Perfect Ten

by Jacqueline Ward

  I know revenge is primal. It’s a response emotion to anger. To injury. To humiliation. An eye for an eye. Or an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind? All those things I did. But I was damaged. It doesn’t seem real because I don’t have the visible scars. But revenge is a response to hurt and I was hurt. It strikes me that all of those women have their own revenge agenda and this could go on for ever. Not for me. I’m tired and sorry and wishing now that there was another way. But didn’t Jack make any other way impossible? It’s this or lose my kids for good. But it can’t go on for ever. Once I’ve found Paula, it’s over.

  I have to carry on. I have to get through to Tuesday and go to social services. By then I will have all the evidence I need. Louise shocked me a bit, if I’m honest. I wasn’t expecting her to lay into me, so I soothe myself with Facebook. The screen lights up the dark car interior with a soft glow and I see that someone has made an #allgirlstogether Facebook page which has over 800 likes. The thread started by fake Alicia has grown and has 403 comments. This story is writing itself and I close the lid and relax a little. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I can put the final phase of my plan into action.

  It’s late and I go inside the hotel to the bar. I almost order a large vodka, but then realise where that would take me and order a Diet Coke. I sip it as I perch on a bar stool in the corner. An elderly couple are sitting silently by the fire and there’s a works do going on in an adjoining room muted by a pair of closed double doors. A guy is standing just outside the doors talking on his phone. He glances over and our eyes meet. In different circumstances I would have drunk myself stupid and tried to sleep with him and I’m quite proud of my moderation as I discount it.

  I open my own laptop and log onto the 192.com website. I type in my sister’s name. Paula Lord. And Manchester. Three records come up. One of them is a postcode for a flat in Chorlton. The other occupant was a P. Goldring. That bloke she was living with. Then I type in Jack Atkinson. Registered as living at Missy’s. I try to shout in my head, Jack, Jack, Jack, but I can’t picture him. I panic. He’s really gone. I hold onto the edge of the bar. I feel like I’m falling, falling, falling fast into a deep ravine. Alone. I really am alone now.

  It feels strange. A sudden sense of freedom that comes from not being attached to Jack any more. Like there actually is a future and I can be part of it. Do something. I can see what’s happened more clearly with this detachment.

  I stare at my Diet Coke and long for the burn of alcohol in my throat. He must have been there when I put the bag in the house. He’s been there all this time. That’s why Missy wasn’t arrested. Because he lives at the property where the bag was found. DS Percy wouldn’t be able to arrest her because he would have dropped the charges and told them that he had made a terrible mistake.

  How could I be so stupid? Then it strikes me. He’s been hiding something. Hiding the fact that he’s living at his mother’s for some reason. He knows whatever it is, it’s wrong. He knows people won’t understand. He knows it will make him look even worse than he does already. Not just to his precious friends and colleagues. He’s lied to the police and social services. And the lies are second nature, with no remorse whatsoever. Lie after lie. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. This is all suddenly looking better for me.

  I turn away from the screen and the guy in the corner is looking straight at me. I half smile. An alarm bell goes off inside me and I realise that I’m scared of this. Scared that if I socialise with anyone it might end up like it did with Peter Daubney – with some sordid photos and minus a credit card. But then I remember that someone’s sent those pictures. Jack. Part of this stupid fucking game he thinks he’s playing with me. My mind involuntarily flickers to the image of him getting the photos printed, very old school, and writing on the back, I’M WATCHING YOU CAROLINE. Even though everything else is mad, this is downright creepy. He’s living in the same house as my children and I know what he’s capable of.

  The guy’s coming over. I try to turn away, but he’s standing in front of me. Sober in a bar for a change, I realise that this is just a rerun of the ‘business people killing time’ scenario. Same shit, different hotel. Too late to deflect him now.

  ‘Hi. Everything OK?’

  I flash him a smile. He’s blushing.

  ‘Yeah, I just wondered if you wanted a little company?’

  I giggle. I suppose it could be fun. Take my mind off going straight round to Jack’s mother’s house.

  ‘OK. I’m Caroline. I’m just finishing up here.’

