She smiles.
‘I’m assigning you a social worker, Mrs … Dr Atkinson. She’ll call on you on Thursday afternoon and check the premises. She’ll be available for Charlie and Laura to talk to should they have any concerns about any of the arrangements. So. The second issue.’
She leans closer to me.
‘This is an unusual case. With the disclosures on social networking, including your sister and other women.’ Bloody hell. They’re having a go at him now. ‘I’m sure the children will need some help coming to terms with all that has happened. But what about you? How do you feel about it?’
Careful, Caroline. Careful. Don’t blow it now.
‘I’m fine. I just want to see my children. Honestly, Jack can do what he wants. And for the record, the claims about my sister were untrue.’
She pauses and looks upwards.
‘Yes. I know. She called our office. Look, how can I put this? I’ve been following the antics of your ex-husband. In fact, I don’t know a woman who hasn’t. Someone would have had to go to some considerable effort to get this information and post it online. I just want some assurance that this isn’t going to continue.’
I lock eyes with her. She pulls up her sleeve slightly and I see a #teamCaro rubber bracelet. She’s sat in this room with the full knowledge about what Jack has done. I consider my words carefully.
‘It seems to have stopped now.’
She smiles tightly.
‘Yes. I’ll be monitoring it closely. Here in social services we take a dim view of such things. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, from now on it’s straight down the line. I’ve looked at the full picture, Caroline. You’ve got no record. This is the first time either of you have come to our attention. You’re an intelligent woman. But those children need stability. If I get a whiff of anything like this in the future, I’ll have you both back in here and put your children in care. Understand?’
She looks at the CCTV camera above us and I nod.
‘As far as my behaviour is concerned, it will be exemplary. I’ve just received a promotion at work and I’ll be focusing on Charlie and Laura. You won’t have any problems from me.’
‘Good. Here’s a copy of what you have agreed to.’
She reads through some papers and then closes the file. She slides across a transcript of what Laura said to her teacher and her eyes tell me not to say a word. I read it and tears prick my eyes. It starts with some minor complaining about one of her friends and ends with, ‘I just miss my mummy.’
I stare at the precious words. I always knew it. I always knew that she wouldn’t forget me. I eventually slide the paper back.
‘I understand.’
She rises and it’s my signal to leave. She walks me along the corridor and I wonder for a moment if it’s just a strategy to allow Jack to leave without me having a go. But as we get to the doorway she pulls me to one side.
‘I just wanted to say, nice work.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The Facebook posts. Honestly, off the record, any one of us could have done that in the same situation. But he really is a #cheatingbastard of the highest rank. You’re well rid of him. Nice work, marine.’
She salutes, turns and walks down the corridor.
Chapter Forty-two
I’m going to see my children. I’m going to see them. This is real. They’re coming back.
I sit on the wall outside social services and assess if anything else can possibly go wrong. I don’t think it can. I’m just going to move forward now and accept what has happened. Mrs Porter’s right, I am well rid of Jack. He looked wounded in there. As if someone had taken away his favourite toy. But I don’t care now.
I can’t face going home yet so I go back to work and spend the rest of the afternoon on damage limitation. I Google myself and the Peter Daubney case and resist the temptation to make another file of evidence that I will take home, throw on the floor and never look at again.
I check Twitter and the #cheatingbastard hashtag is still going strong. It’s assumed a life of its own, with thousands of spurned lovers using it as a therapeutic tool to spill their emotional guts all over social networking. The Facebook threads have disappeared so I make a start on my Facebook messages on my own account and I push on the cheating bastard playlist for the last time. Lucinda Williams rasps ‘Changed the Locks’, and I smile to myself. Yes. Yes. I’ve unfucked myself. Well and truly unfucked.
Plenty of people apologising for doubting me. Some mutual friends telling me they always knew. A few angry messages and about twenty-five messages from men wanting to take me out.
