle on its back? All a hostile has to do is pull you over and you’re fucked.”

The theme of today’s show was “Under the Water, Over the Top,” and Ishmael’s creations were a whirl of blue and green and yellow. Shimmering chiffons, garish resin shells, and shoes with rows of shark teeth at the toes and fins for heels. I wouldn’t be brave enough to wear those—drawing attention to myself was the last thing I wanted to do, and I didn’t want to break an ankle either—but his ready-to-wear collections were always a toned-down version of the catwalk pizazz. I might buy one of the betta fish handbags as a collector’s piece, though. Or a pair of the earrings made from recycled ocean junk.

“I need those shoes,” Kirsten gushed after the show.

“The shark ones?”

“No, the ones with the jellyfish heels. But perhaps the shark ones too.”

“One day, you’ll have to buy the house next door to extend your closet. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Only in the morning. It’s Gran’s birthday, so Don and I have to drive up to Norfolk for dinner with the fam.”

“Rather you than me.”

“I’m just going to play a podcast the whole way. If Don doesn’t like it, he can always walk.” She pulled a face at the thought of her older brother, and I couldn’t blame her. “If it wasn’t for the world’s pollution levels, I’d tell him to take his own bloody car.”

Years ago, when our friendship group split down the middle after Neil attacked me, Don had ended up on the wrong side of the chasm. He’d said I wasn’t exactly an innocent party, the way I’d been behaving earlier in the evening. When Kirsten asked him what he meant by that, he’d shrugged and said I’d been drinking, talking to guys, and dressing like I wanted it. She’d slapped him and saved me the trouble, but the ripples from my mess had spread and fractured another family.

I was almost certain some of the rumours about my promiscuity had come from Don, probably because I’d knocked him back a few weeks before and he hadn’t taken it well. Yes, I’d slept with several men since I turned sixteen—which was perfectly legal in England—and yes, I’d been fond of alcohol, which wasn’t so legal, but that didn’t give men the right to help themselves as I slept.

Anyhow, Don had graduated from uni and gone to work as a venture capitalist, which didn’t surprise me one bit, and I simply blanked him at parties. Kirsten said Don had mellowed in recent years, but Grandma Elizabeth always said that if you were taking a bath, you’d wash the scum down the plug hole without a second thought, so why try to save people who gave you the same ick?

“Wouldn’t it be nice if ejector seats were a thing?”

Kirsten giggled. “Like an optional extra—heated seats, tinted windows, premium sound system, emergency exit for annoying brother.” She leaned in closer. “Salma was right. Heath is hotter than Hades.”

My cheeks burned. “He’s very sweet.”

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