Page 61 of Insatiable

When we reach McDonald’s, he doesn’t ask what I want – he orders us both Big Macs and a side of mozzarella dippers.

“What if I wanted something else?”

Kade pulls out of the drive-through lane and parks up. “You don’t like anything else.”

I blink. “For someone who can’t stand me, you seem to remember a lot about me.”

A smirk. Curbing it, he unclips his seat belt and readjusts himself with parted legs. “Unfortunately.”

We eat in silence. The radio still plays, though he’s at least turned it down now, and his phone keeps buzzing with messages. He denies a call then tosses the phone into the divider.

“That might’ve been important.”

“Just eat your food, Freckles.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He glares at me until I look away with heated cheeks.

After another few minutes of quiet, he takes all the rubbish and puts it in the bin he parked beside. The radio switches to the news; the gruesome murder is the lead story, and the reporter explains that someone’s been detained but another suspect is still at large.

“Head of Police Scotland Bernadette Sawyer is here with us. She’s been personally working on this case for the past few hours. Is there anything you’d like to say to the public, ma’am?”

Kade holds his breath and slows down.

“Certainly. I’d like to reassure the public that we have the best of the best on the search and strongly urge anyone who has any information to come forward. We believe there were two attackers, and we have detained one. Holyrood Park will stay closed until further notice.”

“Is there anything you can say about the innocent life that was taken?”

“Is it not weird to ask that on—”

“Shh.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms as Kade turns the volume up.

“The body has been identified as Matthew Barnwell, a thirty-year-old man who was on his way home from work. The family has been informed, and love has poured in from social media for this respected member of the community, with hundreds of people expressing their condolences.”

Kade tuts. “Respected.” He shakes his head. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Did you know him?” I ask, puzzled. “The man that was killed?”

“Of course not.”

I narrow my eyes, brows furrowed with confusion. “Then what’s ridiculous?”

“She doesn’t know him. How can she say he was respected? She’s full of shit.”

“Well, at least she sounds hot,” I say. “A singsong voice.”

Nothing. Not a word. His eye twitches as he slams his foot down on the accelerator. He pulls onto a long stretch of road towards the airport, with no streetlights in a tunnel of trees.

Another Bad Omens song plays, and I tap my foot to the song.

I ask what time we take off – no response.

I ask why he’s being an idiot – no response.

I ask if he wants to talk about what happened earlier, and, of course, there’s no response. Slapping him would be acceptable, right?

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