Free Killer Heels by Rebecca Chance

because you’d
found a lifestyle you thought was better. The Raeburns were
an enviably close family; Coco and Tiff still lived at home with
their mum, a kindergarten teacher, and their dad, a baggage
supervisor at Luton airport. Their brother Craig worked at the
airport too, and though he had moved out with his fiancée,
they lived only four streets away from the Raeburn family
home. The children had wanted for nothing growing up, and
their parents, apart from the normal squabbles, were a happy
couple. It had been an enviably safe and secure upbringing,
and Coco knew how lucky she was.
I’m the only one born with the ambitious gene , she thought
ruefully. The only one who wanted to get out of Luton and head
for the big city . None of the others understood her drive and
restlessness. Craig and Tiff would be in Luton all their lives,
Craig at the airport, Tiff at Boots as a sales assistant. She was
supposed to be saving, too, for a deposit on a flat, but most of
her spare cash was spent on going out and having a good time;
her indulgent parents didn’t seem to mind.
‘I don’t see how it’s helping her,’ Tiff snapped. ‘Changing
her name, working her like a fricking slave all day and all night.’
She realised that the skirt of her bright red jersey dress had
risen up again, and pulled it down.
Top Shop, Coco thought, looking at Tiff’s outfit. Not even
that cheap, but not well-made. That jersey fabric’s so thin it’s
almost see-through, and that elastic belt’s digging into her.
‘And she’s starving herself,’ Tiff went on, looking at her
younger sister. ‘Mum’s going mental about you not eating
dinner with us any more. Not even the Sunday roast. She says
you’re living on bird food.’
‘I’m a size ten now, Tiff,’ Coco protested. ‘That’s not starving myself.’
Tiff rolled her eyes. The Raeburns weren’t a skinny family,
and both Tiff and her mother were built along substantial
lines. The weight suited them, and Tiff was never short of
admirers; she had a personality as big as her generous curves.
‘Mum cares about you,’ Tiff said firmly. ‘We all do. She just
doesn’t want to see you all stressed out and bony.’ She glanced
at Emily’s exiguous frame. ‘No offence,’ she added, looking
down complacently at her own plump legs.
‘Oh, not at all! Do you come up to London a lot, Tiff?’
Emily asked politely.
Coco was hugely relieved at the change of subject. Emily
has really good manners, she observed. Victoria wasn’t the
only one Coco was learning from; Emily’s upper-middle-class,
head-prefect, well-bred social etiquette was something she
wanted to emulate. Tiffany was a typical Raeburn; they were
all blunt to a fault, never beat around the bush. That might be
how Victoria Glossop operated, but Coco was at the bottom
of the pile, not the top, and she couldn’t afford to be as curt as
her boss. I need to be able to talk like Emily, Coco thought. Be
diplomatic and tactful and handle people like she does.
‘I should come up more,’ Tiff answered, finishing her
Singapore Sling with gusto and letting out a small burp. ‘Keep
an eye on this one. Sometimes she doesn’t get home till well
late. I wouldn’t mind if you were out pulling, Jodie – Coco ,’ she
corrected herself, grimacing, ‘but I know lots of times you’re
sitting on your bum in that office, having no fun at all. Like last
week! You didn’t get back till past midnight, and you missed
Gran’s birthday party. Mum’s still moaning about it to me.’
‘Tiff, my job’s really important,’ Coco said defensively. ‘That
time I was organising logistics for a shoot in Havana that went
arse-up. You remember, Emily?’
She turned to her work colleague and saw Emily flinch at
the words ‘arse-up’, a flinch she quickly converted into a nod
of agreement. It was the tiniest of involuntary movements, and
no one but Coco, who was hyper-alert, would have noticed.
Fuck, Coco