Perfect Ten

by Jacqueline Ward

We leave and Katy drives away. I’m just about to open my car door when my neighbour appears. She’s got her arm raised in a fist salute and she high-fives me.

  ‘All girls together, yeah?’

  I nod at her.

  ‘So you saw it, then?’

  ‘I bloody saw it all right. Your hubby. A right one, isn’t he? I can hardly believe it. But then again, he was in and out of there with those women. Taking photos, though—’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Look, I have to—’

  ‘Right, but I came out to tell you that the papers have been round here, asking all sorts of questions. Course, we didn’t spill, but just to let you know that if they offer us money we might have to tell them about him.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Your ex. And all his women. You know. Thing is, the mortgage, and all that …’

  I hug her. I’m suddenly doing a lot of hugging.

  ‘Do it. Tell them. It’s the truth. I’ll be away for a bit. Tell them that as well. That I had to leave my own home because of all of this.’

  She’s chewing her acrylic nails now.

  ‘And shall I mention the kiddies? I saw him, you know. Taking them. I saw him and they were crying.’

  I brighten up a little. She’s the obvious witness. She’s had a ringside seat.

  ‘You just do what you have to. But not so much about me.’ I whisper in her ear, make her my confidante: ‘I’m going to try to get them back.’

  She winks at me and crashes my knuckle.

  ‘Stay strong, sister.’

  She salutes and I can’t help but notice that she’s wearing a #teamCaro rubber bracelet. But what just happened? I feel like it’s all been turned around on me again. It’s made me feel like I need to take even more action. How could I have known that some crazy fucking guy was following me around? No doubt at some point I’ll be called in for questioning and I’ll see a picture of him and everything he has seen me do will be laid bare.

  DS Percy is right. This is going to look bad for me. I’ve accused Jack of cheating on me and then gone off, got pissed and slept with random men. I didn’t mean it. I love my kids. That would never have happened if they were here with me. Never. Nor the drinking. But that’s the Official story and it doesn’t put me in the good light I need it to for Tuesday.

  Back to me now. I’m no longer made-up Monica or the woman in the wig. No imaginary husband to lay all my anger and frustration on. I’m Caroline Atkinson. In three days’ time I’ll be sitting in front of social services fighting for my children. I need to lay low now. No more drama. Jack can wait. I’ll deal with him after I’ve made my case for the kids.

  My neighbour’s checking her phone, scrolling through photos she’s taken and muttering that she knows it’s here somewhere. She intermittently shows me Jack and a woman outside my house and I wonder if I can get her to send those pictures to me. Then she points her talon up the road.

  ‘Oh. Here’s one of the reporters. Round here earlier asking where you are.’

  I spin around and see a long blonde ponytail emerge from a BMW. It’s swinging as the woman stomps towards me. Not so much Paula Pussycat as Pissed-off Paula.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  We lock eyes as she passes me and I follow her up the path. She pushes the front door open and it slams against the wall, making a small amount of paint drop onto the floor, which, if it were possible, makes me angrier.

  Like most people who come into my home, she momentarily stares around. I haven’t seen my sister for years. Not since Mum and Dad moved to Canada just after that fucking wedding. I’m a little bit shocked that she’s lost the little-girl innocent look she prized so highly. It’s been replaced with a high-maintenance sheen that I know only comes with many trips to the beautician.

  But she’s still Paula. Her eyes are narrow and accusing, like the time she mistakenly thought I had taken her chocolate bar or her pocket money. She stands in my kitchen, hands on hips.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’

  Her eyes sweep the boxes and the dirty pots. She walks around and examines the piles of boxes and newspapers. I feel a little bit self-conscious as my feet stick to the dirty tiles when I try to move, making a sucking sound.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve coming here. What do you want?’

  She lifts her phone.

  ‘Why did you do this?’

  It’s the Facebook pictures of her. Above it are the damning photos of Jack and Alicia. I try to remain calm but my voice comes out louder than I intended, as a scream.

