Perfect Ten

by Jacqueline Ward

  I tiptoe along and find a stone to stand on to see into the window. There’s a small table and a single bed and, just behind the bed, I see the top of the tallest Samsonite suitcase. One of the four cases that were delivered to my house.

  So he has been here. He’s not living here. So where is he? I slide down the wall and sit on the cold stone pathway, picking away at the moss in the cracks. This just gets more and more confusing. Wherever he is, he can’t have our children with him, because they are still at his mother’s. Wherever he is he doesn’t want to take his bags from where he’s been before.

  I should have looked in the bags. They’re probably full of evidence. I’ve got enough and I need to push forward now. Make a plan. If I’m honest with myself I know where he will be. He’ll be with a woman. He can’t seem to manage without one, this stranger who I’ve been imagining is still my husband. Or two. He needs this place to bring his one-night stands to while he lives with someone else.

  He was still seeing Louise Shaw towards the very end of our time together. I worked it out from the hairstyle on the photos. Just before we went to the very first marriage guidance, he changed his normally slicked-back curls to a tight crew cut. Neat, professional. I gasped inwardly when I saw him; I still lusted after him even though I hated him. It didn’t really surprise me that other women wanted him because, to me, he was the perfect man.

  On some of the pictures in the journal, the ones taken with Louise in a blue dress drinking cocktails, I noticed he had that haircut. I suddenly realise that I would have been desensitised by then. I’d looked at so many photos of him with other women that I kind of skimmed the ones at the end. But one thing’s for sure. He’s with Louise Shaw right now. She’s there while he posts those insults about me.

  It’s getting cold and I don’t want to be here all night. So I creep back round to the car and drive away. As I leave, I see that woman standing at the door of the flats. She’s on her mobile.

  I take the back lanes to the hotel. The car park is quiet, only two cars as well as mine, so I stay here and check the Facebook thread. More shares and more likes suggest that a lot of people know what a #cheatingbastard Jack is. I log onto Twitter and it’s even better. #Jacksthedaddy is still trending and more women are sharing their stories.

  I check his profile and a few people have liked his statement. From the looks of it, more people believe me now. More and more people are seeing him for exactly who he is. No doubt his bent fucking solicitor is monitoring the situation. What can he do, though? It’s the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I can’t wait to have a proper look at Louise Shaw’s profile. I find her easily. She’s all tits and teeth, but when I look closer she’s not smiling with her eyes. Hair extensions and false nails. A pouty set of botoxed lips and an expensive fake tan. Some recent pictures with a guy who could be her brother. There are lots of pictures of her partying, but also lots of pictures of her linking arms with friends. Solidarity.

  Envy flashes through me. I’ve got Fiona but I suddenly glimpse how it could have been for me with more support. But wasn’t I getting it now? I flick onto Twitter and #teamJack and #teamCaro are still battling it out. A few D-list celebs have got involved and someone from a reality show is making a rubbish argument for ‘men being men’.

  Back on Facebook and Louise’s profile, I scan the background of the photographs, the ones in the city centre. All her friends are wearing suits, and when I look more closely I can see him in the background. Jack. Outside the courts. Hands in pockets. Quite far away in the distance. I can just make out Missy too. Bloody hell. She must have done something serious if Missy is there. But she’s a liar too.

  She’s not the only mother who stands up for her son, but Missy is almost militant. It’s as if she needs, at all costs, to believe that her boy is innocent of everything and that it’s all the evil women who are corrupting him. And those two make such a wonderful team. She would say black was white if it meant not having to face the fact that her son is a lying bastard.

  The shameful thing is that she must know. She must. It’s as if something started and it’s suddenly gained its own sordid momentum and she is carried away with it. She probably thinks it was loyalty, strength or defending her child. I’ve had much more time to think about it, though. Time on my own, holed up amongst my Amazon castle walls, time to think about this from all possible angles. It isn’t strength. It’s weakness.

