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

Theo’s flat and then what? I wasn’t there, I try to reassure myself. I didn’t do it. I can’t be charged with something I didn’t do.

Then it comes back to me. Of course, how could I forget? After Weight Watchers, we went for a drink at the Black Bear in Tetbury, Gaby and me. And we met that guy there – Luke. He drove me home and he spent the night. The first time I’ve had sex with someone other than Theo for at least eight years.

I go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea, beginning to feel a little calmer. If the worst comes to the worst, I have a solid alibi at least. I wasn’t alone for even a minute on Friday night. I’m sipping the soothing hot liquid when the phone rings loud in my little house, making my heart strike against my chest. The police have made the link already, I think, in a blind panic. They’re phoning to ask me to come to the station.

But I needn’t have worried. It’s not the police. It’s Theo.

‘You wouldn’t believe what I just saw on the news,’ he says cheerfully.

‘I saw it,’ I say tersely. My heart rate slowing slightly.

‘There’s been a murder and the photofit . . .’

‘I saw it.’

‘You must have a twin,’ he chuckles. ‘An evil twin.’

This is just an amusing diversion for him. It’s annoying, but also, in a weird way, reassuring. If he thinks it’s funny, maybe I’m taking it too much to heart. Of course, no one could take this seriously. I’m a law-abiding citizen, a mother of a young child. I’ve never been in trouble with the police. I’ve never even had so much as a speeding ticket.

There’s a silence on the other end of the phone.

‘What do you want, Theo?’ I ask, feeling suddenly weary.

‘Can I speak to Dylan?’ he asks. I picture Theo on the other end of the phone squashing his lower lip together between his thumb and his forefinger, the way he does when he’s thinking. I know his every gesture and, for a second, I feel a longing so intense it takes my breath away. I want him here with me right now. I need him to laugh and shrug and make everything seem okay.

‘He’s asleep already,’ I say coldly. ‘He’s starting school tomorrow.’

‘Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Oh well, wish him luck from me. Shall I pick him up on Friday?’

‘Yes, I’ll let his teacher know.’ I don’t relish the idea of explaining our domestic situation to the teacher, but I suppose it has to be done.

‘Are you okay, Cat?’ He sounds almost like he really cares.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Bye, Theo, see you soon.’

‘Goodnight.’

I hang up, trying not to picture Theo’s face on the pillow next to mine, his warm breath on my cheek – the way he would always say ‘goodnight’ and kiss me, before rolling over to his side of the bed. At least I can spread out now, I think. I can sleep on whichever side I like. When Dylan isn’t in bed with me, I sleep diagonally across the bed just for the hell of it. I fold up the ironing board, telling myself that space in a bed is a good substitute for a living, breathing man.

Then I go into my bedroom and fire up the computer. Logging on to Facebook, I find Charlie’s profile.

Messages have gone up on her page already. Charlotte Holbrooke. We are heartbroken. Heaven has another angel. A beautiful soul. You were a friend I was proud to know. Have a margarita for me in heaven.

Tears prick at the back of my eyes. It’s been a long time since I saw Charlie. But she was important to me at a time in my life when feelings were raw and friendships more intense. And I suppose I loved her. Reckless, fun, crazy Charlie. I picture her curled up in my parents’ armchair, smoking a spliff or balancing precariously on the school wall, laughing as Mr Baker shouted at her to get down.

But I am ambushed by another memory. Driving home from a party. Charlie leaning out of the car window like a dog, her hair flying behind her. Me shouting over the roar of the engine. ‘Get in, Charlie. You’re going to kill yourself!’ And her just leaning further out, yelling, ‘Live a little, Cat. You know what they say . . .’

I shut down the computer.

Charlie always lived dangerously. She liked to take risks and push things to their limit. But I could never have predicted that her life would have ended like this – so violently; so horribly. What happened to you, Charlie? I wonder as I head to bed. Did you get yourself involved in something you shouldn’t have?

Three

A pale silver sun is nudging through the morning cloud as we walk to Dylan’s new school. He hops along beside me, down the river path and past the horses swishing their tails in the field. Despite the rain yesterday, the water level in the river is low, and I can see all the rubbish that has accumulated at the bottom. A family of ducks is waddling carefully over the Coke cans and weeds, no doubt wondering where all the water has gone.

Green Park Primary School is an old stone building at the far end of town. It’s changed a lot since I went there. In our day, the fence was on the road. Now it’s all high walls and security. In the playground, parents are milling around. A few of them are taking photos of their children – girls in checked green and white dresses with buttoned-up cardigans and boys in grey shorts and green jumpers posing on the steps of the school. I wish I’d remembered to bring my phone to record Dylan’s first day. But I was too preoccupied with other things this morning, worrying about that news report last night. Will any of the other parents recognise me? I’ve scraped my hair back