Perfect Ten

by Jacqueline Ward

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says. It’s soothing. ‘I’ve seen it before. People having a big clear-out and they don’t want to part with it. It’s part of them.’ He holds me in front of him, hands on my arms. ‘But, you know, it’s just stuff. If you’re not strong enough today, we can do it another day.’

  I wipe my eyes and shake my head.

  ‘No. It has to be today. It’s good of you to do it so quickly.’

  He laughs again.

  ‘To be honest, we don’t get an opportunity like this very often. The local domestic violence unit would love some of this stuff. Always looking for white goods.’

  I repeat his words.

  ‘Domestic violence.’

  After everything I’ve been through it’s a relief for someone to just say it. It’s like I’ve been avoiding it for so long and now it’s out in the open. Lee takes my statement as a question, and I suppose it is, really.

  ‘Well. Yes. Isn’t that what’s been going on here? It’s not just physical violence, you know. Silence can be violence.’ He smiles and nudges me. ‘See what I did there? Seriously, though, I’ve got some numbers if you need them.’

  I hadn’t thought of myself like that. Not as a victim. More of a survivor. A fighter. For justice. But I guess whatever happens now that’s how a lot of people will see me. A victim. So I can only be either mad or a victim. Which one made me do all this? Insanity or survival?

  It doesn’t feel like that. Just as I realised when Jack took the kids, life goes on whether you like it or not. And I don’t want to be a victim. I want a life. Even admitting that feels like a risk, but I’m testing myself. Am I up for it? Yes. Yes.

  I take a good look around. It’s mainly boxes of different sizes with mounds of newspaper and prints of academic papers between them.

  ‘OK, just throw all the papers in the skip.’

  He thinks. ‘Or I can get the recycling guy to come round.’

  I need to go.

  ‘Great. Whatever you can do by tonight would be great. Here’s the key. I just need to get ready, then I have to go out. Give me a call if you need to check on anything.’

  He takes the key and stands in the front garden talking on his phone. I take a shower and dress, then watch him for a moment as I collect my things. Suddenly he’s captivating.

  He waves as I go to the car. In twenty minutes I’m in the staffroom at the university surrounded by my colleagues. Eileen represents.

  ‘My God, Caroline. We heard what happened over Jack. You were right all along. We just want to tell you that you have our full support. And that lovely policewoman who was here yesterday told us about that man who has been following you. She was very thorough. Wanted all the footage of you in the university going back months. He must have been following you for ages.’

  My blood boils. In one way this couldn’t have worked out better. I knew that some of my colleagues thought I was completely off my rocker. ‘Why would they take her kids otherwise, and all those boxes …?’ I heard Candice Potter from Art Therapy say one day. Oh yes. Several of them thought I was mad. Now they’re all having a rethink.

  But bloody DS Percy’s been nosing around here. Finding out about me. I have a horrible suspicion that this isn’t over yet for her. But all she’s going to find is Emma Atkinson. With a brown envelope. Not my problem.

  ‘I know. I never even suspected. I’ve been very lucky.’

  I nearly laugh, because lucky is not what I have been. I should never have had to go through this, and I still think it’s Jack’s fault. He can be as nice as he wants at the meeting – I know it’s only because there’s something in it for him. But I’ll take it where I can because if I don’t go through with this today then he could get the children full-time and I’ll be back to square one.

  Eileen takes me to her office and we discuss what will happen with the big psychopath project. I’ve been given the lead and it’s all down to me to plan it out. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. I lean forward and indicate that I’m taking Eileen into my confidence.

  ‘Of course, with all that’s happened over the past week, things have changed at home.’ She’s leaning in too, eager for the gossip. ‘I’ve got a meeting with social services this afternoon. I might be getting the children back part-time.’

  She clasps her hands in front of her and offers me a doughnut. I glimpse a #teamCaro rubber band around her arm.

  ‘Oh Caroline, that’s wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, it really is. So I might need a couple of days to sort things out, then everything will be back to normal.’

