Destroy Me Karen Cole (guided reading books txt) 📖

Of course, I think with a flicker of fear. They would have had to clean up all the blood.

On the wall, there’s a photo of Charlie and Adam; the same one that the press released. She’s smiling down at me with an expression I remember – that flirtatious smile she gave everyone, half mocking, half challenging. I stare at it feeling uneasy. When she smiled at me like that, I always felt as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.

‘So,’ Adam says as he comes back into the living room carrying two steaming mugs, plonking them on the coffee table and making me jump.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says pleasantly. He sits down opposite me and glances at the notes in front of him and then at me. ‘You want to lose weight, right?’ He looks at me appraisingly. ‘I wouldn’t say you need to lose too much.’

‘I’ve already lost quite a bit, but I can’t seem to shift the last couple of stone,’ I say. Not surprising, I suppose, considering all the packets of fudge and chocolate biscuits I’ve eaten lately, but he doesn’t need to know about that.

He clears his throat. ‘The first thing I should say is that diets don’t always work – not long term. People who diet might lose it at first but tend to gain weight over time. The best thing you can do is aim to lead a healthy lifestyle, increasing the amount of protein and vegetables you eat, cutting down on refined sugar and carbohydrates.’

‘That sucks,’ I pout. ‘Sugar and carbohydrates are two of my favourite things.’

He smiles wanly. ‘Why don’t you start off by telling me what you eat on a typical day?’

Hmm, I think. Yesterday, a slice of toast for breakfast, a salad for lunch, then a cinnamon bun, a whole bag of fudge, a whole pizza and a packet of ginger biscuits and half a large tub of strawberry ice cream.

‘I don’t really have a typical day,’ I say.

‘Well, that could be part of the problem.’

He goes on to discuss the different types of proteins, carbo­hydrates and fats for a while. He talks in such a natural, easy way and seems so normal that I forget to be afraid of him. Instead, I start feeling sorry for him. I notice his nails, which have been bitten to the quick and the dark shadows under his eyes. This is a man clearly struggling to come to terms with the death of his wife and bravely trying to carry on with his life. But I mustn’t forget the purpose of my visit. I didn’t come here just to chat about nutrition. I came here to find out more about Charlie’s death, and during a pause in the conversation I decide to broach the subject directly.

‘I’m so sorry about Charlie,’ I say. ‘I can’t imagine what you must be going through.’

He frowns and blinks at me with dark, startled eyes. ‘You knew Charlie?’

‘We were friends at school.’ I wonder if he will find it weird that I’ve decided to consult the husband of my recently murdered school friend, but on balance I decide it’s worth the risk of telling him I know her, so that I can get him to talk about her death. I rummage in my bag and pull out the photograph Mum gave me. ‘I found this the other day. I thought you might be interested,’ I say. ‘That’s me and Charlie when we were about thirteen.’

He takes the photo but doesn’t really look at it. He seems distracted. His hand is trembling a little and I wonder why. It could just be natural emotion on seeing the image of his murdered wife or it could be something more sinister.

‘I don’t know if she ever mentioned me?’ I ask tentatively.

‘Catherine? Catherine Bayntun? I don’t think so.’ He shakes his head slowly.

‘Bayntun is my married name. I was called Hawkins at school. Cat Hawkins.’

‘Cat Hawkins,’ he murmurs. ‘Yes, now I come to think of it. She did mention you.’ His eyes narrow and I feel a twinge of unease. How much exactly did she tell him?

‘What did she say about me?’ I ask.

‘Um . . .’ He frowns. ‘Just that you were a good friend at school. Some of the scrapes you got into – like the time you were arrested for trespassing.’

‘So, she told you all our deep, dark secrets?’ I say lightly, as if it’s a joke.

He doesn’t answer. There’s a long pause. He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. ‘Listen Catherine, this is all a bit strange, don’t you think? I didn’t know you were a friend of Charlie’s. I don’t mean to be rude but why exactly are you here? You didn’t come here to talk about nutrition, did you?’

He stands up and I’m worried that he’s going to show me to the door.

‘I know it must seem odd,’ I say rapidly, ‘but I honestly didn’t know you were Charlie’s husband until you gave me your address, and when I realised who you were, I did consider cancelling the appointment, but then I changed my mind. I thought you might welcome the chance to talk about Charlie to someone else who knew her well and who loved her too.’

My voice breaks a little on that last part and it seems to have the desired effect because he hesitates and then sits down again with a heavy sigh.

‘How did you two meet?’ I ask, trying to turn the conversation down a less dangerous path.

He rubs his forehead and eyes. ‘At uni. We met at a gig. I used to play in a band.’ He smiles – a sad, lopsided smile – and looks suddenly sweet. ‘She was very drunk, and she got up on stage and tried to grab my guitar to sing happy birthday to one of her mates.’

‘Yep, that sounds like Charlie.’

‘I wasn’t impressed at first, but later I got to know her sober and – well, you know what she was like.’

I know what he means. He