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Back Perfect Ten Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Chapter One
  2. Chapter Two
  3. Chapter Three
  4. Chapter Four
  5. Chapter Five
  6. Chapter Six
  7. Chapter Seven
  8. Chapter Eight
  9. Chapter Nine
  10. Chapter Ten
  11. Chapter Eleven
  12. Chapter Twelve
  13. Chapter Thirteen
  14. Chapter Fourteen
  15. Chapter Fifteen
  16. Chapter Sixteen
  17. Chapter Seventeen
  18. Chapter Eighteen
  19. Chapter Nineteen
  20. Chapter Twenty
  21. Chapter Twenty-one
  22. Chapter Twenty-two
  23. Chapter Twenty-three
  24. Chapter Twenty-four
  25. Chapter Twenty-five
  26. Chapter Twenty-six
  27. Chapter Twenty-seven
  28. Chapter Twenty-eight
  29. Chapter Twenty-nine
  30. Chapter Thirty
  31. Chapter Thirty-one
  32. Chapter Thirty-two
  33. Chapter Thirty-three
  34. Chapter Thirty-four
  35. Chapter Thirty-five
  36. Chapter Thirty-six
  37. Chapter Thirty-seven
  38. Chapter Thirty-eight
  39. Chapter Thirty-nine
  40. Chapter Forty
  41. Chapter Forty-one
  42. Chapter Forty-two
  43. Chapter Forty-three
  44. Chapter Forty-four
  45. Acknowledgements

My solicitor had no choice but to agree to not approaching the marital home because I was still living there. She told me at the time that the solicitor’s clause was pointless because I could claim that I had no idea that Jack was in a bar before I went in. Or in a town. Or a country. Or in this case, an address.

I’m not supposed to know where you live. It’s been kept a big secret in case mad Caroline rolls up. That’s where you’ll have taken Charlie and Laura. I just need to see that you’re treating them properly, because I don’t fucking trust you with them. Parading them in front of all these different women. They’re probably confused. No wonder Laura wants her Mummy. The thought of it distances me further and I can’t even picture you now.

I hurry out to the car, pull on the dark wig and throw the laptop onto the seat beside me. I open it at my Spotify cheating bastard playlist and select ‘There You Go’ by P!nk. That posh flat you’re renting isn’t far from here. While I’m driving, I get an uncomfortable sense that I perhaps shouldn’t be doing this. That taking the children at this point isn’t the best idea. That I should just check that they’re OK and go through with the social services plan.

I’d do anything to be at home, insulated by my boxes, blocking the world out with vodka. But I’m not and you’ve got another child and Alicia’s got my Grandma’s ring. I pull over and remind myself that I opened Pandora’s box. What did I expect? I knew what you were up to and now I’m facing it. I just didn’t realise how bad it would be. There could be more to come. I stare into the night as I grip the steering wheel hard. I’m suddenly alone. I can’t see the shape of what else could happen. What could be worse than this?

It’s a remote location. I assemble my phone and its green screen light gives the inside of the car an eerie glow. I check your profile because that’s the only way for me to see Alicia’s thread. Three other women have commented. One, Janet Baines, is telling us that you took her on holiday then didn’t return her call.