Destroy Me Karen Cole (guided reading books txt) 📖

‘Stop! This is not happening,’ I blurt, shoving him roughly backwards.

He tumbles off the sofa on to the floor and sits there rubbing his head, looking bemused and drunk.

‘You’re right. God, I’m sorry. Shit,’ he says, scrambling to his feet. ‘We must have drunk too much.’ He avoids my eyes. ‘We’d better go to sleep. I’ll make up the bed for you.’

I wake next morning to the sound of a phone ringing. It’s raining, a steady tapping on the window, and I’m lying on the couch in Theo’s t-shirt. I can’t even remember him giving it to me last night. I feel exhausted, hung over and there’s a crick in my neck.

Theo answers the phone and I can clearly hear his sleepy voice. I can tell straight away from his tone, which is soft and intimate, that he’s talking to Harper.

‘Yes, right. You’re right,’ he says. ‘Yes, me too, okay.’ Then, more softly, ‘I’m sorry.’

They’re making up, I realise, with a sinking feeling in my gut. Their argument was just a lover’s tiff, after all. I roll over and clamber out of bed, feeling like I’ve been scraped off someone’s shoe. What was I thinking last night? Why did I let Theo kiss me? Have I got no self-respect? Thank God I didn’t end up sleeping with him. At least I can hold on to that and leave with some dignity. Wanting to get out before Theo comes in, I scramble into my clothes and collect my stuff together, but I’m really thirsty and my mouth feels like it’s been scraped out with sandpaper, so before I go, I head to the kitchen to get some water.

While I’m filling my glass from the tap, I’m distracted by Dylan’s school bags on the kitchen chair. They look as if they were just dumped there on Friday and haven’t been touched since. Sure enough, when I open his lunch bag, I see that Theo hasn’t even bothered to empty it. Inside, there’s Dylan’s half-eaten sandwich and some apple slices going brown. I toss them into the bin and rinse out the bag, turning it inside out to dry. Then, as an afterthought, I check his book bag. I bet Theo hasn’t bothered to read with him, I think crossly, flicking through his reading record. I’m incensed to see not only that Theo hasn’t read with him, but that Harper has. That’s even worse than nobody reading with him at all. Super reading today! she’s written in her swirly, girly writing, and she’s drawn a large smiley face. I snap it shut and empty out the rest of the bag on to the counter.

Along with the book, some scrunched-up paper and, strangely, an acorn, a blue envelope falls out. My breath catches in my throat. I turn it over in my hands afraid to open it, afraid of what might be inside. This time someone has written the words ‘For Catherine’ on the front in printed blue biro, just like the note that was sent to DI Littlewood.

I scrabble in the cutlery drawer, trying to stay calm and taking out a sharp knife, then, with a single swift movement, I slit the envelope open and slide out the contents. Another printout. I unfold it and flatten it on the kitchen counter. Blinking as the picture comes into focus, I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. Is that . . .? I bend over double, trying to breathe and force myself to look at it again.

It’s an empty stretch of road in the middle of nowhere: a grass verge and a gate, an oak tree with a twisted trunk. There’s nothing remarkable about it and yet . . .

This is the spot, I think. This is where it happened.

I grip the edge of the kitchen counter. It’s as if a huge explosion has gone off in my head, creating a massive shock wave. I feel as if I’ve been electrocuted. For a moment, I think I might be having a stroke.

‘That was Harper on the phone.’ Theo sidles sheepishly into the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt, hair all mussed up. He rubs his eyes and blinks at me sleepily. ‘She’s on her way. She’s going to be here in a few minutes.’

I can’t speak. I’m still staring at the picture. I can’t drag my eyes away.

Theo misinterprets my silence. ‘I’m really sorry, Cat. I know this is an awkward situation. You can stay if you want, I just thought you’d want to know.’

‘What?’ I manage. My voice seems far away. ‘No, sure, I’ll go. I don’t want to see Harper. You don’t have any idea where this envelope came from, do you?’

Theo glances at it and shrugs. ‘No. Cat, are you all right?’

‘Never better,’ I say vaguely, as I scoop up my jacket and shove the envelope in my handbag.

‘See you later, Theo,’ I say, as I head to the door.

‘Cat? Is there—?’

Outside, I gulp in fresh air and retch into a plant pot. Then I get into my car and drive blindly, as if I can escape the demons chasing me. But I can’t escape. I will never escape. There’s no doubt now. They’ve caught up with me. The photos, Charlie’s death, the photofit. They’re all linked. Someone knows what happened and they want me to pay.

Twenty-one

2002

Charlie and James.

The shock of it was like something sharp stuck in my throat.

Charlie and James sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. The rhyme drummed in my head, taunting me. Charlie and James sitting in a tree. Except they weren’t just kissing.

At that moment, a flash of lightning lit up the sky and the whole scene was illuminated in stark, unforgiving detail. The look on Charlie’s face was pure deer-in-headlights. Caught in the act. It would have been almost comical in other circumstances.

‘Cat . . .’ she said. And James, finally realising something was wrong, opened his eyes and blinked in confusion.

‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed, as Charlie pulled