  She looks pleased. The clock ticks on and I need to get to town.

  ‘Great. I’ll start it all on Monday, then. I honestly can’t wait.’

  I can’t. I’ve got the perfect subject in mind to model my thinking on.

  I’m out of the university and back in my car. I sit outside for a minute, still fuming about DS Percy. I get out my phone and call her, but it goes to answerphone. I wait a couple of minutes to see if she rings me back but she doesn’t.

  Why was she here? She’s got what she wants. She’s got Peter Daubney’s thief and Emma is safe and hasn’t spilled the beans. If she had, I’d have been arrested by now. I’ve deleted the Facebook profiles so Jack will have to drop the charges. I expect she was looking for evidence against my stalker, but something deep inside tells me that isn’t the case. She knows it’s him, she told me. She’s got evidence.

  As I drive towards town I can’t help but think about Lee and my house and it gradually emptying into the big van. I don’t even know what’s in those boxes. I don’t know what I ordered from Amazon when I was pissed. I feel a little bit ashamed – of that and of all the men I slept with and robbed. The in-between has a lot to answer for. But Jack made me go there. It was the only place that I could retreat to. Bad things happened there, but in one way I was safe. It was somewhere that I didn’t have to think about what he did to me, or why.

  That’s the big question, isn’t it? Why? Why requires a deeper analysis of his reasons. He wasn’t happy. He hadn’t found the right woman. He wanted to keep his kids. They aren’t reasons. He could have asked me for a divorce. I would have been angry to start with, but in the end I would have agreed. The kids wouldn’t have been damaged and he could still have gone on his fucking quest to find ‘the one’.

  It’s pathetic, but I have to acquiesce. It grates against my soul and makes me wonder why even more. I’m doing it for my children. I have to agree to Jack and fucking Emma bringing them up jointly with me. I could go for full custody, but he’ll still be able to see them. He can’t spill about his bigamous marriage because it works both ways, like that fucking injunction he took out against me.

  I sorely want to use it against him, make it public, but I need to keep it just between us. It will be our secret, and one that I can use every time he starts his old tricks again. Tough shit if someone else notices; after all, none of this is really secret; it’s all there if anyone cares to put it together, all on public record. I just had to do a bit of digging to find out. He’s as implicated as me. All I have to do now is face him with it.

  I go over the scenario in my head on the way to the meeting, over and over again, and before I know it I’m standing at the checkout at Morrisons with a litre of vodka.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I pay for it and hurry outside. Morrisons backs onto a canal and I duck around the side and into an alcove. I open the bottle and hold it in front of me. I could have a small sip, just to ease my nerves before the meeting. Just a small sip.

  I anticipate the softness that I will dissolve into if I have more than a small sip. I raise the glass to my lips. It’s cold and this is just like an automatic action. Classical conditioning. I’ve conditioned myself to self-medicate. I know this already but it’s not stopping me.

  A couple walk past with their dog and stare at me, standing there in a business suit with the bottle. Will it always be like this now? Has life levelled itself into
a terrible baseline where I will always have to find a way to ease the pain? Where I will be a perpetual victim? Is there no way out for me?

  I screw the top back on the bottle and place it carefully in the corner of the alcove. Then I think again and pour it into the canal and drop the bottle into a waste bin as I hurry back to the car. The assistant who served me is smoking a cigarette outside Morrisons and she looks amazed as I pass her.

  I’m back in the car. It’s one-thirty and I’m behind schedule. I have to do this, even if it ends in disaster, which is what I guess I am scared of. I drive into town and park up. I’m not going into the social services building until I absolutely have to. I check my phone again to see if DS Percy has called me back. Nothing at all. On the bright side, there’s nothing from Lee either, so he hasn’t run into any problems.

  At quarter to one I see Jack’s bent fucking solicitor arrive and go in. Maybe Jack’s not coming after all. Maybe it’s a trap. This was just supposed to be a chat, not a meeting. Panic. Panic. Panic. I watch as he waits in the doorway, talking on his mobile and looking at his watch.

