Destroy Me

by Karen Cole

  She had a packet of chocolate biscuits, which she held out to Dylan as if he were a dog she was training.

  He stopped crying immediately and took one. He would sell his own grandmother for a chocolate biscuit. He’s his mother’s son.

  ‘He shouldn’t be having a biscuit before his tea,’ I said coldly.

  ‘One little treat won’t do him any harm,’ she replied airily, looking at me as if she saw right through to my hypocrisy. ‘Come on, Dylan,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘do you want to see what we’ve got for you in your room? I’ll give you a clue. It starts with d . . . and ends in aur.’

  ‘Dinosaur!’ yelled Dylan, rushing in.

  Ever since Harper moved in with Theo, she’s been trying to win Dylan over by buying him a series of ridiculously expensive presents. And I was sure this would be no ­ordinary dinosaur. This would be the kind that lights up, walks and roars. I wouldn’t mind if I thought that she genuinely loved Dylan and wanted to make him happy, but I’m pretty sure she only does it to annoy me.

  I sighed and handed her Dylan’s overnight bag.

  She gave me a small, triumphant smile and closed the door.

  I was still fuming as I drove from Theo’s to Weight Watchers, so I wasn’t really concentrating on my route, but I’m certain that I didn’t drive anywhere near Cecily Hill. Why would I have?

  Weight Watchers passed uneventfully. Sara monologued a lot as usual, mainly about her troubles at work, and we discussed some new low-calorie recipes. The thing about Weight Watchers is that everyone there is completely obsessed with food and we spend all our time talking about cooking and recipes. It’s like going to an AA meeting and talking about the best cocktails to make.

  ‘Anyone fancy a drink?’ asked Gaby, as she always does, when we were leaving. Gaby is younger than the rest of us and hasn’t got any kids, so she hasn’t completely given up on the idea of a social life.

  Most people made their excuses – they had babysitters to get back to or their favourite TV series to watch. Normally, I would have made some excuse too. Being woken up at six am by Dylan every morning makes it hard to stay awake after ten o’clock, let alone be good company. But I couldn’t bear the idea of going home to an empty house – to the gaping silence of my life without Theo and Dylan. I knew if I went home, all I would do would be obsess over what a bitch Harper is and eat a pile of junk food.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Great.’ Gaby beamed at me. ‘I know a great little pub. It’s a bit of a drive but you’ll like it. You might be able to do some research for that book you’re writing. It’s really old and meant to be one of the most haunted pubs in England. And there’s a great band playing there tonight.’

  ‘So, how are things?’ Gaby asked, once we were ensconced in a corner of the Black Bear, near the fireplace. ‘How’s Dylan?’

  She rested her chin in her hands and gave me a quizzical look from bright brown eyes. Her hair, as usual, was a dishevelled mass of black curls and it looked as if she hadn’t changed after her work at the dog shelter. There were a couple of dog hairs clinging to her black top and what looked like part of a leaf caught up in her curls.

  ‘Dylan’s with his dad,’ I said picking the leaf out of her hair. ‘And things aren’t great. I just feel so angry and tense all the time. Harper was there with Theo when I dropped off Dylan this evening.’

  I paused for breath. It felt good to offload to Gaby. I knew she was on my side. We’d been friends for a while, bonding over a shared love of food and dogs. Gaby had two German Shepherds of her own, which we sometimes walked together with Delilah. But we hadn’t become really close until Theo and I separated. Gaby divorced her husband over a year ago after he cheated on her and she’s been supportive, almost enthusiastic, about my separation from Theo.

  ‘That sucks,’ Gaby sympathised. ‘But you need to try to forget about Theo and Harper. They’re not part of your life any more.’

  I was about to point out that it’s difficult to forget about someone who you share a child with, but Gaby probably wouldn’t have understood, not having any kids of her own, though apparently the custody battle over the German Shepherds was long and bitter. Anyway, she was following her own train of thought.

  ‘What you need is a good shag,’ she said helpfully, with typical directness. ‘When’s the last time you had sex?’

