This is what I’ve been waiting for. Legal proof that he thinks he is above the law. He really is a psychopath. And I’m not. There is so much I can do with this, but first I need to find Emma. She’s just a pawn in Jack’s little game, potentially in danger, and I need to find her.

Chapter Thirty-eight

I don’t know where to start. There are two possibilities: that Jack and Emma are trying to blame this on me or that he has done something to her. Either way, I’m holding all the cards now. I pick up my mobile and find his number. I’m suddenly scared and hot. Even speaking to him will be difficult.

And what I have to tell him is the ultimate revenge, but also painful. He cared so little about me that he just went ahead and married someone else before we were even finally divorced. But it will save Emma, stop him doing whatever he’s doing to her. I have butterflies in my tummy and I wait a while, scanning the kitchen for alcohol. Then the phone suddenly rings in my hand and scares me to death.

It’s an unknown number and I ready myself for someone flogging house insurance or asking me if I’ve had an accident in the last two years. Instead, it’s Emma.

‘Caroline, it’s Emma. Emma Atkinson.’

‘Where are you, Emma? Only the police—’

She’s loud and angry.

‘Fuck the police. Turn around. I’m in your back garden.’

She is. I see the glow of her mobile phone against the copper birch leaves and her pale face, solemn. Rover is barking loudly and trying to dig through the fence but she doesn’t notice. She is sitting beside the hole and the contents are spread around her. Oh my God. How the fuck has she found out about that? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I open the back door and go outside and she stands up. She’s holding the credit cards, fanned out in her hand. Beside her is a large pile of photographs, the top one shows me in a hotel with a random male. I move towards her.

‘I don’t understand …’

She steps back.

‘Oh yes, you do fucking understand. I’m your worst nightmare, Caroline. I’ve put up with this, the fucking photographs on Facebook, the Twitter hashtags, #teamfuckingCaro. But this is going too far now.’

I sit down on the grass.

‘Yeah. Well. At least you know what he’s like now.’

She shakes her head.

‘He’s not, though. Not to me.’

I can’t help but laugh. Poor deluded Emma.

‘Really? You’re special, are you? Only it looks like his behaviour is really getting to you.’

She is fuming.