by Tanya Allan
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but I am confident he means you no harm. I suspect that Roddy is causing some measure of disquiet at home as well, so I’m of the opinion that Mr Myers is unsure as to how best deal with him.”
“He should have walloped the little sod a long time ago,” Kenneth said with some feeling.
“Quite; but I suspect he will be interested to know whether you wish to make a formal allegation of assault against Roddy.”
“I suppose you are interested, too?”
“Of course, I’m always concerned about the image the school presents to the community, so adverse publicity over activities in the school can be potentially harmful. That notwithstanding, it is essential that we challenge and deal effectively with bad and unacceptable behaviour, no matter who is responsible.”
“Talking to the police means court and statements and the newspapers. I’m not into all that. I just want a quiet life. I would like Roddy dealt with so he’s kept away from me.”
“I think that can be arranged. I’m afraid I can’t advise you regarding Mr Myers’ request. I have no idea why he wants to speak to you, and am not certain whether it would be a positive thing. You might, however, be able to give him a fresh perspective about his son. On the other hand, he might have a different agenda entirely.”
Kenneth shrugged.
“I’m not bothered; I can always tell him to go away, can’t I?”
“Of course, and as you are under seventeen, the law requires an adult present. If your mother isn’t going to be here, then I would be happy to step in.”
Kenneth thought for a moment.
“That would be fine, thank you, sir.”
“Now, that deals with the Myers, I suppose we will have to discuss your gender problem. If you’re not feeling up to it, then perhaps we could do this another time?”
“No, I’m fine, sir. I’d rather get it over with, as I’ve been hiding for too long. I should have spoken out a long time ago; only my parents are still in denial.”
Martin looked a little crestfallen at the prospect of having to discuss this now, but he forged on.
“As you know, this school abides by the local authority guidelines with respect to equal opportunities and respecting the different, ah, life-style and sexual orientation, and, um, gender related issues to which both students and staff adhere. I have to admit that, to date, there have been no such issues in this school, so the matter has not surfaced before.
“I would need to confer with the board of governors and check the guidelines for further guidance, but I would need to know whether you intend to initiate transition whilst a pupil?”
“I hadn’t planned to, but then I hadn’t planned to tell anyone either. I suppose you could put it down to the bang on the head, but now it’s out, I would also have to check things as well. Put it this way, sir; I’m a male at the moment, and I have no great desire to start wearing girl’s clothes and prancing about in makeup and making an arse of myself. I want to be a girl, yes, but I’m rather reluctant to become a clown and have everyone laughing at me more than they already are.”
Martin stared at Kenneth with fresh eyes. Here was one switched-on young man.
“I am relieved to hear you say so. I will, of course, be available to support and assist you while you are a pupil here. If I can render you assistance in getting some help, say with a medical referral, then I would look into it for you. I have a duty of care to ensure you get the most from your education, and as I perceive that your family life is, ah, somewhat difficult in this area, then I will see what I can do to alleviate the situation.”
Kenneth felt the unexpected sting of tears spring to his eyes. He was not used to adults offering constructive help. Their standard reaction was discouraging and hyper-critical. To come across one that was the opposite was strange and a little unsettling.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“I would be happier that a doctor examined you after your little fracas this morning, so what would you say if I arranged for a doctor to come here, and after they’ve checked you over as far as the old head is concerned, you can have a chat about the other?”
Unable to speak, Kenneth smiled his thanks and nodded his agreement.
Then, if you’d care to go back to see the nurse, you can rest for a bit and I’ll see what I can arrange. Would you like me to try your mother again?”
“No thanks, sir; she’s made her priorities very plain.” Martin rose and opened the door, for a moment, it felt as if the young person was actually a girl, but it was but a fleeting moment. He watched as Kenneth walked slowly back to the medical wing. He felt inordinately sorry for that young man and everything that he was about to face in his life.
Eight
Guilt is a great motivator, but often it motivates too late and insufficiently to undo all that needs undoing, or to mend all that requires mending.
Richard Myers was a driven man. He was driven by several different factors: pride, greed, ambition, desperation and more recently, guilt.
He was very proud of his humble roots. His first wife had often told him (before divorcing him) that he was boring on the subject. He never forgot that he started out with nothing, and so everything he saw around him he had achieved himself and with a lot of hard work.
His father had been a milkman, while his mother had been a cleaner at the local council offices in south London. School in Brixton had been tough in the seventies and early eighties. While riots were happening on the streets, not a lot was happening in the classroom.