  Weakness. She’s unable to face who Jack really is. A bit like I was, really. I know her. I’ve watched her watch him and it isn’t with blindly adoring eyes. No. She knows what he’s up to and it takes all her will not to say a word about it. But Missy is all about saving face. Pulling up the drawbridge and building defences to make it look like everything is normal.

  I peer into the photograph, enlarging it. Jack’s there with Missy in the distance, heads together, isolated from everyone else. She’s smoking and he’s wearing a suit. And a tie. What the fuck is going on here? What has Louise done? Whatever it is, he’ll protect her. He’ll hold her hand, soothe her, get his fucking solicitor to defend her.

  I select a picture and post it. It’s the one where she’s in a model pose, her fake boobs almost in his face and he’s looking directly at her over-made-up face. Naturally, they’re in my bedroom, but I’ve come to expect that now. I see that she’s a nail technician and has helpfully advertised her mobile number on Facebook – thanks for that. I dial it.

  ‘Hi. This is Monica. From Facebook. I’d like to meet up with you to discuss it all. I know what you and Jack did. Could you call this number to arrange a convenient time and place?’

  I sit in the car and wait. Not only is Jack a #cheatingbastard and a stalker. He’s a liar. It’s something else that I can prove now, but I’m not taking it for granted. People like him and Missy always get away with it. Wriggle their way out of things or just stay quiet. With her, it’s usually fear as she lords it over everyone and makes them think that she is much, much better than them.

  With Jack, it’s smug silence mixed with shrugging. Big brown eyes making us all, even me at one point, believe that he is the unfortunate victim of a huge misunderstanding. Then when he’s caught out, he just plays dumb. Outright denial is the next line of defence. No excuses, just a plain, ‘I didn’t do it.’ Like when I saw him in Manchester. He just lied his way out of it. In the end, I almost believed him. Almost.

  Eventually the old Samsung rings. I let it go to answerphone and, after a minute or so, I listen.

  ‘Hi. This is Louise Shaw. It was a very bad line, but if you wanted to meet up to talk about things I can meet you in about half an hour. How about in Up Steps? I’ll be by the bar.’

  It’s late but I drive down to town. I walk over to the church and sit on the wall near the Up Steps pub. I’m just in time to see Louise arrive with DS Percy. I duck behind the wall and wait. Lorraine leaves and Louise sits there with a Coke. She waits and waits and waits and, when I don’t show, DS Percy comes back. It’s been half an hour.

  I watch as they walk to Louise’s convertible and DS Percy to her own car. Louise will have to drive past me to get out, but DS Percy will reverse and go the other way to the station. If she doesn’t, then I’ll just have to think of something else.

  But she does. Louise whizzes past and I follow some distance behind. She turns onto the bypass and I’m behind her. I keep close until she indicates right, then follow and drop back. She lives in Austerlands. She twists and turns off the Huddersfield Road and I turn my lights off. Eventually she turns into a cul-de-sac. I watch as she goes into a dormer bungalow and locks her car doors remotely.

  As she does, she’s greeted by strong arms. I can’t see from here properly, but those arms enfold her and she throws her arms around his neck. It’s obviously Jack. He hugs her and pulls her inside. I can only see the shadows behind the thin curtains, but she’s explaining something. He holds her again and I wonder what she’s goin
g to say when she finds out that he’s included her in his perfect ten, pictures and all?

  I wait and wait, just to see if DS Percy turns up. She might send a car to watch the house. To make sure that Louise is safe. From me, though? It doesn’t seem fair. All I want is the truth. All I want is for someone to finally say to me that all those things that Jack said about me aren’t true. That they believe me. And for him to admit that he was a complete bastard. That he was a serial adulterer and that all the lies he told were to protect himself. He’s in there and I want to ask him face to face. Then it’s over.

  It does concern me that DS Percy appears to be protecting Louise Shaw. I thought that she would understand when she saw the journal. That she’d know what I’ve been through. That I’m not the dangerous one. It’s him who has been going around hurting people. Arranging people’s lives through deceit to suit himself. Lorraine has bought into his lies and she’s on his side now.

