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“We ordered food in if you haven’t eaten,” Tally says, pointing to the huge platters of food that are lined up on the wooden countertops.
Priss immediately heads for them and I can’t help the warmth that fills me at watching her choose to eat. She picks the healthiest thing on offer, grabbing a bowl and filling it with fruit and granola, but the haunted, fearful look is gone, at least for the moment. Crossing to the full coffee pot I fill a cup for myself and make one for her too, lacing hers with creamer before joining the others at the table and pushing it towards her.
There’s a massive formal dining room at the front of the house, or a comfortable family room we could be using, but it’s obvious that the girls don’t enjoy being in the rooms that hold the most memories of their parents, so we’re using the kitchen as our base, because neither of them had ever really spent any time in here.
“Right, now that we’re all here, let’s decide what to do next,” Arlo says. “The story about the Archibalds being missing is everywhere, every major media outlet has the story as at least a minor feature piece, with a few sites that cover the society stuff having it as the main headline. Obviously you’ve seen all the photographers outside, so I think it’s time for the girls to make a comment on social media.”
“Agreed,” Olly says, his ever present iPad in his hands. “I’ve drafted up a simple statement, saying that the girls are devasted at the news of their parents being missing, and that they ask for privacy while they wait for further news. Then there’s a similar one for the rest of us to post, that says we’re all doing what we can to support the girls and ask for distance and understanding from the media while they try to deal with everything that’s happening.”
“Then what?” Priss asks.
“Then nothing. At least not yet. We have the pre-surgery photos ready to drop the moment your parents re-emerge fit and well, and about three thousand people planning to turn up here the day after tomorrow for a free house clearance,” he says with a laugh.
“My investigator says your parents are still in Marrakesh, he’ll notify us the moment they move,” Arlo assures her.
“This doesn’t feel like enough,” Tally says.
“This is only the start,” Wats reminds us all. “Once they’re back we’ll send out invites for the big party where we tell your parents and every family who was on your great-grandfather’s messed up husband list, that Crueligan is no longer for sale. Then we swoop in and buy their shares in Archibald Inc. Once we’ve really pissed off and embarrassed your parents, we get your dad fired and release the sex tape of your mom fucking your dad up the ass with a strap-on.”
“What?” Priss shrieks, coughing as she chokes on the mouthful of coffee she just drank.
Tally laughs. “Yep, that’s what was on that pen drive you found in Mom’s safe. Mom dressed as Marilyn Monroe singing ‘happy birthday Mr. President’ to Dad, then bending him over and pegging him with a huge black dildo.”
“Oh my god,” Priss cries, her face scrunched up in disgust.
“What’s up Carrie? She didn’t teach you that way to bring a guy to his knees?” Arlo taunts with a smirk.
“Oh god, I’m imagining it,” Priss yells, cringing.
“Think yourself lucky you didn’t see it, because I did,” Tally laughs.
“Eww, I don’t even want to think about seeing it,” she groans. “Can we really leak that without anyone knowing it came from us?”
“We probably could, yes, but revenge porn is illegal in the state of New York, so maybe we’ll just send it to your parents and make them think it’s been leaked to the media, while we sit back and watch them freak out,” Olly says.
“If there was a sex tape on the pen drive in Mom’s safe, what was the sex tape you found in Dad’s safe?” Priss asks.
“That was your dad fucking multiple prostitutes while your mom played dominatrix, another birthday treat according to the message at the start of the video,” Wats laughs. “Your parents are all kinds of freaky.”
“Gah, shut up I don’t want to think about them having sex,” Priss groans, burying her face into my arm and covering her ears with her hands.
“Has anyone come up with anything else we can do? Selling a twenty-thousand-dollar painting for five bucks is good and all, but it’s just money,” Tally says sighing.
“We could put the house up for sale, but if they turn up in the next day or so they’ll just withdraw it,” Olly suggests.
“We could hide shrimp in the cushions, in a day or two it’ll smell like a mix of dirty pussy and a fishing trawler in here,” Wats offers.
Priss snorts, laughing. “Can we do that? Please?” she begs.
“We could change all the coffee grounds for the laxative ones,” Olly says.
“Take the batteries out of all the remote controls, and cut the ass out of all the clothes,” I chuckle.
“We could get all the locks changed,” Priss suggests.
We spend the next thirty minutes calling out every stupid, juvenile, petty revenge ideas we can think of and then we do them all. We plant shrimp inside every cushion cover, curtain pole, and air conditioning vent. We have a locksmith change the lock on every door, and we remove every battery and destroy every item of clothing we can find. It’s ridiculous, but the six of us laugh like kindergarteners the whole time, as we run round the Archibalds’ house.
Arlo’s cell chimes loudly and we all turn to him as he pulls it from his pocket and lifts it to his ear. It’s almost eight in the evening and we’re all sitting around the table in the kitchen, drinking mugs of the best champagne we could find in Freddie’s wine cellar, after we drilled large holes in every cork, in every bottle in his extensive collection. The air might not ruin his entire cellar, but it’ll spoil all the good vintages in there. There’s champagne flutes in the cupboard, but it felt like a bigger fuck you to him to drink his ten thousand dollar a bottle champagne out of coffee mugs, we even took a picture to post to social media once the girls’ parents reappear.