  I rolled my eyes and smiled. ‘That’s none of your business,’ I replied evasively.

  Her big brown eyes widened. ‘Oh my God you haven’t, have you? Not since Theo.’

  ‘Well, no . . . To be honest, offers haven’t exactly been flooding in. I can’t imagine why.’ I patted my still generous belly and thighs and laughed. ‘I mean, who could resist this?’

  ‘Don’t put yourself down,’ Gaby said firmly. Then she inclined her head towards someone sitting nearby, just out of my eyeline. ‘What about that guy over there? He’s been looking at you since we came in. And he’s drop-dead gorgeous.’

  I looked over my shoulder. It wasn’t hard to guess who she meant. He was sitting by himself, dressed in a suit, as if he’d come straight from work. He was nursing a shot glass, staring broodingly at the liquid inside. As I glanced over, he caught my eye and smiled. His smile was self-assured, bordering on cocky and full of a kind of warm intent that made the heat rise in my cheeks.

  ‘Not my type,’ I pronounced firmly.

  Gaby laughed. ‘What do you mean he’s not your type? Look at him. He’s everybody’s type.’

  ‘Well for starters, he’s way too young for me. And I prefer skinny, intellectual-looking men.’

  Gaby snorted. ‘Like Theo, you mean? Why don’t you try a real man for a change?’

  I knew that Gaby was just trying to make me feel better by knocking the man who had betrayed me, but I couldn’t help feeling vaguely insulted.

  Angrily, I brushed away thoughts of Theo. I didn’t owe him any loyalty now. Why should I feel offended on his behalf? I glanced back over at the man in the suit. He had loosened his tie and was scrolling through his phone. If I was honest, he was undeniably attractive. ‘What’s he doing here on his own?’ I asked. ‘It’s weird. Anyway, a man like that wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.’

  ‘Why not?’ Gaby sucked her teeth in irritation. ‘Come on, Cat, you’re an attractive woman. Don’t put yourself down. You’re always putting yourself down.’

  ‘I know I’m a beautiful, independent woman with luscious curves,’ I laughed, repeating the mantra Sara had taught us.

  ‘Damn right,’ Gaby nodded, draining her glass. ‘You’re a catch for anyone. We both are. Don’t sell yourself short.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t,’ I promised.

  ‘Do you want another vodka and tonic?’ Gaby asked, standing up.

  ‘I can’t. I’m driving. Maybe an orange juice.’

  ‘So am I. Why don’t we get a taxi back together and fetch the cars in the morning? Come on. The night is young. We’re young and single and we just likes to mingle.’

  ‘All right,’ I laughed. I was feeling reckless and free. I didn’t have to get up in the morning, and maybe I was already thinking I wanted to investigate where things might go with the handsome stranger. Against all odds, he did seem to be interested in me. ‘You sit down though,’ I waved my hand at Gaby. ‘It’s my round.’

  I pushed my way through the crowd to get to the bar to order more drinks. As I was trying to catch the attention of the barman, someone tapped me on the shoulder, making me start, and I turned to find that it was the man Gaby had pointed out. He was laughing at my surprise and holding out a ten-pound note.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said smoothly, with just a hint of an Irish accent. A Liam Neeson voice. Feral green eyes. He was even better-looking up close. ‘But you dropped this.’

  I examined the wad of notes in my hand. It w
as all still there. ‘No, I don’t think—’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in here before,’ he said, ignoring me and pressing the note into my hand. I felt a charge of electricity as his hand brushed against mine. His opening line wasn’t exactly original. He might as well have said, ‘Do you come here often?’ But it didn’t matter; a man who looked like he did could get away with spouting gibberish and still seem eloquent.

  ‘That’s probably because I don’t live here. I mean I’ve never been here. I mean of course, I’ve been to Tewkesbury, but I’ve never been . . . er, to this pub, I mean.’ I was finding it hard to string a coherent sentence together.

  He smiled as if he was used to grown women falling to pieces in his presence. ‘It’s the most haunted pub in England did you know?’

