Page 78 of A Very Happy Easter

The episode in the restaurant had made celebgossip.com, but with barely any truth involved. Even the headline was misleading. Ballbreaker of Belgravia Spotted in the Caribbean: Has London’s most rabid feminist finally turned her back on her beliefs?

I’d earned the “Ballbreaker of Belgravia” moniker after I forced Neil to face me in court. Never mind that I only wanted justice or that I didn’t even live in Belgravia. “Ballbreaker of Kensington” didn’t have quite the same ring to it. The rest of this week’s article was every bit as ridiculous, which was only to be expected from a butthurt man who didn’t know the difference between feminism and misandry. I didn’t hate men. I just supported women in a world where equality was still a struggle.

“Oh, yeah, right. Anyway, what’s San Gallicano like? Rebecca says it’s an undiscovered gem.”

Mostly true. Right now, I was watching for shark fins from the terrace, ready to scream a warning to Heath as he swam below if I spotted Jaws.

“Rebecca says?”

Kirsten gave a tinkly giggle. “We’ve been seeing each other. Nothing serious, but…”

“Seeing each other, seeing each other?”

“Maybe?”

“What happened to Milqu— Uh, to that guy you were dating?”

“He bored me half to death. I mean, what even is a credit swap default?”

“Sounds finance-y.”

“Yah. Non-stop money talk. Why do I want to hear about that? I already have money.”

“He was probably pitching for your family’s investment business.”

Kirsten giggled. “Oh, that’s so— Wait, he did leave a pamphlet on the coffee table. Huh.”

“Did you call just to tell me my life was splashed across the internet again?”

“Oh, no. I called to tell you my brother’s a prick.”

Tell me something I don’t know. “Why? What did he do this time?”

“He let Neil stay in his apartment. Neil! You know he’s out of prison, right?”

“Yes, I heard.” The horrifying truth of Kirsten’s words sank in. “Wait, wait, he’s in Don’s apartment at this very second?”

“I damn well hope he isn’t. I told Don that unless he showed Neil the door, like, immediately, I’d get all my friends to boycott that stupid restaurant he invested in, and I’d post on BuzzHub that I got food poisoning there. I mean, it’s bonkers that they even let Neil out of prison, don’t you think?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“So Neil left?”

“Don gave me this lecture about how Neil served his time, and anyway, everyone overreacted when we were teenagers, and what’s a guy supposed to do when a drunk girl blows hot and cold? That was when I threw my coffee at him.”

My first instinct was to tell Kirsten to call the police. They were looking for Neil in relation to the fire, after all. But they’d already screwed up, well, everything really. First, they’d failed to take action against him until he assaulted at least twelve women, and that was just the ones I knew about for sure. The detectives made me feel as if I were the criminal, not that little worm. And then the authorities let him out of prison so he could try to kill Heath as well.

Hell, they’d probably send an officer over to Don’s apartment with tea and biscuits.

No, I’d tell Heath the second he got out of the water, and he could call Blackwood, and wouldn’t it be fun if Neil got a few bruises as they supervised him being dragged away in handcuffs?

“Give Don the cold shoulder from me, okay? Neil should be living in a six-by-eight cell, not a luxury penthouse. Does Don still have that place in Notting Hill?”

“Oh, yah. Between you and me, he did something a bit dodge with the financing, and his accountant told him he shouldn’t sell it yet.”

Don’s apartment was painfully close to my home. Neil wouldn’t move out that quickly, would he? Not when he had the choice of a comfortable bedroom with an en-suite and balcony versus a moped.

“Send me the name of that restaurant. I’m never going to eat there either.”

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