Free Skulk by Rosie Best

“Window cleaning on the Shard is like painting the Forth Bridge. Only worse! I don’t care how amazing the view is, I wouldn’t live up there with only those mangy birds for company.”
    The woman in the peacock dress laughed. “Peter did offer me special anti-pigeon window protection, but I said no. I rather like them.”
    Usually, I quite liked pigeons too. But something about this one was giving me the creeps. It was particularly mangy. Most of its feathers were ruffled up, several were missing altogether. Plus, it had red eyes – they must’ve really been deep orange, but they looked red. It twisted its head weirdly up and down, as if it was searching the inside sill.
    “Maybe it’s after your nemesis,” Warren said. Rich laughed, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I looked down at my shoes. I smiled a cute, modest little apologetic smile. I hated myself.
    Dinner was pretty awkward, but at least there was something I was supposed to be doing with my hands and my mouth so I couldn’t say or do anything too ridiculously humiliating. I ate my noisettes of pan-glazed lamb in miniscule bites and took tiny sips of cranberry cordial.
    It was nearly enough distraction, but Rich leaned over to me as the waiters were clearing the main course and lining up with their plates of artfully-arranged desserts.
    “Hey, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” he said.
    “Er... when?” I tried to bluff.
    “You know. With your arachnid nemesis.” He smiled at me.
    “It’s funny, you don’t look like you’re mocking me,” I said. “But how could you not be? I’d be mocking me if I were you.”
    “I’m not,” Rich said.
    There was a weird, semi-uncomfortable silence between the two of us. The rest of the guests chattered and laughed across the table. A waiter slipped a plate of pomegranate parfaits in front of me.
    “I am sorry if you were embarrassed,” Rich said. He lowered his voice. “Warren really is a massive wanker. I didn’t mean to let him ramble. I really would like to take you round Trinity if you’re still interested.”
    I was saved from having to say yes or no as Mum stood up and started to make a speech. I tuned it out, focusing instead on the reflection of light through my drink dancing in little circles on the tablecloth.
    Finally she finished, we all ate up our desserts and people started filing back out into the drawing room. They were all laughing a bit louder, walking slightly less straight than before.
    I stood up. Only another hour or two and then I could vanish upstairs and this whole horrible evening would be over.
    There was a soft rrrrrr sound and a cool sensation on my right hip.
    I looked down and saw a smooth blob of flesh about the width of my hand poking out through the ripped seam of my dress. It was right at Rich’s eye level. His nose was practically touching it.
    Oh. My. God.
    Pinpricks of freezing sweat broke out all over my back and the room seemed to drift in and out of focus. I felt like I might faint. I took half a step backwards and nearly fell over my chair, bracing my feet on the floor and clutching at a passing waiter. There was a pinging feeling as another one of the stitches gave way.
    Warren burst out laughing.
    “Oof, had a few too many canapés, Maggie?” he said, incredibly loudly. Heads turned. People stared. Everything went blurry and tears stung in my eyes. I slapped my hand over the tear in my dress and made a dash for the door.
    The cool air flowing off the tiles in the hall was a relief for a few seconds. I leaned against the table and nearly knocked over the vase of flowers. I grabbed for it and set it down, only slopping a little bit of cold, mucky water onto the varnished table-top.
    Goosebumps started to pop up on my bare sausagey arms and the patch of exposed skin where I’d burst the seams of my dress, but my face and shoulders still felt like the blood underneath was slowly coming to the boil.
    “Meg,” said a soft voice.
    “Oh God.”
    It was