  ‘Because you slept with Jack. You slept with my husband. You’re one of them.’ As an afterthought I add a denial. ‘And I didn’t post it. Someone’s ...’

  She slumps down onto the kitchen bench.

  ‘Don’t do that, Caz. Don’t. Everyone knows it’s you. So let’s bypass that bit.’ She smooths her hair, which is a clear sign that she is under stress.

  ‘Why are you even here? After Mum and Dad moved I left messages but you didn’t answer. But you turn up now, when the shit hits the fucking fan? Typical. Save your own arse.’

  She takes out a gold lighter and a cigarette case. She carefully extracts one and offers it to me, which only highlights that she doesn’t even know me. She’s got the skin of a smoker now I look closer. Little lines around her eyes and mouth. Crinkly skin just waiting for the depth of wrinkles.

  ‘Actually, I came here to help you.’

  ‘Fuck off. You? Help me?’

  ‘Well, it looks like you need it. All this? You can—’

  ‘Send it back. Get it moved, donate it to charity on eBay? Yes. I know. But I’ve had other things on my mind.’

  ‘That Jack. That fucking Jack. And for the record, I never slept with him.’

  I stare at her. Paula isn’t, or wasn’t, the most truthful person, but I was one of the only people who could tell when she was lying. I’m confused. Why would she be in the journal then?

  ‘OK, your name is on a list of people Jack has slept with. Marked out of ten. And there are pictures of you.’

  She’s nodding vigorously between drags on her cigarette.

  ‘Yes, I know. But I didn’t sleep with him. He’s a fucking stalker, Caz. How do you think he met those girls? Chance meetings? He’s not all that, you know. Fucking hell. Do you think they were all just waiting around half-clothed for him to come along and fuck them?’

  How does she know? What does she mean? I have a horrible feeling that Paula is going to reveal something I don’t want to know.

  ‘He’s a predator. He’s clever. Making women feel that they’re special and interesting. And yes, he did try it on with me. But do you know what? I’m your fucking sister and I didn’t.’ She’s crying. Paula’s crying. ‘God, I know we never speak since Mum and Dad moved, but that’s how it is. But if you’re in trouble, I’m there. Like you would be for me.’

  I want to believe her, but there are so many questions. So much is swirling in my mind. I pluck one of them mid-thought.

  ‘So why the pictures? Why did he put you with … them?’

  She wipes her nose on her expensive jersey top and she’s suddenly the little girl I grew up with.

  ‘He’s a liar, Caz. You know that. Wishful thinking? I don’t know. But the fact that you’re even questioning that shows you’re still fucking invested in him.’

  It’s like a revelation. She’s right. Paula’s right. I’ve taken that journal as the truth, but he is a liar.

  ‘Everyone else is the liar, but not your precious Jack? Even now you know, you still think his word is gospel.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘He wanted to fuck me. He followed me and took pictures. Propositioned me. Sent me flowers. Gifts. But I never even kissed him. Yet he includes me in his harem. What does that tell you, Caz?’

  I think hard.

  ‘How do I know that’s true?’

  She pulls up her sleeve. She’s got a tattoo with the date of the wedding on it. Paula and Pat. For ever.

  ‘I met my partner that evening. I
didn’t want Jack. Not then. Not ever. I met the person I was going to spend my life with.’

  I remember the wedding pictures. I didn’t see her with anyone. Just a group of bridesmaids, giggling and drinking champagne. I suppose it could have been after I’d gone home, but I’m still not sure. But I’m grabbing at another query. The million-dollar one. The question that has driven me through this. Made me pursue Jack’s women. I could have understood anything but this. I savour the words.

  ‘Oh. So why didn’t you tell me? Why, Paula?’

  Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t any of them tell me? If someone had just told me, if I’d had confirmation, even anonymously, it might never have come to this. Paula shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t fucking know. I suppose I didn’t want to get involved. I’ve had my own shit to deal with. Worried that you’d side with him and not believe me, which incidentally you would have. And you knew what he was like.’ She points at me. ‘Don’t try to deny it. You fucking knew.’