  She clearly doesn’t realise that he’s led Louise along the garden path too. How could she? I go through it all again in my head, the photographs and the journal, DS Percy’s suspicion weighed by her ‘just doing my job here’ stance. I’m risking everything now, confronting him. It’s not fair, though. It’s not fair that he gets to be happy with Louise Shaw, Missy gets the kids and I get nothing. So, now I’m strong enough, I’m going to try every avenue until I hit on the truth.

  I breathe in sharply. For one second I let my mind wander to the final outcome of this. Not the bad ending, where I’m arrested and he gets away with it. The ending where I get my children back. I experimentally take it a step further because I thought I glimpsed my future with him still in it and, if that is so, I really am crazy and I’m heading for trouble.

  It’s so common, though. Women who have been abused finally escaping only to return a week later. They’re fixers. They truly believe that they can change their man, that they have the magical qualities that will morph what has usually been a lifelong, if not generational, problem, into a fairy-tale relationship. He’s the one. I’m the one. We’re the one. Love conquers all. It’s a delusion that is sadly perpetuated by society and peddled in every greeting card shop and love song.

  So I think hard. Is this what I’m doing to myself? Am I hoping I’ll get a second chance, even after everything? No. No. No. No I’m not. I want out. I want to get my kids back and I want him to know how I feel. How horrible it is to question your own motives, for fear you are so deeply manipulated that you’re even duping yourself. That you’re not listening because you’re not real. You’re just a figment of my tortured, manipulated imagination. ‘You’ are who I want you to be, but the real Jack, him, is someone else entirely.

  I bet Louise Shaw doesn’t know half of what he’s been up to. But she’s going to find out.

  I’m fuming now, super-angry that I have to go to these lengths. I slam the car door behind me. This is the moment of reckoning, when I’ll come face to face with Jack, he’ll have no choice but to admit what he’s done and let me see my own children. In my mind’s eye I see Louise Shaw pouting at him. She’s smiling up at him and holding his hand. She deserves to know all about him too.

  I push the gate open and stride up to the door. There’s a glass vestibule and I’m banging on the glass before I catch a glimpse of myself in it. I’ve still got the glasses and fancy-dress wig on. For a second I question myself. Is this like Frances or Pam? Is this what I said I wouldn’t do? No. I’m confronting him to see my kids, not to get revenge. With my collar up I’m unrecognisable and I realise that’s why Louise opens the door just as I was regretting knocking.

  I barge in past her and she nearly falls over. She follows me, leaving the door open and hurries over to some guy standing in the corner.

  ‘Where is he?’ I hear my shrill, hysterical voice say. ‘Where’s Jack?’

  She looks closely at me.

  ‘Caroline? Is that you?’

  The guy has his arm protectively around her shoulder. It’s the bloke from the photographs who I thought was her brother or something. They didn’t look romantically involved. I can’t have got it this wrong. I can’t have.

  ‘Where is he?’ I run through to the kitchen and back out again. Louise has her mobile phone in her hand and I snatch it off her. ‘No. You’re not doing that.’

  They suddenly both look quite scared. They step backwards and I realise that I’m brandishing the phone like a weapon. I lower it.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. It’s just that … Look, I know what you did. You slept with my husband. While he was married to me.’

  It’s all coming out wrong. She stares at me. She tries to step forward but he restrains her. She shakes him off. She’s right in my face.

  ‘It’s OK, Nick. I can handle this. You think you’re the only one who’s been hurt here, don’t you? Poor fucking Caroline. I know all about you. All about how you harassed Jack’s conquests. How you lost your kids because he walked all over you. How the police think it’s all got to you and you’re back to your old ways.’ I can feel the spittle hit my face as she shouts. She’s red in the face and then I see that she’s pregnant. She’s pointing a false talon with sparkly crystals dangling from it at me, right in my face. ‘What about me, eh? What about the other ones?’

  ‘You knew he was married to me. I’ve seen pictures of you inside my house.’

  I didn’t want to go down this road. But as I’m here it slips out. She steps back.

