I Wore Heels To The Apocalypse

I Wore Heels to

The Apocalypse

A Novella by C H Clepitt

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Copyright Claire Evans 2015

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I Wore Heels to the Apocalypse

A Novella by C H Clepitt

Copyright Claire Evans 2015

First edition published 2016

This version published 2023

This book, including images is copyright to Claire Evans, all rights are reserved.

This is a work of fiction.  All characters and events are fictitious, and locations are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to people, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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For more information on the author visit c-h-clepitt.mailchimpsites.com

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New Edition Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who has supported my writing journey. Without your encouragement and support I would not have the confidence to keep releasing parts of myself into the world.

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Part One

Apocalypses Happen

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Chapter One: Deciding What to Wear

I have never been what you would call a girly girl.  I am always most comfortable in jogging bottoms, training shoes and a baggy jumper.  I often find that people expect me to behave in a certain way when I approach them dressed like this, and generally speaking, they are pleasantly surprised when I turn out to be well spoken and polite.  I always work from home, developing websites and creating web content for small to medium companies. As such, my choice of outfit has never been an issue. Today was different, however. Today I had a client meeting.  This meant I had to leave the confines of my safe one-bedroom flat and venture into a coffee shop, in town.

Wear something nice, Kerry, Darren had said to me. The guy is a complete sleezeball, but he’s a rich sleezeball, and we need the account."  Darren’s my business partner. Mostly he crunches numbers and sells my skills to clients. I’m not good at selling myself, so it works.

I had finally settled on a grey skirt, cream blouse, sheer tights and shoes that made me almost six foot tall. Usually I’m five foot six, with no desire to raise myself beyond these heights, but I wanted to look professional with just a hint of sexy.  I strode confidently out of my flat and towards the main road, only falling over on my ankle twice. To avoid making it a third time I hailed a taxi to take me the rest of the way. It is surprisingly easy to get a taxi when you are wearing a short skirt and high heels.  Although I’m certain that the taxi driver did not deliberately pull up just in front of a drain, he nonetheless did so, and me, being me, promptly caught my heel within its teeth.

Oh, for Christ’s sake! I exploded as I dropped my netbook and handbag and turned my full attention to the offending shoe.  I pulled and pulled but it would not relinquish its hold on the drain. This would NEVER have happened with trainers. I was bent over, my rear end to the sky, toes pointed inwards, on the edge of the pavement wrenching at my shoe, when a very shiny pair of male shoes in nice grey suit trousers came up behind me. It was difficult to see the face of the man the shoes belonged to from my vantage point peering between my own knees, but as he started speaking to me, I felt it only polite to turn and face him.

I say, yes, he really said ‘I say’, and he sounded like the kind of plummy man that just stepped out of a 1950’s movie. Do you need some help?

As I turned to look at him, I actually heard the music that plays in a 1950’s movie when the two romantic leads meet.  He had slicked back blonde hair, astonishing blue eyes and the sort of chiselled chin that should be immortalised in black and white.

Oh, this is frightfully embarrassing, I had turned into the 1950s heroine in an instant and was hoping this was the start of our very own romantic comedy. But I seem to have got my shoe caught in this drain.

Oh, do please allow me, he took my hand to help me onto the kerb and went down onto his knees and started a tactical jiggling of my shoe until it finally released itself.  Madam, your shoe! He offered it to me from his knelt position, and I, just like a wobbly foul-mouthed Cinderella, slipped my foot in. This would be the story we would tell our grandchildren, I decided.

Oh, gosh, look at the state of your suit now! I hope you weren’t going anywhere terribly important?

Not at all, I had just finished a business meeting and was on my way home.

Well, I am on my way to a client meeting, but I am very early, could I buy you a coffee to thank you for rescuing me?

I would very much like to drink coffee with you, he said offering me his arm. But please do allow me to pay, I simply could not live with myself if I allowed a lady such as yourself to pay for the coffee.

