Destroy Me Karen Cole (guided reading books txt) 📖

right. It can be very traumatic, the death of a beloved pet. I was just asking if you want me to do a post-mortem?’

‘No.’ I don’t want to risk getting the police involved. They might ask all sorts of awkward questions.

‘Okay, then. So, what do you want to do with her body?’ he asks gently.

‘Oh, I hadn’t really thought about that.’

‘Would you like her to be cremated, for example?’

‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’

‘Good. If you want, we can keep her here until someone from the pet crematorium can pick her up.’

‘That would be good. Thank you.’

I feel bad leaving Delilah as if she’s a piece of luggage to be stored, but it’s one less thing to worry about and I’m not sure where I would put her if I took her home. So I kiss her on her soft, velvety head for the last time, say goodbye and pay the vet’s receptionist a deposit.

It’s only as I walk down the steps of the vet surgery that tears come. Big, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. They are tears of anger as well as grief. She was a good, sweet dog. What kind of person would do this to such a gentle, innocent creature? And how the hell am I going to break the news to Dylan?

I get home to an empty house and make myself a cup of tea. I start a packet of chocolate biscuits, but they taste like dust in my mouth and I throw the remainder of the packet in the bin. Then I wash up the breakfast things and sweep the floor. The rest of the day stretches out in front of me, empty and bleak.

I sit down in front of my laptop and try to write a few words of the Embers sequel, but nothing comes. Delilah is usually nearby, curled up in her basket next to me, and I miss her quiet, unobtrusive presence more than I would have expected. I keep thinking of Dylan too. He loves Delilah so much. He has grown up with her watching over him. She used to guard him from other dogs, growling when they came near his pram, and when he got older he would stumble after her on his little legs trying to grab her tail. She was always so patient. She never got angry or snapped at him. How am I going to tell him? I don’t like the idea of lying to him, but perhaps it’s kinder to make something up – the old cliché of the dog going to live on a farm. He’s only five, after all. Isn’t he too young to deal with the reality of life and death?

I’m washing out her feeding bowl and wondering what to do with it when Theo rings. He sounds chipper. It’s a stark contrast to my mood. ‘Hey, how are you doing?’ he says.

‘Not too good.’ I’m trying not to cry.

‘Oh, what’s wrong? Is it the press? Are they bothering you again?’

‘No, it’s not that. I’ll explain when I see you.’

‘Okay.’ Theo pauses. ‘Well, I’m just ringing to say that you don’t need to pick up Dylan from school. He felt ill this morning, so I didn’t take him in.’

‘He’s ill?’ Panic grips me. Everything is slipping out of my control. If they can get to Delilah, why not Dylan? ‘Is he throwing up?’ I ask, seized by a sudden panic that he’s been poisoned too.

‘Don’t worry, he’s fine. He’s just got a touch of flu, that’s all,’ Theo reassures me.

‘I want to see him. Can I come round?’

‘Sure, of course you can.’

Twenty-eight

A few minutes later, I’m in Theo’s flat trying to get Dylan to drink a glass of water. His cheeks are flushed and his forehead is hot, but to my relief, he seems okay and is sitting up in bed, playing games on his tablet.

‘No more iPad,’ I say firmly, taking it away. ‘You should try to get to sleep.’

‘All right,’ he says, laying his head back down on the pillow, grabbing my hand tightly. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I’ll just be in the living room, sweetheart. Don’t worry.’ I gently release myself from his grip. ‘I just need to go and talk to Daddy for a bit.’

‘You see? I told you he was okay,’ says Theo, as I enter the room.

Tears have welled up in my eyes.

‘Hey, it’s all right. What’s wrong?’

I sit on the sofa and stare blankly at Harper’s painting hanging above the TV. ‘I just don’t know how to tell him. It’s going to break his heart.’

‘Tell him what?’

‘It’s Delilah.’ I rub my eyes and swallow back more tears. ‘She’s dead.’

Theo’s jaw drops. ‘What? Delilah? But . . . I don’t understand. She was fine only the other day.’

‘She was poisoned.’

Theo sits down opposite me clutching a cushion. His face pinches. ‘Poisoned? How?’

‘The vet said he thought she might have eaten rat poison.’ I shake my head. ‘But it makes no sense. She didn’t leave the house yesterday. Where would she have found rat poison?’

Theo shakes his head disbelievingly. He looks stricken. Delilah was his dog too. He loved her. We picked her together from the dog shelter shortly after we first married, as a kind of trial run for having a kid. We chose her because, unlike the other dogs, who were leaping up at the bars, wagging their tails wildly, she was cowering at the back of the cage. It took months of TLC to transform her into the happy, trusting dog she became.

I take a deep breath. ‘I think someone poisoned her. On purpose.’

Theo stares at me. ‘Really? But who would want to hurt Delilah?’ He breaks off, chewing his lip thoughtfully. ‘Do you think it was Eileen? She was always complaining about the barking.’

I shake my head. ‘Not Eileen. Someone else.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I think it was a kind of warning to me.’

Theo frowns. He looks confused. ‘A warning? What do you mean by that?’

I slump in my chair, fighting back tears. I am