  I close my laptop.

  ‘Yeah. Right. I’m Lee. Drink?’ Why fucking not? says my rapidly deteriorating integrity. But I manage to refuse. He orders a Diet Coke for me and half a lager for him.

  ‘Have you eaten yet? They do a great steak here.’

  For one incredulous minute I think he does just actually want the company. I find myself somehow looking directly into his eyes. He smiles and sips his drink.

  ‘Ah. So what were you thinking?’ He moves closer. ‘What do you like?’

  I’ve heard it all before. They always want you to do what their wives won’t do any more. It’s the thrill of the chase, not that I’ve been running very fast at all. I suddenly feel sad as I remember my previous encounters at the Premier Inn. They all love to play out whatever they’ve been wanking to on the internet. I’ve been a school teacher, the girl out of Fifty fucking Shades. I’ve been a nurse and a prostitute. I’ve had them take me outside and fuck me in public and behind bus shelters, ‘like they did when they were young’.

  Inevitably, they describe in detail what their wives are like. Usually it’s the old ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ or ‘she’s too tired for sex’. ‘She won’t give me a blowjob’ is popular too. Thankfully, I was mostly half pissed before they got a chance to launch into their sorry tales about why they are being unfaithful. That’s the thing. They all believe that they are justified.

  I’m wondering what Jack said. Did he tell them that I was tired? Did he mention the late nights and early mornings looking after his children? Caroline doesn’t like that sort of thing. I picture Julie Carson in my mind’s eye, giving him oral sex outside. Caroline would never do that. I can almost hear him saying it to them. He never gave me a chance. He never gave us a chance to develop a loving intimacy. To have fun. I was just quick, dutiful sex between business trips or, as I now realise, mistresses. But this is progress. I can see him from a distance. A stranger.

  Lee tells me that he works for a charity. He’s here on a works do blah blah blah … I’m still thinking about Jack. Him and my slut sister. My anger is getting the better of me and I’m suddenly laughing too loud at something Lee said.

  He’s holding my hand and pulling me off my bar stool. I’m suddenly laughing with him as he chats about some guy in the other room doing an Elvis impersonation and he laughs too and pulls me towards the dining room. The elderly couple are tutting and getting their things together. The woman looks at me like I’m a cheap tart and I feel like slipping into the in-between, where I can finally get some peace. Some time away from it all. Instead, Lee passes me a menu.

  ‘Bar food.’ He looks delighted. Maybe this is just a weird way of getting me into bed. ‘Live on my own, you see. Lucky if I can be bothered to make chips and beans. Or a pot noodle.’ He looks away from the menu and right into my eyes. I feel something I have never felt before. ‘What are you having?’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I wake up at two minutes past seven, alone. My head’s not killing me and I don’t feel sick. I’m not ravenously hungry from days of not eating because of the steak and chips I ate with Lee. That’s what happens when you let some of the alcohol drain from your system. No hangover central today. It feels good. I do feel a little bit elated, though, and I laugh to myself about the #allgirlstogether and the #cheatingbastard hashtags.

  The TV’s still on low and I watch the news for a while. Last night somehow diffused my anger and now I feel lighter. This is no Premie
r Inn and I’m not sneaking out at the crack of dawn. I congratulate myself for making changes. It’s probably the right time to draw a line under this now. Go back to work. Go and meet social services.

  It had to come to an end at some point and I haven’t lost. No. In many ways I’ve won, because everyone knows what a fucking cheating bastard Jack Atkinson is now. His infidelity has its own Facebook page. The journal is public knowledge and no one can prove that I’m involved. I don’t think Louise Shaw will say anything. She just wants to get this over with and have her baby. Marry her boyfriend. Live happily ever after.

  If she does, I’ll just deny it. It’s my word against hers. I won’t be going looking for Jack again. He’s not with any of these women. He’s discarded them, just like he did with me. The sense of freedom I felt yesterday heightens with this decision and I feel fresh. I’m even considering not bothering to find Paula.

