Destroy Me by Karen Cole (read people like a book TXT) 📗

clears her throat. ‘We’d like you to come in for an interview at the police station to give your side of the story. An official statement. Can you come tomorrow at ten o’clock?’

I turn the phone call with DI Littlewood over in my mind as I walk to Dylan’s school. Why did Luke, assuming, of course, that Luke is his real name, lie to the police? I can think of only two possible reasons: one, that he’s married or in a relationship and doesn’t want his partner to find out that he was cheating; two, that he’s setting me up for some reason. The thought shudders through me. Could Luke be the person who gave the police the photofit?

Ten

The reading corner has been transformed overnight into a magical forest with paper leaves trailing from realistic-looking branches. There’s a grass carpet and cushions that look like logs.

‘Isn’t it fantastic?’ Mrs Bailey agrees when I compliment it. ‘Ms Hamlyn was here until late last night creating it. ‘She’s so artistic, isn’t she?’

Ms Hamlyn looks up and smiles. She and Dylan are huddled together over a book on one of the log cushions, Dylan leaning against her and her long, overgrown puppy legs stretched out in front of her.

‘It’s your mum, Dylan!’ Ms Hamlyn announces, snapping the book shut. Dylan lets out a yelp of happiness, jumps up and launches himself at me, his little head butting my stomach, trying to wrap his arms around me.

‘He’s been a very good boy,’ Ms Hamlyn beams as Dylan fetches his bag. ‘And he drew a great picture of a dinosaur, didn’t you, Dylan?’

Dylan smiles up at her adoringly and I feel an irrational twinge of jealousy. I should be happy that Dylan is bonding with his teachers – that he’s happy at school. And I am. But I suppose Dylan and I have spent so much time alone together since Theo left that I feel a little possessive.

‘He’s got a new book in there for you to read with him,’ Mrs Bailey says, running a frazzled finger through frizzy grey hair, and I’m reminded of the photo of the park. I rummage in my handbag and show it to her.

‘I found this in Dylan’s book bag yesterday,’ I say. ‘Is it homework? I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with it. There weren’t any instructions.’

Mrs Bailey frowns and peers at the picture through her reading glasses.

‘We didn’t give them any homework, apart from the reader,’ she says. She calls to Ms Hamlyn, who has wandered off and is tidying up toys on the windowsill. ‘Any idea what this is?’ she asks.

Ms Hamlyn shakes her head. ‘That’s odd,’ she says.

‘It was probably in the scrap paper box. We try to get them to reuse as much as possible.’

‘Maybe. Or perhaps someone else put it in there by accident. One of the parents?’ I hazard.

Mrs Bailey shrugs. ‘I suppose it’s possible. We hang them up on their pegs outside the classroom so anyone could easily pop something inside when they come to pick up their kids. But why would they?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it was intended as a gift for someone else and they got the wrong bag.’

‘Mm, could be. I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows.’

‘Thank you.’ I take Dylan’s hand. ‘Say goodbye, Dylan.’

As I’m leaving, closing the gate that separates off the little ones from the rest of the school, Ms Hamlyn comes running up after me.

‘Mrs Bayntun, I’m sorry to bother you – I almost forgot, I need to talk to you,’ she says breathlessly. She clears her throat and blushes slightly. ‘This is a bit awkward, but I felt you ought to know that some of the parents have complained . . .’ she tails off.

I bristle. ‘About what?’

She looks at Dylan and lowers her voice. ‘About the murder investigation – the woman killed on Cecily Hill. There are rumours—’

‘That I’m a suspect?’ I say, losing patience with the way she’s pussyfooting around the subject.

Ms Hamlyn looks startled. ‘Well, yes. Apparently, there was a photofit on the news and some of the parents have got it into their heads that it looked like you. Ridiculous of course but . . .’ She gives me an anxious look.

I feel a pressure in my chest. It feels like all the suspicion is closing in on me like a clenching fist and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

‘It’s true,’ I say sharply. ‘The police came to talk to me, but it was just a formality and they haven’t arrested me.’ I can feel my voice rising, anger overcoming caution. ‘And do you know why they haven’t arrested me?’

Ms Hamlyn shakes her head and takes a step back. She looks alarmed and I realise that she’s a little afraid of me. With an effort, I try to control my temper and lower my voice.

‘Because they’ve got absolutely no evidence – that’s why.’

‘I’m sure, I’m sure,’ she murmurs soothingly. ‘It’s just that some of the parents aren’t happy about you being around their children. It’s nonsense, of course.’ She takes a breath. ‘But just to keep the peace, I was wondering if maybe Dylan’s father could come and pick Dylan up from school instead? Just until this all dies down.’

I shake my head. Theo doesn’t finish work until an hour later and he often has meetings and after-school clubs. ‘He can’t pick him up. He has to work,’ I say. Besides, I fought hard to retain the right to have more access to Dylan. If I start giving Theo more time with him, it’ll be the thin edge of the wedge.

‘Is there anybody else?’ she asks.

My mother, I think. I feel incredibly weary, but I really don’t want to ask her. She would do it, of course, but I’d never hear the end of it. ‘Maybe I could come earlier to pick him up before everyone else arrives,’ I suggest.

Ms Hamlyn smiles, ‘That’s a good idea. I’m so sorry about all this. I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon.’

‘Yes,’ I agree, hoping