  ‘Yes, I heard it was haunted . . .’

  ‘It’s built on the intersection of two ley lines – one that comes all the way from Stonehenge. There are at least five ghosts.’

  Even mansplaining seemed charming coming from him.

  ‘Five?’ I said breathlessly, hanging on his every word.

  ‘Yes, there’s a headless soldier who fought at the battle of Tewkesbury who roams the corridors upstairs and . . .’ He nodded at a high-backed, dark wood chair near the fireplace. ‘No one can sit in that chair because the ghost of old Nick gets angry if someone takes his seat.’

  I stared at the empty chair and shivered.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I thought about my book. I thought about telling him about Embers. It would be a natural thing to mention at this point and might impress him, but I chickened out. I could hear my mother’s voice. ‘Men don’t like clever girls, and no one likes a bragger.’ A part of me can’t help wondering if things started going wrong for me and Theo after Embers was published. Was he threatened by my success? It was either that or the extra weight I piled on after Dylan was born. Who am I kidding? It was the weight, of course.

  All I could think of to say was, ‘How about you? Do you believe in ghosts?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know either. I sort of do. I believe most ghosts manifest through the living. While they’re remembered, they’re still alive in a way. Do you see what I mean?’

  I nod. I know exactly what he means. It’s the underlying premise of Embers.

  ‘Anyway, I think my date must have got spooked because she hasn’t turned up,’ he laughed.

  ‘Oh, you’re meeting someone,’ I said, swallowing my disappointment.

  He smiled as if he knew what I was thinking – as if he couldn’t blame me for thinking it. ‘I don’t think she’s going to show now. We were going to meet at eight. I stayed anyway for the band, but it turns out the lead guitarist is sick, so they’re not going to play. The whole evening has been a washout . . . until now.’

  ‘Was it a blind date?’ I asked, pointedly ignoring ‘until now’.

  ‘First time I’ve ever used Tinder,’ he said. ‘I might not use it again. This is her.’ He showed me the photo on his phone – a pretty, dark-haired girl in a red bikini, holding a champagne flute with immaculately manicured nails.

  ‘Too skinny. She looks horrible,’ I said, and he laughed.

  ‘Lucky escape, you think?’ he said, not taking his eyes from mine.

  ‘Maybe,’ I agreed. And I realised that I was flirting and that it felt good. It felt familiar and easy talking to him, and it seemed natural and not at all strange when he joined Gaby and me at our table.

  He was soon making us both laugh. He was polite and friendly to Gaby, but made it clear it was me he was interested in, which I couldn’t help but find flattering, and when Gaby announced she was tired and ordered a taxi, he suggested that I stay a bit longer. He said that he could give me a lift home.

  Alone with Luke, the conversation didn’t flag, as I thought it might. It seemed to flow naturally. We talked about everything and anything – books, movies, politics, his travels around Europe when he left university and the scrapes he got into. Though now I come to think of it, he didn’t say much at all about his life now. About where he lived or worked.

  At the time I didn’t notice. I was too busy thinking this man was so attractive, and had a great personality. Too good to be true. And when he dropped me outside my house, I didn’t think twice about inviting him in for a coffee.

  ‘You live here alone?’ he asked, standing in my kitchen, watching me in a way that made me fumble with the tap as I filled the kettle. He shifted only a little as I brushed past him to the fridge and I caught a whiff of aftershave and something that made me feel weak with lust.

  I backed away, startled by the physicality of my feelings. Gaby was right. It had been too long.

  ‘No. I live with my son. But he’s not here at the moment. He’s with my ex. He’s five years old.’ I showed him a picture on my phone, glad of the excuse to talk about something safe and about as far from sex as possible.

  ‘No kidding,’ he beamed. ‘My boy’s five too.’

  ‘And his mother?’ Warning bells should have been ringing, but they weren’t.