  I did. I was sneaking around, trying to find out what he was up to almost from the beginning. She stubs out her cigarette on the same saucer Pam used and glances around again.

  ‘So, what time do you pick them up? I can come with you.’

  ‘I don’t pick them up. He took them. He took my babies.’

  My God. She doesn’t know. I wait for her to say ‘well I’m not surprised, look at the state of this place’ or, like other people have said ‘oh, to give you a break until you are feeling better’. But she doesn’t. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Paula is processing it all. Finally she speaks.

  ‘This is a mess. All the Facebook shit and the stuff on the telly. You need to do damage limitation here. Let me help you.’

  It’s the first time since all this started last year that anyone has directly offered to help me. I’m unsure because it’s Paula. But what have I got to lose?

  ‘How? How can you help? And what makes you such an expert?’

  ‘I’ve done it loads. Usually the other way round, you know, for my mates who’ve got caught shagging someone’s husband. Or wife.’ It’s tense as she normalises what has become my life. ‘Just think of me as a kind of clean-up service, you know, like in those gangster films when they come and move the body.’ She smiles a little and so do I. ‘So you need to tell me everything. Then go somewhere safe.’

  ‘Safe? This isn’t a film, Paula.’

  ‘I know. But you need to get out of here. Just until it dies down. Which it will, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. I was just on my way to stay with Katy for a couple of days.’

  Paula’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

  ‘Not Katy …?’

  ‘Yep. She’s lovely. Obviously I hated her at first, but she’s just the same as me. Gullible.’

  Paula drags her chair over and sits next to me. She links arms with me and she smells like vanilla.

  ‘You’re not gullible. You’re a strong person. A professional. But you know what, Caz, you’ve been abused. He’s a bastard. Fucking selfish. He’s made you think you are less than you are. And that those other girls are responsible.’ She pauses and rests her head on my shoulder. ‘And with us. Well. That’s how abusers work, isn’t it? Isolate their victim.’

  I nod.

  ‘It’s my own fault, though. Like you said, I knew. But I was trying to keep my family together.’

  She laughs.

  ‘Yeah. Vicious circle. But it’s not your fault. Nobody tells you because they think you already know. Divide and rule. That’s what he did to us, you know. I felt bad because he was coming on to me. So I couldn’t be around you and the kids. So I just left it. The thing you’re not seeing is that all those women you’ve posted pictures of are in the same boat. Isolated. They believed a bullshitter.’

  It’s a little too far for my imagination to stretch.

  ‘But they knew he was married.’

  ‘Yeah. But they also knew he was leaving you. And by the time they discovered he wasn’t it was too late; he’d trapped them. You know, Caz, this is only one person’s fault. Jack. It’s Jack’s fault.’

  I know she’s right. I know she is. But I hated those women. Even so, that’s no reason to ruin their lives. What have I done?

  ‘The thing is, I’ve done more than post pictures.’

  I tell Paula everything I’ve done and she listens intently. I tell her about Christine Dearden, Frances’s shop and how I only just stopped myself from taking revenge on Pam. I tell her about the Premier Inn men and the photographs, leaving out the stolen credit cards and being careful not to mention the journal. When I’ve finished, she shakes her head.

  ‘So what happens now?’

  It’s suddenly very clear to me.

  ‘I need a fresh start. But first I have to finish this. I can’t go back and I can’t move forward without my children. You know, I was talking to him in my head. He literally drove me mad. But since I saw my kids in that house, he’s gone, Paula. I can’t feel him any more.’

  ‘What about his mother?’

  She grimaces as she says it. Paula never liked Missy.

  ‘She’s got the kids. She’s backed him all the way. But he hasn’t got custody. I need to hold it all down until Tuesday, then I have a chance to have my say at social services. Laura’s been asking for me.’

  She finally smiles.

  ‘Right then, I’m going support you. I want to make it up to you. I’m not the bitch I was, Caz. I’ve had a bad time, but let’s get this sorted out first, then we’ll have a good old chat. Yeah? Tell you what, if the shit really hits the fan and it all comes out about what you’ve done, I’ll be your alibi. You were with me, right?’

