Destroy Me Karen Cole (guided reading books txt) 📖

men are helpless babies, unable to do simple housework and slaves to their sexual urges.

‘As far as I know he’s fine,’ I say in a conciliatory tone. ‘Harper’s moved in with him.’

My mother makes a strange noise of frustration in her throat. ‘That woman,’ she says.

Mum has never actually met Harper but in her opinion, she is the incarnation of evil and if anyone is more to blame for the break-up of my marriage than me, it’s Harper. In her mind, Harper is a siren who lured in poor, unsuspecting Theo with her promiscuous ways. ‘You need to stop her,’ she adds crossly.

‘How am I supposed to do that?’

‘I don’t know. If you made more effort . . .’ She breaks off. I suppose by making more effort she means losing more weight. ‘I dread to think what all this is doing to poor Dylan,’ she continues, shaking her head. ‘I can’t bear to think of my grandson living with that woman.’

‘Dylan’s okay. Harper is actually quite nice to him to be fair,’ I say. It’s a testament to my mother’s ability to bring out the contrarian in me that I find myself defending Harper of all people.

‘Hmm,’ Mum says doubtfully. ‘And how’s my little grandson settling into his new school?’

‘So far, so good. He likes his teachers, and he seems to be making friends.’

‘Good.’ Mum’s face softens and she slops my coffee down in front of me, then starts taking out cooking ingredients and placing them on the table. ‘You don’t mind, do you darling? I promised Gillian I’d make some lemon tarts for the WI bake sale. It’s in aid of – oh, I forget what it’s in aid of, but it’s a good cause anyway. I’ve got so much to do this morning I don’t know how I’m going to fit it all in.’

‘That’s okay,’ I say, relieved that we seem to have abandoned the topic of my divorce. ‘Do you want any help?’

‘No, thank you. But please don’t put your feet up on the chair, she gives my leg a friendly pat and smiles. ‘And I do wish you’d sit up straight.’ I automatically straighten my shoulders. (It’s another disappointment to her that she has a daughter who always slouches.)

There is a lengthy silence, broken only by the slap of the rolling pin against the dough. Both of us are reluctant to mention the subject that’s really on our minds.

‘There’s a photo I found the other day,’ she says at last. ‘It’s on that shelf there. It’s of you and Charlotte Kent. You must have been about thirteen when it was taken.’

I pick it up and stare at it. It’s of me and Charlie sitting on the bench in Charlie’s garden with our arms round each other. Charlie has a flower in her teeth as if we’re about to do a tango.

‘That girl always was trouble,’ she says, and gives a sigh. ‘You know the police came here the other day.’

‘They came here?’ I repeat with a lurch of dismay.

Mum nods firmly. ‘Yes, and they asked me a lot of impertinent questions. I didn’t like that woman one bit. Now what was she called? Smallforest or Littletrees, something like that.’

‘You mean DI Littlewood?’

‘Yes, I think that was her name.’

‘What did she ask?’

‘Oh, about your friendship with Charlotte Kent – or Holbrooke now, I should say.’

‘And?’ I hold my breath. ‘Did you tell her that I barely know her any more, that I haven’t seen her for over seven­teen years?’

‘Um, no, actually I forgot that. It seems like only yesterday you were both sitting in this kitchen here, stuffing your faces with my fairy cakes. I told them that she was always a troublemaker – that she treated you badly.’

I make a small, exasperated sound in my throat. ‘You shouldn’t have told them that,’ I say.

‘What? Why?’ My mother looks affronted.

‘Well, don’t you think they might construe that as a motive?’

‘For murder?’ She gives a small, tinkling laugh. ‘You are joking, aren’t you, Catherine? They can’t seriously suspect you.’

‘Well, I think they do.’

She puts her spoon down and stares at me.

‘Nonsense, darling,’ she says. She starts cutting the dough into small circles, frowning. She’s placing it in the ­category of things she doesn’t believe because she doesn’t like them. My mother is good at that. For example, she doesn’t believe in automatic checkouts in shops and she doesn’t really believe that Theo and I are going to get a divorce.

‘I never liked that girl,’ she continues. ‘I told you she would get you into trouble one day. Do you remember when she drove my car and dented it? We never did get the money for the repairs. And then there was the time you both nearly got arrested for trespassing.’

I remember.

‘Yes, but that wasn’t Charlie’s fault,’ I point out. ‘The house looked derelict. How were we supposed to know there was a crazy old man living there? Besides, I don’t think we can really blame her for getting herself killed.’

‘Hmph. Can’t we?’ Mum purses her lips. ‘She probably had it coming to her. I’ve no doubt she was mixed up with the wrong people. Drug dealers, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Mum, she smoked marijuana when she was a teenager. Big deal. By all accounts, she was a perfectly respectable young woman. She’d just married and had a thriving business – you know the shop in town, Charlie’s Choice. You must have been there.’

Mum gives a disapproving sniff. ‘Never been there. Lots of overpriced trinkets and all that New-Age stuff: crystals and joss sticks and whatnot. Load of stuff and nonsense, if you ask me. There used to be a lovely wool shop there. Now you can’t get wool anywhere.’ She sighs. The modern world has never agreed with my mother.

‘Anyway –’ she frowns – ‘I don’t understand why the police think you were involved. Do you know anything about why she was murdered?’

‘I really don’t. As you know, I haven’t seen her since we left school.’

‘I told the police, I wouldn’t be surprised if it