I’ve been named in the stalker reports, but the focus is on Peter Daubney and Brian Patterson and they have been given tabloid inches. No one seems to have made the connection between the Caroline Atkinson in this case and Jack Atkinson’s wife in the media explosion that followed. Mainly because I have not once been referred to by name. Poor Jack’s wife. That’s who I was. The victim. But something inside tells me I’m not a victim now. It’s a strange feeling, but I feel like I’ve survived.
I save all the links in a document and bury it in a folder on my external hard drive. I’ll keep monitoring it and adding to it just in case anything crops up.
I turn my computer off. I have to get home. I put my earphones in and select the cheating bastard playlist and Kelly Clarkson is telling me that since you’ve been gone I can breathe for the first time. I’ve been putting it off, wondering what the house will be like with all that space for my thoughts to gather in when I am alone. Lee will have left by now and all my stuff will have gone.
But he hasn’t gone. As I pull up in front of the house, the large van is still there. The skip is piled high with crap and my next-door neighbour is standing looking at it and talking on her phone. She waves at me and goes inside.
Lee appears and stands on my lawn. He’s holding a cup of steaming tea and he smiles at me.
‘Two trips it took. But all booked in and catalogued now. Just have a look in there and make sure there’s nothing you want.’ He points at the skip. ‘And I did a bit of a clean-up. Wasn’t too bad, really, under all that.’
I look in the skip. It’s just papers. Just stuff. None of it matters. I step inside the hallway and the first thing I notice is the echo. The house sounds completely different. I go through to the lounge and feel the carpet beneath my feet. It’s still marked in blocks from the boxes.
‘That’ll fade.’
Lee’s standing behind me, hands on waist.
‘I can’t thank you enough. Honestly, there was no need …’
‘I wanted to. This is such a lovely place, needs looking after. It’s been a pleasure.’
The kitchen looks brilliant. He’s cleaned the table and washed the tiles. The walls have stripes of grease where the cooking has seeped between the piles of white goods. But overall it’s brilliant. I open the fridge and it’s empty.
‘I threw it all out. Start again. Best bet.’
I turn to him.
‘Can I pay you for this? You shouldn’t have to—’
‘No. No. I insist. All the donations will make a lot of money. You must have spent thousands.’
I nod. I have spent thousands. I had nothing better to do. He brings out some boxes.
‘I found these. I didn’t throw anything away that looked personal.’
The kettle’s on and he’s making me tea. I open the lids of the boxes and they’re family photographs. Pictures of Jack and me. Then us and the kids. I look at them with my new knowledge and see that on some of them he looks strained. Distracted. Interested in the kids but not in me.
Did I know? Did I know all this and desperately try to keep him? Was it all part of a super-competitive game where I couldn’t bear to lose? I go through the pictures. I think I read a paper somewhere that said family photographs are usually 60 per cent landscapes to contextualise them. I throw away all the landscapes. These photographs don’t need a context because
they don’t represent reality.
I watch as Lee washes up.
‘Sugar?’
I shake my head.
‘No. Thank you. Did you do all this yourself?’
‘No. I called two people to help, but they went about fourish. I thought I’d better wait until you got back to make sure it was still fine. You could have sold some of that stuff, you know – eBay.’
I laugh.
‘Yeah, but that would mean effort. I just needed to get rid. It’s been difficult.’
He nods and sips his tea.
‘All right now, though?’
He looks like he really cares. He’s looking directly at me. Maybe he’s just worried. He’s seen the inside of my home, which reflects the inside of my head. Maybe I’m over-analysing.
‘On the way.’
There’s a long silence and he’s finished his tea. He stands up and sits down.
‘Right. Right, then. Look. After the other night at the hotel … I can come back and paint that cupboard if you want. I was going to … but I’m not big on going out.’
I stare at him. He’s asking me out. He’s asking me out and he knows who I am. He’s seen that I’m some mad hoarding lady and he still likes me. It feels dangerous. Risky. He somehow senses it.
‘It’s just a date. Don’t worry.’
