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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

As a result, my feelings were pushed deeper down and Mrs Simister’s report on my neurotic, jealous tendencies just made me feel like the world was completely unfair and that I had to do something about it. So really, what I’m doing now is just an extension of that. Of putting everything I have into not just proving that you were wrong, but into showing everyone that I was right all along. It’s the only way I can get my life back.

Of course, up until now there was no way that I could do that. But finally I have some proof: I have the journal. You’ll be seething. Ringing around everyone you know, trying to talk it round, make me out to be a liar, paving the way for the inevitable. Because you know full well what’s coming next. What goes around comes around. It worked before, canvassing my sanity all over town. And I had nothing solid to defend it with. Only hearsay.

Naturally, those in the know weren’t interested anyway – they’d already nailed their colours to the mast. But the others were gently lulled into believing the possibility that I wasn’t the lovely academic they worked with. That I wasn’t the calm friend who was always there to listen to their problems. That I wasn’t the trusty PTA member who never missed a meeting. You whispered your lies to everyone.

Naturally I tried to explain, told them that the only reason I was acting like you were cheating was because you were cheating. Some of them looked full of pity and touched my arm. Some of them looked shocked and shook their heads. Some of them came right out and told me to get help because Jack Atkinson was a hardworking, decent man. Occasionally, someone would ask me how I knew. I suppose they wanted evidence. But I had none. Only what I had seen and felt.

But I have it now. Not just a few scribbled diary entries that could be written off as fantasy. No. I have photographs. And now I’m going to post them online. I’m going to post them on Christine’s profile and on your profile.

Before I know it I’m on the bus with my laptop open. Back seat, beside two men working frantically on spreadsheets. I’m Monica now, in her head, checking who’s accepted my ‘friend’ request. I see myself there, along with Jack and Christine and twenty-three other people.