  Ten to one. I guess I should go in. Just as I open the car door I spot Jack walking across the park opposite. Hands in chino pockets, he hasn’t bothered to dress for the occasion. He looks casual and relaxed. I still feel an attraction, even after everything that he did. What the fuck is that? How can it happen? I expect it’s hardwired – we’re attracted in the first place through the urge to reproduce, it’s only afterwards that the emotional bonds that bind us are set.

  I wait until he goes in and then walk with wobbly legs across to the building. I hurry my step and soon I’m right behind him. It slips out.

  ‘Jack.’

  He stops dead in his tracks. He turns slowly. I’m shocked to see grey at his temples, but kind of hope that I’m the cause of it.

  ‘Caroline.’

  It sounds smooth and carefree, but I see his face set into a this is going to be interesting expression.

  ‘I wondered if we could have a chat before we go in?’

  I’m suddenly fucking terrified and angry at the same time. Everything in the journal, his perfect ten and his little hobby photography avalanches over me and I can fully understand why Louise Shaw went for him. But violence is never necessary. Never. You can hurt people without it, but that’s wrong too, as I now know to my cost. He rocks back on his heels and stares at the sky.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

  He half turns but I put my hand on his arm.

  ‘I think you have. You see, I worked something out.’ I take our decree absolute out of my pocket. He’s still smirking. ‘What date did you marry Emma?’

  It’s hardly perceptible but his face slightly crumples.

  ‘October. Why?’

  Nice try. Only what I expected.

  ‘I don’t think you did. But if you’re sure—’

  He grabs me and pulls me into an alcove.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Caro? Honestly? I’m a fucking laughing stock. All over the fucking internet. Why would you do that?’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He feels sorry for himself.

  ‘You marked us out of ten. You took photographs. You were married to me at the time. That’s fucking why, Jack. You convinced everyone I was mad and took everything I love. But it’s backfired because then I had nothing to lose. You’re a fucking monster, Jack.’

  He stares at me. Then he leans forward and puts his hands on my shoulders, his mouth near my ear. I feel my skin bristle, a muscle memory of the intimacy we once shared.

  ‘Look, there’s no need for all this. We can work something out …’

  He’s coming on to me. It really is unbelievable, but I play along. I whisper back.

  ‘Yes, we can. I want my children back. Living with me. I want them back. And if you don’t agree, the pictures and more go back up and I’ll report you to the police for bigamy. Which, if I’m not mistaken, your current wife has no idea about?’

  He steps back. Blinking into the sunlight. Thinking if there’s a way round it.

  ‘Suit yourself. But my mother won’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about your mother. I won’t let her bully me any more. You call her off too.’

  He nods. I don’t trust him. It can’t be this easy. He’s walking away as if we’ve just discussed the weather. I wait until he’s gone in and then I follow.

  Once inside I’m guided to a corridor where he’s sitting with his solicitor, whispering behind his hand. He doesn’t look at me but he laughs and the solicitor grins at me and I fear the worst. Just as I get within speaking distance the door opposite opens and a small woman with a manila file comes out.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Atkinson? Come. Have a seat.’

  We file in and the room is small. Jack still doesn’t look at me, but his fucking bent solicitor stares at me. I stare back. We’re so close that I can see Jack’s designer stubble is two days old and I can smell his aftershave. His nails are perfectly clipped and I compare them with mine, the edges torn with worry.

  The woman begins, ‘Right. I’m Mrs Porter. I represent the family court. We’re here today to discuss the welfare of your children, Charlie and Laura. As you both know, Laura has spoken to a teacher and asked if she can see Mrs Atkinson. We put this to you, Mr Atkinson, and there was a refusal on the grounds of your ex-wife’s mental health. We’ve checked her medical records with her permission and there are no mental health issues.’