I nod. I want to trust him. I do. I want to. The notion that this is what brave means washes over my consciousness. Doing something you are scared of. But if I don’t, I’m a victim. Jack’s victim.
‘Er. OK. Not this weekend, though. I’m getting to see my kids.’
His eyes betray him. He’s been in those rooms and he knows that they haven’t been used for a long, long time.
‘That’s brilliant. Really brilliant. So what about Tuesday? Next week?’
He’s nice. Unassuming. And attractive. It’s been a long time since I found anyone attractive. Obsession has no space for attraction.
‘Yes. I’d like that. But can I just ask …’
He moves a little closer.
‘All this.’ He looks around to the empty space he’s made in my life. ‘All that stuff. No one’s perfect. You’ve been through a bad time. You’re not the only one, you know. You don’t get to our age unscathed. And anyway, you haven’t seen my gaff yet!’ He smiles and blushes a little. ‘I like you. Just want to spend some time around you. That’s all. Take a chance.’
He’s staring at the floor, embarrassed. So he’s been hurt as well. Take a chance or be alone. I nod.
He’s gone and I’m alone with my tea. It’s suddenly very quiet and I look around. The house is beautiful. I go up to my bedroom and it’s the only room left that reminds me of what happened. The door is damaged and the mattress is missing. I switch on the light and immediately hundreds of seed pearls glitter through the pile of the carpet. I reach up to the back of the wardrobe, to behind where I kept my wedding dress, and I pull down a box.
I open it and take out the pressed buttonhole flowers and the ring boxes. Underneath are all the wedding cards, and the standard Valentine’s cards he sent me. To my wife. Inside. From Jack. No romance. No mystery. No fun. Yes. That was it. No fun. It was all very functional. Going through the motions. I’d kept all these things. All the letters from him when we were actually in love. Every concert ticket. Pictures of us together.
What did he keep? Nothing. Instead, he kept a perfect ten record of things he enjoyed. I enjoyed him, he enjoyed them. I take the box downstairs and throw it in the skip. No point keeping it now it doesn’t mean anything. I’ll always have the memories, but if this is going to be over it really has to be.
It’s seven o’clock and it’s going dark. I stand outside for a while and look over to the park. I need to get rid of that car somehow, but that can wait for another day. It’s well hidden. It should be OK. I go into the lounge again and sit on the sofa. I switch on the TV. It’s odd.
Lee’s nice. He’s straightened all the pictures and wiped the fireplace over. I take the family portrait from the wall behind me and rest it on the sofa. It’s a shame, because it’s a beautiful portrait. But it can’t stay. Things have changed and I need renewal. It’s left a huge pale mark in the disgustingly dirty wallpaper and I resolve to get it decorated. I wonder if Lee does decorating?
I go into the kitchen and open the cupboards one by one. There are still some small boxes but they will wait until another day.
Chapter Forty-three
On Thursday the social worker comes round and looks at the house in all its newly cleaned glory. It feels opulent and new, even though I’ve lived here for a long time. I’ve splashed out and bought a tablet each for the children and I show her their rooms.
My tummy still feels a little bit fluttery when I go in there, like it’s not going to happen, but she assures me that it’s all set for tomorrow and that Emma will drop them off in the morning. I’ve told Eileen the good news and she has spread the word. Fiona texts me to tell me that she’ll be round over the weekend and a couple of school friends have invited me to a night out, a kind of reunion, which I suspect they have hastily arranged to get the gossip.
When the social worker leaves, I take a screenshot of Emma’s life event on Facebook and the scan of our decree absolute and I put them together in a folder on my phone. I’m going to print them out on Monday and keep them safe if Jack tries to change anything. It’s sad. Sad that it’s come to this, but it’s my life now and I’m going to make sure I’m ready to defend myself in the future. I set about shovelling some soil into the hole and I’m about halfway done when I hear the doorbell. I answer, all dirty hands and grubby clothes, and it’s Lee.