  I fish my own mobile out of my bag and switch it on under the duvet. I feel like I have the strength to face it all now. There are sixteen missed calls from DS Percy. I listen to them in order. The first few are just concerned, asking me to get in touch. The tone gets more urgent as they go on and the last message a whisper.

  ‘Caroline. It’s DS Percy. Lorraine. Look. You really need to get in touch. Your husband’s gone public. Please contact me immediately.’

  I look at the time of the message. Eight o’clock last night. Something catches my attention, a familiar voice. I stare at the TV screen. Jack’s in the background. His mother’s there too.

  ‘… so we just want her home. She’s not been well, you know, mentally. It’s all come to a head with her …’

  Back to the reporter.

  ‘Jack Atkinson, her estranged husband, claims that he has become the victim of a hoax, and he fears that his ex-wife is behind it.’ The report cuts to a Twitter screen where the top two trending hashtags are #allgirlstogether #cheatingbastard. Then to Katy fucking Squires. The strip across the bottom of the screen reads ‘ex-partner’.

  ‘Yes, Jack and I had a relationship and we have a son together. I wouldn’t blame his ex if she had done this; after all, people need to be responsible for their actions. I’m afraid that this is just a case of actions and consequences or, as I like to think of it, karma.’

  I stare at her as she stares at the camera. I recognise her. The hard look in her eye. Concerned not only for herself but also for her son. Seeing the injustice, how he can just walk away and leave her and Jamie, and she is left to cope with everything. The screen cuts back to the reporter.

  ‘Police refused to comment on this incident but confirmed that investigations continue.’

  The breakfast TV team discuss cheating husbands with two relationship experts as pictures of Jack are flashed onto the screen. I can hear a woman with long dark hair telling them that it’s no wonder I had disappeared and that this was the worst possible kind of psychological abuse. That she was surprised that Missy was still going with the ‘mental health issues’ angle when this was just hearsay.

  I smile and remember Lee telling me that he’s been single for a while now and that he just hasn’t met the right person. I’m mentally assessing the effect all this will have at work. Then I remember that, actually, I haven’t done anything wrong.

  It’s only just sinking in that my little campaign against Jack has gone viral. The eight o’clock news is on now and there’s Missy again. The report’s shorter this time and leaves out the bit about my mental health and focuses on the hashtags and Katy. She’s being interviewed on her doorstep. I study her face on the screen and she’s quite beautiful. But I look beyond her and onto the road, to the horizon. In the distance, I see the old church spire and the pylons on the skyline.

  She lives opposite the old bridge. The car outside her house is red. I grab my bag, the wig and my jacket and run through the hotel. I drive the short way to the old bridge and check for the press. The red car is outside a charming stone-built townhouse. I park around the corner and wait for a moment. This morning I’d thought this was all over. Now I realise that it’s only just begun.

  Maybe Louise was right: I need to let it go. Get over it. But I saw that look in Katy’s eye. The fear. Mistrust of everyone and everything. I recognise it. She’s been through the same thing as me and I can help her.

  I hurry around the corner and knock on the door of the house behind the red car. Katy opens it straight away and looks at me blankly.

  ‘Are you wanting an interview? Only I’ve given an exclusive to—’

  ‘It’s me. Caroline.’

  She steps back, tries to push the heavy door shut, but I shove my foot in it, and yelp when it crushes it.

  ‘Look, I only want to talk to you. Can’t we be civilised about this?’ She’s hesitant, looking into the house, she’s obviously alone. ‘I saw you on the news. I heard what you said.’

  She opens the door slightly and I pull my foot out.

  ‘Go away. I don’t want anything to do with this. Or you. I’ve got a child and …’

  Go on say it. And you’re fucking mad. I can see it on her face.

  ‘Whatever he’s told you, it’s wrong. He did the same to me as he’s doing to you. Lying. Come on, Katy, can’t you see that?’

  She looks uncertain now, backs away.

  ‘The police are looking for you. You’re not in trouble. That policewoman is worried about you. She said you were upset over some journal.’

  I correct her.

  ‘I’m upset because Jack’s accusing me of stealing it. Somebody else has it and they’ve been posting the contents on Facebook. To be honest, it’s crucified me.’