  The solicitor sorts some papers and I try to catch Jack’s eye. Mrs Porter carries on.

  ‘Since then I understand that there has been a retraction of the refusal and a suggestion that the family situation be reconsidered.’

  Yes. Yes. His solicitor speaks now.

  ‘Mr Atkinson has requested that living arrangements be revised. He is happy that the children live with Mrs Atkinson and that this will be in the interests of the children. He would like it to be placed on the record that he has the utmost interests of his children at heart and it is this that has brought him to this decision. He will be happy to have visitation rights with Charlie and Laura under the following conditions.’

  He clears his throat and takes a sip of water. Jack’s staring at the table. Something is wrong here.

  ‘That Mrs Atkinson agree that while the children of the family are with Mr Atkinson and his partner, they will stay at 6 Gimble Lane for visitation until Mr Atkinson informs the family court of any change of address or different arrangements, and that Mrs Atkinson agrees to make no further objection to this arrangement.’

  With his mum. With Missy. Something tells me that Emma has already laid the foundations for this. I wait for him to go on. Mrs Porter and the solicitor look at me, but Jack doesn’t. Mrs Porter speaks.

  ‘Mrs Atkinson? Do you agree to this?’

  Is that it? Is that all he wants? He’s not going to go over what we discussed? I suppose not. It wouldn’t make him look too good, would it?

  ‘Yes. Yes, I agree. I just want my children back. What will the arrangements be? I mean, when does this begin? When will I have them?’

  The solicitor finds another piece of paper, which, from a distance, looks hurriedly written out in longhand.

  ‘These are the suggestions. Pending your approval.’ I can’t believe it. I’m being given options. ‘The arrangement will begin immediately. My client suggests that every other weekend would be a good arrangement, with Friday, Saturday, Sunday constituting the visitation period and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday the mirroring period every other week.’

  That will suit Emma. She’s been dying to get rid of them so she can have Jack to herself. I bet she’s doing cartwheels. He continues.

  ‘Mr Atkinson would be happy to collect and drop off the children at Mrs Atkinson’s property. There is a concern that Mrs Atkinson does not confront Mr Atkinson’s partner and this will save any unnecessary upset for the children. There was also a concern about the dilapidated state
of the property—’

  ‘No. I want Mrs Emma Atkinson to bring and collect the children. Under the circumstances. I am an adult and I can act like one. I have no issue with Mrs Emma Atkinson. And, by the way, I’m Dr Atkinson. Not Mrs.’ They’re all watching me carefully. ‘The house will be fine by Friday. I’m having it deep cleaned. And that’s all fine with me. But I’ll be meeting the children at the door. I’d appreciate it if Mrs Atkinson left them at the door.’

  I can hear my voice, calm and even. My hands on the table, palms down. I didn’t need the vodka after all. I look up and he’s looking at me now. I smile a little and he nods a little, then it’s over.

  Mrs Porter looks over a document prepared by his bent solicitor. In advance. I didn’t even need to confront him like I did. He was already defeated. When she is satisfied, we both sign it.

  ‘So. Can I trust you to make the rest of the arrangements between yourselves? I hope that we don’t have to see you back here again. This is about the children, you know. What’s best for them. Don’t let them down.’

  Jack gets up and leaves, his solicitor in tow. I want to chase after him, thank him, even though he’s giving me something that is mine already. I rise from my chair, elated, but Mrs Porter blocks my way.

  ‘Have you got a minute? Only I have a few concerns.’ I sit back down. I knew there had to be a problem. She sits and looks at the papers. ‘OK. Two things. We had an anonymous report about the state of your home. Someone sent in a photograph and it seems that there are some, er, space issues.’

  I smile politely. I can hold this down.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been through a terrible time. Losing my children. I don’t want to go into blame, seeing as we have a good outcome, but the year hasn’t been good for me. You must understand that?’ She nods. ‘I can confirm that my home will be restored to its normal state by Friday. It’s underway as we speak. I can give you a number to call?’