My Favourite Part

24: the ice queen

"I know what you're thinking. They're not real."

Pip's been my Mr. Miyagi today, answering all my stupid questions about what it's like being 'high society'. So far, I've learned that 'blotto' means drunk, Sir Paul McCartney's been uninvited to Eric's birthday dinner because he's had a falling out with Nelly, and being a Macklin makes you just enough of a socialite that a small crowd of press and paparazzi pop up whenever you leave the house. Most recently, I've learned that Kitty's cleavage isn't real.

"Oh, I wasn't- I didn't-," I fumble for words, opening and closing my mouth like a fish to find some other gracious explanation for staring, but there isn't much use. Pip doesn't seem too bothered. He whispers it facetiously, still diligently picking at his dark nail polish.

I mean it's... sort of hard to miss. Kitty's notably slender, like a woman whose only pressing appointment is Saturday Yogalates, but her chest billows out in the shape of pricey, surgically enhanced balloons.

Pip laughs at my stammering, and, thankfully, saves me from further embarrassment.

"Relax, Evangeline. It's why she got them done." He shrugs, and I don't know whether I should be worried or impressed that he's so blasé about it.

"Looks nice..." I'm not sure if I mean it, but I don't think I'm supposed to anyway.

"That camera guy's been knocking on the window for, like, 15 minutes now." I remark a little louder, desperate to move onto a topic other Eric's mum's chest.

"Golly, are they still out there?" Kitty tuts, although her eyes don't leave her reflection in the shop mirror, as she smooths a slinky bubble-gum pink dress against her body. "Magnus, I thought you'd had the road cleared."

The navy-suited tan-shoed man behind her keeps his eyes straight ahead when he answers, except for a brief glance downwards at the billowing balloons.

I hadn't noticed it until now, but the tan-shoed men seem to follow the Mackling everywhere they go. Two are planted at the door of the boutique, and this one sticks with the family at all times. When I asked Pip what they were there for, he said "attempted assassinations" without looking up from the bookshelf he was rifling through, and I really, really hoped he was kidding.

"Did, madam," Magnus says, "this is a new lot."

"Hm, a new lot," Kitty repeats slowly, the crisp 't' sound bouncing off of her tongue. She sounds pleased, but I'm learning that Kitty Macklin is a difficult woman to read when she wants to be. She comes across as some sort of capricious ice queen, warm one moment, withering the next, and something utterly unpredictable in between. Yet somehow, it's captivating. People are just... drawn to her. On the car ride over, Pip told me she had the magic ability of opening doors with just her eyes. I only understood what that meant when we arrived: all it took was a glance at the sterling silver knocker, and young men in awe scrambled to pull the 'push' door. Even still, their red-cheeked smiles said that they were honoured to have the chance to embarrass themselves in front of Mrs. Kitty Macklin.

I can't quite say the same. Is it weird that I sort of want to shrink and disappear? The Macklins own the town – literally – but they stand out like red roses in a daisy patch.

"Right – opinions," Kitty announces, with eyes still on her reflection. "Evangeline, what do you think?"

"Me?" I ask stupidly. "I think it's gorgeous."

"Really..." She's using her 'is-that-so' tone again. Was that the wrong answer?

Pip coughs roughly,