  ‘And what do you want from me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. But all I know is that I think you’ve gone through the same as me. And I have no one else who knows what that’s like.’

  I listen for the sound of a small child. Jamie’s clearly not here and I bet he’s with him, playing happy fucking families. In the background to all this fuckery is me as a bad mother. When I tell people Jack has taken the children, their faces say: Probably for the best. But it isn’t for the best. I’m not perfect, but I love my kids. I’m not using them as pawns in a power game the way Jack is. I genuinely want them back.

  Katy stands back and I enter. Her house is beautiful and she gestures for me to sit down. There are pictures of Jamie everywhere.

  ‘So. Your son looks a lot like Jack.’

  She looks away. She’s unsure. It’s clear.

  ‘Jack’s his father. That’s what you would expect.’

  I nod.

  ‘My children don’t look like him. They look more like me. Without the wig, of course.’

  I smile but she doesn’t. She’s debating whether to tell me that she knows. She knows Charlie and Laura. I mentally place a bet that she won’t tell me. That she’ll play her cards close to her chest.

  ‘I know. But you know they’ve been here, don’t you?’ We stare at each other, unblinking. ‘They must have told you.’

  So that’s what she thinks. She thinks I knew.

  ‘Is that what he said? That I knew? I had no idea. None whatsoever. Well, I had an idea that he was seeing someone else. But he forced the children not to tell me. He made them.’

  I see the shock on her face. She wasn’t expecting this at all.

  ‘How? I mean, what did he do?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know. But they never uttered a word. When I asked where they had been, they just kept quiet. When I asked how they got jelly on their “My Daddy is a Scientist” T-shirts, they just stared at the floor.’

  ‘Maybe they knew it was wrong. Jack’s not like that.’

  No. You don’t want to believe he is. Because your son is with him right now.

  ‘What was wrong? Telling me about your affair? That’s not wrong, Katy. The fact that you were fucking my husband was wrong.’

  I remember my episode with Louise and my promise to myself and shut up quickly.
Katy’s panic-stricken and I immediately regret being so horrible. She’s close to tears.

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But you know how it makes you …’ She nods. ‘He made my children scared of their own mother, all because he didn’t want to be found out.’

  She wrings her hands and glances at a photo of Jamie. I look at her hands. Red raw. The house is immaculate. My God. He’s doing the same to her as he did to me. A chill runs through me. I reckon she’s just sitting here in her sterilised home waiting for him to turn up for inspection.

  ‘He told me you knew. That you had an arrangement.’

  I can’t help it. I laugh. Really loud.

  ‘Really? You really believed that? Fucking hell. Anyway. That’s not what I’m here for. I want to help you. And you can help me. I wondered if you’d be interested in making a statement. Saying what Jack is like. I’m trying to get my kids back.’

  She pales. Her eyes narrow.

  ‘What do you mean, get your kids back?’

  Oh my God. He never told her. He never told her what he’s done.

  ‘He took them away. Made people think I was bonkers. He had me thinking that I was dirty. The worst person in the world.’ I focus on her hands. ‘Had me scrubbing my house. He took them anyway. They’ve been living with his mother for the past year. That’s what all this is about, love. It’s not about you and all his other women.’

  Sheer panic. She’s beside herself now, on the edge of her seat.

  ‘That’s impossible. He told me he picks Jamie up when he picks your two up. So they can all be together. A family. He told me that you had met Jamie. That he liked you.’

  I don’t say anything. I let it sink in.

  ‘Yeah. That’s the sort of thing he would say. And God help you if you disagree with him. You’ll end up like me. Sitting in a stranger’s front room with a wig on because you’re too scared to go home. Then there’s the police. Been to see you, have they? Warned you I might turn up? So why did you let me in?’ She doesn’t have to answer. I know why she let me in. Because, like me, underneath all that calm, composed exterior, she is seething. She can’t believe that Jack simply walked out and left her. She knows we have something in common. I lean forward. ‘Between you and me, I think he’s dangerous. Why do you think the police are so worried about me?’ I put my hand on her arm. ‘I can help you, Katy. He’s doing the same to you as he did to me. And God knows how many others.’