  ‘I can’t, Paula. I’ve done those things, not you. I don’t want to drag you into it.’

  She smiles.

  ‘I’m your sister. Family.’ She does a Marlon Brando impression and we both laugh. ‘It’s the least I can do after my appalling behaviour as a teenager.’

  She pulls a Paula Pussycat face, which looks silly now she’s a grown-up. I think about what has happened. What I feel bad about. And how that makes me not a psychopath.

  ‘There is one thing you can do. You could go up to The Tea Cosy and see how Frances is doing. I wanted to close her down but that was fucking horrible of me.’

  She nods.

  ‘I will. And I’ll phone you. Just leave the pictures for now. Not much you can do about that anyway, but if you’re going to get your kids back none of this can be linked to you. Just don’t lose the fucking plot.’

  She hugs me and I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t posted that photo of her on Facebook. Would she still be here? Will she really back me up? We’ll see, won’t we? No time for that now, I need to leave.

  She promises to call me later and hurries to her car. My phone makes a beep, signalling more activity on social networking and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Paula was right. I can’t believe I’m thinking it, but Paula was right. I blamed anyone except Jack. It had to be someone else’s fault. Despite my psychological training, I became so conditioned that I couldn’t possibly have blamed Mr Perfect. Coupled with my insatiable drive to fix everything, to make it all right, I lost sight of what was real and what wasn’t.

  Those poor women. I’m their worst nightmare. The ex coming back to haunt them via his estranged wife. It could happen to me. Any of those men from the Premier Inn – to their wives I am the other woman. What have I done?

  My psychological training kicks in now and I focus on the conditioning. Unfuck myself. Like Pam said. Extinction of learned behaviour. The revenge I felt towards Jack’s women was provoked by his perceived presence in my life. Now he’s fading and so is my hate, replaced with an equal measure of determination. I need to keep away from him. If I have any chance of unfucking myself I need to stay away from him – even thinking about him. It’s going to be difficult, and, as with any conditioned response, it may be reinforced temporarily, but I will do this. I wi
ll.

  For now, though, all I can do is lie low and hope that Paula’s damage limitation will work.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Ten minutes later I’m sitting in Katy’s lounge. Her house is warm and comfortable and Jamie is running around. He’s a mini Jack, which is very painful for me at first. He keeps bringing his toys to me and looking at me with those perfect dark eyes that are my ex-husband’s. But it’s not his fault. I pull him onto my lap and give him a big cuddle and I miss my own children.

  I spend the rest of the day helping Katy and playing with Jamie. I’m Aunty Caz and we’ve already got a rapport. Katy cooks pasta and then, at eight, I run a bath and try to relax. It’s impossible. Despite my guilt, I’m fuming about DS Percy’s take on my nighttime activities. And at Jack, for not knowing when it’s time to turn the page, like Tori Amos says. For not knowing when he’s beaten.

  Katy shows me to the guest bedroom and I lie in the pristine bed under a feather quilt on soft pillows. In between sleep and wakefulness I wonder if, if I had my time again, I’d do anything differently. I can’t imagine a time before Jack and I were married when I would have realised what he was like enough to call it off. I suppose I thought I could change him. That when we were married he would be mine.

  If we hadn’t married I would never have met our children. Yet, deep down, I know this romanticised kind of excuse-making is only me trying to explain to myself why I was stupid enough to fall for his manipulation. I believed that love trumped everything and that he loved me. I do regret it. I do regret ever meeting him. I can’t change the past, but I can make the future better.

  As I drift off in the early hours I feel a sudden burst of optimism as I realise that Charlie and Laura and Jamie will, after all, have a future together, not with Jack but with me and Katy as friends.

  Katy wakes me at eight. She knocks on the door and brings in a cup of tea, which I drink in bed. I switch on the TV and there’s a woman on Breakfast Time talking about infidelity and its effect on children. I quickly flick it off. Kids are resilient and, it turns out, so am I. I get dressed and go downstairs.