  ‘Oh! Really? Well, you know, Caroline, shit happens. I met Jack. We had a relationship. It was fun.’ I look at the guy. He shrugs. She continues. ‘Nick knows everything. But you don’t. You don’t know the half of it.’

  She sits down and I look at Nick. He nods and I sit down heavily on the sofa. How did I get this so fucking wrong?

  ‘So I’m going to tell you, whether you like it or not, Caroline. I’ve seen all this stuff on Facebook and I expect you think it’s all a bit of fun. But it’s not fun for me because he had me arrested.’

  I feel a shiver down my spine. It’s a wake-up call.

  ‘What? Who did?’

  ‘Your precious Jack. He pushed me and pushed me, lied and slept with other women, and I didn’t take it lying down. Oh no. I stood up for myself. But he was cold. Denied it. Drove me mad. Because, you see, he wasn’t the first to do it to me. Some other scum ran off with my mate and lied. I thought Jack was different.’

  Nick interrupts.

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, love. It’s OK.’

  She nods at him.

  ‘I need to get this out. I’m sick of having to shut up. Make us a brew, sweetie, yeah?’

  I look at her. Less make-up, fewer extensions. No tan. She carries on.

  ‘So it went too far. I caught him in his car with this blonde bitch and dragged her out. He told me some fucked-up story about giving her a lift and she ran off. I punched him. I’m not proud of it, but he’d pushed me right to the limit. I lashed out. He called the police. I was charged with actual bodily harm.’

  Bloody hell. I panic. There but for the grace of God go I. That could have been me and Pam.

  ‘So to cut a very long story short, he abused me and got away with it, and I was punished for defending myself.’

  We’re both silent. It’s all clicking into place, what a coward you are. Like mother, like son. Eventually I manage to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry I came here. But you must realise—’

  ‘How fucking mad you are? Yes. And so do the police. Some policewoman has read that fucking journal. She warned me you might come here. Said it had made you unbalanced. Join the fucking club.’

  I turn to leave. This was a big mistake. But she grabs my arm.

  ‘Not so fast. I haven’t finished yet. The thing is, Caroline, we were all used. Sure, we knew he was married, but we all thought we could change him. And he let us think that. And now we’re all caught up in your and Jack’s little fuck-up. Whether we like it or not.’

  She folds her arms and stands in front of me. M
y eyes stray to her stomach.

  ‘Is that …?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I’m with Nick now. We’re happy. We’re getting married as soon as this nightmare is over. And a word of advice: if you ever come near me again, I’ll have you locked up. I’m only not doing it now because I feel sorry for you. I know what could have happened and, just this once, I’ll save you from that. But next time—’

  ‘I’m not fucking mad.’

  ‘I know. In fact, you’re too clever for your own good. Him – Jack – he’s not thinking about any of us. He doesn’t give a shit. All Jack gives a shit about is Jack.’ She shifts her position and leans on a chair. Her partner steadies her. ‘You know what you need to do now? Let it go. Everyone else has. Especially Jack.’

  I leave the phone on the table and walk out. Then I run to my car and screech out of the cul-de-sac and drive back to the hotel.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As I sit in the dark behind the hotel, my hands gripping the steering wheel, I wonder if it’s worth it. I wonder if anything will actually change. If I’ve opened a can of worms. I hadn’t really considered the effect he had on those women’s lives. Are they as bad as him? Am I?

  Of course Louise Shaw is angry now. Of course she hates him now. Like most of the others. All blazing eyes and pointing fingers, she’s mad as hell because she’s tied to him and his wrongdoing through a court case.

  They think I’m stupid. They think I’m obsessed. They can’t see how I sat there day after day, trying to make things right, then when the kids were gone, slipping into some kind of pit of injustice. They just got on with their lives. Because he let them. That’s the difference. He didn’t subject them to the lies that I couldn’t prove and the slow destruction of my character to friends and family. Or did he? The doubt pushes its way in, making me wonder if I have seen the full picture here.