‘Hi. I saw your car and I wondered if you needed …’
‘Yeah. Come in.’
We sit at the table while the kettle boils and he tells me about how he’s just organising a charity ball and would I like to go with him?
‘Is it a date?’
I hear my voice, slightly worried.
‘Yeah, it is. You see, I talked to my mate about you and he advised against the cupboard painting. Said I should take you out, treat you like a lady. So …’
I touch his hand gently and he doesn’t draw it away like Jack would.
‘Cupboard painting is just fine. But yes, I’ll go to the ball with you.’
We both laugh and the tea is ready. We drink and chat about nothing and he says he has to go to work. There’s a moment at the front door and we kiss. It feels good and for the first time in more than a decade I smile inside.
I lie awake most of Thursday night; why is it that you can’t sleep when you most need to? What if they can’t remember me? What if they don’t like me and want to go back to Jack? And what would Emma do then? I conclude that it’s all a matter of time, time’s a great healer, and poor Emma’s going to have bigger things to think about when Jack gets bored with her.
On Friday morning at exactly nine o’clock I see a shadow in the glass behind the front door. I peep through the front window, fully expecting Emma to be there alone, having changed her mind or something. But it’s DS Percy. I let her in. She looks around.
‘You’ve been busy.’
I nod.
‘Yes. I’m getting my kids back …’
‘Yes. Yes. I know. I just wanted to come round and kind of close the case.’ She looks tired and angry. Not her usual self at all. ‘The thing is, Caroline, I know all this was you. I know you kept the bag and it was obvious it was you posting the pictures.’ God. I’d forgotten about the bag. She shifts in her seat. ‘I could have charged you, you know. Perverting the course of justice. Theft. I believe in things coming out in the wash, though. And you’ll still be called as a witness in the Premier Inn case. But as it is, it looks like this is all over and it’s the last time I’ll need to call round here.’
It’s more of a question than a statement. But she’s wrong. It isn’t all over. As long as we’re involved with each other in the slightest way it will never be over for Jack and m
e. I’ll always be wary of him and he of me. He’s got bigger problems now because Emma is more like me than I really care to admit and more than a match for his manipulations. I expect he’ll be distracted by her for some time.
But there will always be the parents’ evenings and the weddings of our children and the christenings of their children where we will both be reminded of what a cheating bastard he is and how I made him pay. A fragment of him will always be embedded in my heart like a shard of sharp glass, prodding me painfully at certain moments when I will have no choice but to remember.
It will be worse for Jack. Never knowing if I will flip and spill the truth. I’ll be like a fly buzzing around his head, one that he can never quite swat. Nothing he can do can ever manipulate those mismatching dates – they are wrong for ever. And he’ll suffer for ever because of it. Good. But I’ll never act on my feelings again. I owe that to my children. If I’ve learned one thing from all this, it’s that they’re the loves of my life.
She reaches into her bag and places an envelope on the table. She looks straight at me now.
‘I heard what Katy said to you. About the abuse. And that you had suffered too. I asked our domestic abuse liaison officer for some information.’ I stare at the buff envelope. It’s the first time anyone has acknowledged the depth of what happened to me. Saw it as more than let it go or get over it. More than a break-up. ‘You don’t have to, but it’s there if you ever want to take it further. But as I said, it’s the last time I’ll need to come round.’
‘Yes. The last time. Thank you. Thank you for all you have done. And for this.’
I take the envelope. She waits for more, as if I am somehow going to offer a full confession. Then she goes and drives away in her little blue car.
Hours pass slowly and at the allotted time I sit by the window, waiting, waiting, waiting for a car to arrive with my precious cargo. I still don’t fully believe it will until I see a blonde head in a black BMW stop outside. I rush to the door and see two small figures getting out with backpacks. Emma is leaning into the boot of the car and pulling out the four large brown Samsonites that arrived here to begin this. She pulls them up the drive, two at a time. Her face is set in a false smile.
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