I clung tightly to his arm as we walked towards the coffee shop.  This was mainly because it was a cobbled street, and I was afraid that at any second I would tumble to my demise.  He seemed to like it though.

My name is Peter, by the way, he said as he presented me with my decaf skinny latte.  Usually, I drink a double espresso with double sugar, but I was thinking what would Doris Day drink? and I’d decided on latte.

Kerry, I smiled and offered him my hand, although it seemed a late gesture now.

Well, it’s splendid to meet you, Kerry, I can only be grateful that today is the day you decided to wear the most ridiculously impractical shoes ever.  He smiled so warmly at me I felt all gooey inside.

I know, they are awful, but I couldn’t wear trainers with this skirt, I smiled at him.

Just then the dream was shattered by a man wearing grey jogging bottoms, bright white trainers and a sports vest strolling into the room.  The tattoo on his arm read carp deem, which I assume meant that he was approved by fish.

Kerry? he walked right up to me and slammed his gym bag down on the table, almost spilling our coffee.  I’m Tyrone, I’ll tell you Babe, your profile picture does not do you justice, you are fit AS!

Thanks, Tyrone, I said awkwardly.  He was ruining my moment. So, Darren said you want your own website, what sort of thing are you thinking?

Well, Babe, he sat down with his back to my future husband, blowing his nose in his vest and examining the discharge before continuing.  As you can probably tell by my physique, I am a personal trainer, and I want to expand my client base. I’m thinking, lots of photos of me lifting weights, showing off my abs, and my phone number.  What do you think?

I think that’s something we can achieve, I said.  Peter had remained in his seat and was watching the exchange quizzically.

Awesome!  I’m just gunna get a coffee, then we’ll talk image. He winked at me then turned and headed to the counter.

Well, I’m sure you feel overdressed. Peter observed.

Somewhat, but had I not worn this outfit we might never have met. I smiled at him.

A fact for which I will be eternally grateful.  His eyes sparkled across the table.

Just then there was a loud bang and broken glass from the window flew in towards us.

Get down! Peter yelled, pushing the table over and pulling me down behind it.

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Chapter Two: Is This the Apocalypse?

To be honest, I never actually expected the apocalypse to happen, and if it did, I did not expect to be wearing heels and a skirt which ensured that fleeing in terror was an impossibility.

What the h… heck just happened? Apocalypse or no apocalypse, I was not about to ruin my chances with Peter by showing him colourful language.

It must have been a bomb. He gently removed a cheese straw from my hair and placed it on the floor. Stay here, I’ll investigate.

You OK, Babe? Tyrone belly crawled, commando style, towards my upturned table.

Fine. I was really hoping the blast would have finished Tyrone, so I could requisition his joggers and trainers, but alas, no.

So, he said, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of me, let’s talk image.

I’m not sure that now is the best time, Tyrone, I began, fumbling for my netbook. I wanted to get online, see if there were any reports of what was going on.

Well, you’re fine, I’m fine, no time like the present, he indicated his tattoo.

Did you ever think about getting a picture of a fish for underneath? I asked him.

Nah, but that is an EPIC idea, he enthused.  I can see why Darren recommended you. You’re smart and artistic.

Is everyone OK? The barista stumbled over. She was wearing her uniform with sensible shoes, and I was very jealous.

Actually, Babe, I’d like an Americano, black, and my lady friend drinks lattes.  Could you bring us a couple of those? Tyrone was not joking.

Not right now, honey, the machine’s just being cleaned. Her tone and expression were brilliant. I wish I could ooze sarcasm so perfectly.  I am not quick enough.

I’m fine, are you OK? I asked her.  Do you know what happened?

I saw like a mushroom cloud raise up in the distance, the whole street is wrecked, phones are down.

Alright, everyone! Peter re-entered holding a badge in the air. "I don’t want anyone to panic, but I will be taking control of this situation until I have