Free Katy Carter Wants a Hero by Ruth Saberton Page A

dressed guests like a parrot who’s swooped in to have a chat with the local sparrows, ‘I quit my job to set up my own rock band.’
    ‘Really?’ says Ed, who appears quite curious.
    ‘I’ve got my demo disc with me.’ Frankie delves into his robes and pulls out a CD. ‘Shall we put it on?’
    James, looking murderous, takes the disc, and seconds later Norah Jones is replaced by a din that sounds like hyenas playing the saucepans. Ears are practically bleeding.
    ‘Isn’t it awesome!’ says Ollie, and the worrying thing is he’s being sincere. ‘The Queens are going to be huge.’
    ‘Suck on it, baby!’ shrieks Frankie, eyes closed and lost in rhythm. ‘Give it to me hard!’
    James presses the stop button and abruptly there’s an awkward silence.
    ‘Shall we eat?’ I say brightly. ‘James, would you help me with the starters, darling?’
    ‘What the fuck is going on?’ spits James as he bundles me into the kitchen. ‘Are you deliberately trying to ruin my chances?’
    ‘Don’t blame me!’ I protest, delving into our fridge and passing the starters to him. If he’s got his hands full I figure he can’t punch Ollie. ‘I didn’t know he was going to invite Frankie.’
    ‘You invited bloody Ollie,’ James growls, ‘so I hold you totally responsible. Just make sure you keep him under control.’
    The words ‘or else’ hang heavy in the air and I gulp nervously. I have a lobster in the bath, a loony red setter in the office and the lead singer of the Screaming Queens in my sitting room. These things do not bode well.
    I lay out the starters and everyone makes polite conversation. James and I try to join in, but our ‘darlings’ and ‘sweethearts’ are positively glacial and you couldn’t cut the atmosphere with a chainsaw, never mind a knife. Frankie is telling an outrageous story about one of his band members, Sophie and Helena are planning a trip to the Sanctuary and James is trying to talk business with Julius, easier said than done over Frankie’s excited cries and actions. I stab at my starter and wish it was a voodoo melon. Ollie would be rolling around clutching his guts. God knows, it feels like the entire cast of
Riverdance
is warming up in mine.
    We move on to the main course, and I have to admit Ollie has done an excellent job. Frankie is too busy eating to make outrageous comments and Julius compliments me on my culinary skills. Helena pointedly restricts herself to vegetables. Well, it’s her loss. Ollie might behave like a fiend but he cooks like an angel. The steak melts on my tongue and the sauce explodes across my taste buds. Julius hoovers up seconds and even James looks mollified. Perhaps I’m going to get away with it.
    But in my past life I must have been totally evil, because karma is about to come back with a double whammy. Nipping to the loo, bladder overflowing with wine, I peek round the curtains to check on Pinchy.
    Who isn’t there.
    Fuck.
    I sink on to the loo seat feeling cold all over at the thought of a nine-pound lobster on the loose in my flat. Where on earth has it gone, the ungrateful creature? I’m starting to wish I’d let Ollie boil it alive. Lobster Thermidor has never seemed so appealing.
    OK, I tell myself as I try to breathe slowly and get my heart rate down to a less cardiac-arrest-inducing rhythm. This is a small flat and that’s one big mama of a lobster. There are only so many places it can be. It’s pretty hard to lose a lobster.
    Or at least I bloody hope it is.
    With any luck it’s crawled into a corner somewhere and died. Or hibernated. Or whatever lobsters do in their spare time.
    Escaping from the loo, I sneak into the kitchen and neck Chardonnay from the bottle. There’s no time for wine glasses when Pinchy’s on the loose. All my resolutions about not getting pissed have gone down the toilet, where I sincerely hope Pinchy has also gone. Then I attack the cheeseboard. Sod the calories; at this rate I’m not even likely to live