  ‘Oh, we split up a few months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I imagined I saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. Some idiot broke his heart, I thought.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said bravely. ‘It’s a fresh start. A chance to date other women. Play the field. Though I’m quite glad that my date didn’t turn up tonight.’ He gave me a meaningful look and I was suddenly ambushed by another strong wave of lust.

  The kiss, when it came, felt inevitable. His lips were soft and tasted of whisky. The kettle hissed and steam poured from the spout, but we carried on kissing, lost in the moment. And when his hand stole up my thigh, I didn’t think about cellulite or about Theo or Dylan. I didn’t really think much at all. And I don’t remember how we ended up there, but somehow we found our way from the kitchen to my bedroom in a tangle of limbs and clothes.

  ‘Okay?’ he murmured, just before he pushed me down on the bed. I didn’t answer, just pulled him towards me, unbuckling his trousers and running my hands over the smooth, pale skin of his stomach.

  I remember him holding me afterwards, and the feeling of skin against skin after so long was so sweet it was close to pain.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said – or something stupid like that because, in the moment, I did feel absurdly grateful.

  ‘No . . . thank you,’ he said.

  Then I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew he was shaking me awake and the sunlight was streaming in through the window.

  ‘You have to go to work on a Saturday?’ I grumbled, still half asleep. What kind of job have you got where they make you work on a Saturday?’

  He laughed gently. ‘I’ve got a meeting with some clients about a building I’m designing. I can’t be late. It’s a really important contract, but I’ll call you, okay?’

  Of course! Why didn’t I remember that earlier? I turn away from the window, from the rain and root in my pocket for the phone number that Littlewood gave me. Then I pick up the phone and call her. She answers after a few rings, sounding hassled.

  ‘Yes?’ she says abruptly.

  ‘Hi, yes, it’s Catherine. Catherine Bayntun,’ I say. ‘I just remembered something about Luke – the guy I was with on Friday night.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘His job. He’s an architect. There can’t be many architect firms in town. You should be able to find him easily, right?’

  Six

  Hanging up the phone, I glance at the time in the corner of the screen and realise, with a lurch of dismay, that I’m late for pick-up.

  Crap! On Dylan’s first day! What kind of mother am I?

  I dive into the car and drive through the town centre to school. But the traffic lights are not in my favour, and despite
my haste, I’m one of the last parents to arrive. When I rush up to the classroom door, Dylan is sitting with the teaching assistant, Ms Hamlyn, and one other little boy, looking woebegone, clutching a crayon and scrawling half-heartedly on a large piece of paper. I feel a rush of love and guilt so intense it takes my breath away.

  ‘Dylan,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, baby.’

  He raises his head, his face lighting up when he sees me, and he rushes into my arms.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ I ask, kissing his cheek. And he nods and looks up at me. ‘Why is your hair yellow?’ he asks with a puzzled frown.

  I ignore his question. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say to Ms Hamlyn.

  ‘It’s okay, really,’ she bounces up, energetically. Young, long-limbed, with overgrown puppy legs, cropped brown hair and wide, caramel eyes. According to the introductory letter we were sent, she started working at the school this term and she seems to have all the enthusiasm and eagerness to please of the newly employed. ‘Dylan’s been telling us all about dinosaurs, haven’t you, Dylan?’

  Dylan nods.

  ‘He knows a lot about them,’ she adds.

  I smile. ‘Dylan knows all there is to know about dinosaurs, don’t you?’ I ruffle his hair proudly.

  ‘He had a little accident, I’m afraid,’ Ms Hamlyn whispers in my ear as we’re leaving. ‘We have some spare underwear, but it would be a good idea if you could put an extra pair of pants in his bag tomorrow and a plastic bag.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ I say, feeling like an even worse mother than before. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. He never normally—’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ she interrupts. ‘It happens all—’ She breaks off because another mother has appeared to pick up her son. It’s Georgia, the woman I spoke to this morning.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she breezes in, pushing a pram, her brown hair flying. ‘You must think I’m always late. I’m really not. It’s just I had a check-up at the clinic for the baby and I had to wait longer than I thought I would.’