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

when I ring the doorbell. I push it away and press the bell again – a long, insistent ‘dring’. No answer. No one stirs. There’s no one home.

I sigh. Meg must have phoned her daughter and warned her I was coming. I shouldn’t have trusted her.

Unless Beth is hiding inside right now, watching me. What if Dylan is with her? The thought ambushes me, winding me and choking me with fear.

I cup my hand over my eyes, press my face against the window and peer into the living room, but it’s dark inside and I start with surprise when the front door flies open and a young man with a towel around his waist peers out.

‘Hello?’ he says.

He’s solid-looking with a pleasant gnome-like face, a thick, wet brown beard and tattoos running up his arms and over his chest. ‘Sorry I took so long to answer,’ he says. ‘I was in the shower.’

Did Meg give me the wrong address? I think. Did she set me on the wrong track deliberately? Or could this be Beth’s partner or husband?

‘Um, is Beth Darley here?’ I hazard.

‘She’s not here right now,’ he says politely. ‘Can I take a message?’

I repress the urge to scream. Is he covering for her? Does he know what she’s done? On the whole, I doubt it – his manner seems too natural and relaxed. It seems like he genuinely has no idea what’s going on.

‘Actually, it’s kind of urgent,’ I say in a tight voice. ‘Can you tell me where she is? I need to speak to her and she’s not answering her phone.’

He frowns. ‘I’m sorry, who are you exactly?’

I think quickly. ‘I’m Catherine. I’m a care worker,’ I improvise. I’m standing in for Sophia. It’s about your mother-in-law, Margaret Darley. She’s had a stroke. She’s gone into hospital.’

‘Oh my God,’ he claps his hand over his mouth. ‘She’s going to be okay though, right?’

‘Yes, she’ll be okay. But can you tell me where your wife is? I need to contact her asap.’

‘She’s still at work,’ he says. ‘But I’ll give her a call.’ He disappears inside and reappears with a phone.

‘Where does she work?’ I demand.

‘Um . . . At the school.’ He’s distracted, swiping agitatedly at his phone.

My breathing becomes shallower.

‘Which school?

‘Green Park Primary, but wait—’

Too late. I’m already getting back into my car.

Thirty-six

Ten minutes later, I pull up outside the school gates and veer into the staff car park, ignoring the ‘Staff Only’ signs. There are three cars still there. One, a silver Mazda I don’t recognise – maybe it’s Nicky’s. One is the head teacher’s old Mercedes and the third is Lizzie Hamlyn’s distinctive red and white Mini with the eyelashes on the headlights.

Lizzie. Lizzie . . . Beth. Elizabeth.

I stand and stare at that car, bile rising in my throat.

Of course. I should have known. It makes a horrible kind of sense. Beth’s maiden name was Darley, but if she’s married to the guy I just met at her house, she could have easily changed her name to Hamlyn. Lizzie Hamlyn and Daisy’s sister, Beth Darley, are the same person.

I trusted her, I think furiously as I rush across the playground and round the back of the old Victorian building to Dylan’s classroom. I’d thought the school would keep my son safe. How could I have been so blind? I was taken in by her innocent appearance and the fact that she was in a position of trust. It seems incredible. But the more I think about it, the more certain I become. Lizzie Hamlyn is the right age to be Daisy’s sister and, if she lied, it explains how easily Dylan could have disappeared at pick-up. Other things, small incidents, come back to me and take on a new significance in the light of this new insight: the way she seemed to single out Dylan for special attention; the fact that she had a job she was so blatantly overqualified for.

The classroom is empty and the door is locked. I rattle the handle in frustration and call for help. But there’s no one around. The place is deserted. There are just a couple of forlorn lunch boxes lying around and PE bags hanging on the pegs, the empty water tray and plastic pots scattered over the floor. I peer in the other classrooms, in the toilets and then head to the office.

‘Have you seen Ms Hamlyn?’ I ask Nicky, who is still there but packing her bag, ready to go home.

‘You’re back,’ she says cheerily. ‘Any luck with the hand-bag?’

‘Yes,’ I say impatiently. ‘That’s all sorted now. I’m looking for Ms Hamlyn.’

‘I thought she’d already left,’ she says surprised. ‘Why—?’

I don’t wait to hear the rest of her question. I just dash back out into the playground.

Why didn’t I see it before? It wasn’t a mistake when Lizzie Hamlyn told me Dylan had left with Harry. Of course it wasn’t. I should have known she was lying. But how did she get him out of the school without anyone noticing?

The answer, when it comes to me, is so simple, so obvious I’m amazed I didn’t think of it before. Of course, she didn’t. She didn’t have to. He was here all along, even when I came to pick him up. The thought makes my stomach turn. But where was he exactly? I try to recall what the supply teacher said. Something about afternoon club. What if Lizzie Hamlyn had taken him there? Hidden him in plain sight. It would be easy to pass off as a simple mistake if anyone queried his presence.

I look at my watch. It’s already seven o’clock. Afternoon club will have finished long ago. But Lizzie, Beth – whatever her name is – is still here. Where?

I’m heading back towards the front of the school and the assembly hall when I bump into Ms Gregory, the head teacher.

‘Oh, hello,’ she says, mildly surprised to see a parent on school premises so late. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Do you know where Ms Hamlyn is?’