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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

So I open the flash drive and find a picture of you having sex. Of course, it’s very painful for me to look at. You’re in the bedroom at the Ibis and obviously having a lot of fun, before I spoiled it. I think for a moment, think about what it would have been like if I had just walked away from you when I realised you were being unfaithful. If, that day in London, I had gone home and packed a bag. Where I’d be now. But all I can see is … nothing.

When I look up at the screen, I’ve uploaded the photograph. It’s there, right on Monica’s page. Can you see it? Can you see yourself being unfaithful? Are you shrugging and smiling now? Or are you uncomfortable and pissed off? I know you, Jack. You’ll be livid. And you’ll know that this is just the start. And you know me. You know I’ll stop at nothing.

I log off and I’ve missed my stop. I’m fuming and still a little bit afraid that someone will be waiting for me at home, so I get off at the next stop and walk through the park. There’s a huge glass greenhouse at one end of the park where they grow exotic plants and I hurry inside. I need to think.

The windows are steamy and I take off my coat. I love places like this. Completely anonymous. And safe. No one can know I’m here and no one can persecute me. The plants nod at each other, weighed down with droplets. Their leafy hands wave slowly and I almost smile.

Everything has a price; I know that more than anyone. It’s almost as if when you do something good, something bad happens to balance it out. My good for today is exposing you. The bad is that someone is watching me. Here, in the quiet, steamy hothouse, I flick back through the previous night, in stills, and then, as I focus deeper, in scenes I would prefer to forget.

I run through what isn’t still vodka-soaked and I can’t find a single moment when I was aware of someone following me. I didn’t notice anything. I cast back, weeks ago, to another purple room and another married businessman. Same. No memory at all. Would it be too much of a coincidence for them to be just CCTV or something?