Page 81 of You’re So Vein

Augustin’s eyes swivel to mine, his lip curling in an expression that’s both panicked and feral. I quirk an eyebrow at him as my hand slides higher and…

He’s… oh.

Oh.

He’s going hard beneath me, and Augustin Durant is packing.

No, no, no. I shouldn’t be thinking about what’s beneath his trousers, especially because he thinks I’m a pushover and now everyone is looking at me expectantly.

“Komal?” Maisie asks. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“Um… could you repeat the question?”

I can’t move my hand without drawing attention to it.

“We’re talking about the skate park. I think you had some ideas about commissioning art?”

I manage to choke out an answer. Augustin’s smug face sets my teeth on edge, so when he goes to eviscerate my public art plan, I stroke the tips of my fingers down the edge of his shaft. He hurls himself off his chair, knocking over the colonel and sending them both crashing into the food table. Cupcakes and sausage rolls fly everywhere.

“Oh, no, my dress!” Maisie glares at the icing smeared down the front of her dress.

“My debate cake!” Celeste wails.

Augustin’s features collapse with embarrassment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vampire blush before. It’s adorable. He straightens his tie.

“There was a bee,” he says.

“Was it a rather large bee?” I ask innocently.

“I couldn’t comment on the size, but it was most troublesome,” he murmurs as he sits down, his back rigid. “I think it’s gone now.”

Volunteers rush to help clean off the stage, and Maisie swaps with Arabella so she can clean up her dress. I keep my hand well away from Augustin Durant, and his feet remain firmly planted.

“Now that I have the microphone, we can finally ask the important questions,” Arabella purrs. “Colonel, in your opinion, who is the most beautiful woman to ever grace Argleton village?”

“No one is as beautiful, or as clever, as the great Maggie Thatcher, may she rest in peace.”

“Wrong answer. Lock him up!”

“This isn’t court, Arabella,” Mina stage whispers from the front row.

“It is now. You.” Arabella jabs a finger at Reggie. “What do you plan to do about the badger problem?”

“Badgers are sacred animals who have been given a bad reputation by fake news. I’m creating a sanctuary where they can live their lives without being bothered.”

“Then you’re a fool. Komal, what do you think can be done to make Argleton more attractive to tourists?”

“Oh, so much!” I say. “Why, I was just about to tell you about the great new village festival I’m planning to uncurse November—”

On cue, the community hall doors fly open. Mrs Mabel Ellis, a blue-haired old lady and head of the Naughty Knitting Club, marches into the room, followed by Dolly and the rest of the club members, each clutching a knitting bag and wearing vulva-shaped knitted berets.

“What are you all doing here?” Mrs Ellis glances around at the gathered crowd. “We booked the community hall from eight to nine pm.”

Augustin shoots to his feet. “Ladies, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. As you can see, we’re having the mayoral debate, so you’ll have to take the knitting elsewhere—”

“But we have a standing appointment.”

SCRAPE. SCREEECH. The ladies move chairs into a circle right in front of the stage, plop down their knitting bags, and start pulling out all manner of projects. Mrs Ellis’s needles clack on a scarf decorated with tiny multicoloured penises, while Doris stitches together a vulva-shaped toilet seat cover.