The norm was somewhere below average, and anything above that was subject to ridicule and often violence from one’s peers. Richard had been bright, but he was also a realist. In class he pretended not to work, often deliberately failing tests so as not to shine out. However, when the national exams arrived, he passed with A grades, confounding his teachers and parents alike. All expected him to fail, so the natural assumption had been that he cheated somehow.
However, after being interviewed and check-tested, they discovered that he as a bright boy and he had indeed worked hard without anyone knowing.
However, scholastic subjects are fine and dandy, but actually do little to prepare the vast majority of ordinary children to become adults in the real world. Richard was no exception.
In his final years at school, he ran an illegal tuck-shop. At the weekend, he would cycle to the Cash and Carry and buy sweets, fizzy drink cans and crisps (candy, soda and chips for our US cousins), transporting them in a rucksack back to his home. Each day he’d smuggle a small quantity into school to augment the rather revolting school dinners and turn a healthy profit.
It was a natural progression to supply cigarettes alongside the other items. He came to the notice of a local drug dealer, who was impressed with the ease by which Richard attracted a broad clientele. Richard was given an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Only he did refuse.
Well, to be honest, he didn’t so much refuse as approach the local police and speak to the detective sergeant in charge of the drug squad. In short, he volunteered to become a paid informant. The police encouraged him to go into business with the drug dealer, and adding weed to his list of available products.
Six months later, Richard had still not got caught; either by the police or the school authorities. As a result of his intelligence, the police raided six addresses in the Brixton area and arrested fifteen people, recovered over a million pounds worth of drugs and boosted the Metropolitan Police’s flagging public image to such a degree that the sergeant was promoted and received a commendation.
Needless to say, no one knew about Richard’s part except for one policeman who wasn’t going to say anything as he was rising nicely thanks to Richard’s assistance.
Richard received an informant’s fee, which, being a small percent of the cash seized, turned into a considerable sum. This had two effects on Richard. One, he was untouchable as far as the local police were concerned, and two, he was ab
le to step into the shoes of those who were now languishing in Brixton Prison. After all, he now had a lot more cash with which to buy merchandise.
Incidentally, none of those arrested were aware that he was an informant, so he was able to continue his ‘work’ unimpeded by the police or the other criminals.
He left school at sixteen after his O levels in 1982.
By the time he was twenty-two, he was a millionaire. He knew it was a matter of time before either the police, or the opposition caught up with him, so he sold his ‘dealership’ to an old friend and former customer called Larry Evans. Interestingly, four months later, Larry was found up an alley with his throat cut.
Richard went respectable. It was an easy task, as he had no police record and was able to finance just about anything he wanted to. He bought a small premises with a yard, into which he brought four limousines: big, black and beautiful. He then hired a team of six drivers, all female, big and beautiful. He paid a retired police driving instructor to become the manager and to teach them to drive properly. He then hired out his cars with their exotic drivers. The joke was that he, as the owner of the business, couldn’t get insurance to drive his own cars, as he was under twenty-five.
He was a hit with the business world, particularly amongst the Arab business world. After two more years, aged just twenty-four, he signed a contract with two Middle Eastern airlines for their first class VIPs, as well as several private companies and individuals.
He bought eight more cars and recruited more female drivers and some female minders. The next step was to recruit male personal protection personnel, as most of his high profile customers seemed to expect it. These were all ex-police or army, and many had been discharged for excess violence.
In 1991, he sold the business for a huge profit and moved his cash into property. He bought up huge swathes of land that were not yet ripe for development, but a good source informed him that in five years the value of the land would be quadrupled.
His source was wrong; the value went up by a factor of ten after just three years!
He found himself on a rollercoaster of his own making, and he was unsure whether he wanted to get off, or even how to get off.
In the meantime he married Sharon, his girlfriend from their schooldays, and they had Roddy in 1993. The marriage didn’t last, as he was, by his own admission, never there and not exactly faithful.
His second marriage to Caroline, the daughter of an impoverished landowner from Wiltshire, was a whole new experience. For the first time in his life, Richard slowed down and became the epitome of respectability. His father-in-law was able to restore his family home to its former glory, imparting a fair degree of respectability to his son-in-law in return.
Their daughter Natalie was a good deal younger than Roddy, and she was very much the clone of her mother. Roddy, on the other hand, was a chip off the old block. Richard did not like seeing the reflection of himself at sixteen, but without the intelligence.
Tall, good-looking and impeccably dressed, Richard no longer looked like a milkman’s son made good. His hair was turning silver, but he was slim, trim and very fit. After all, he spent enough time in their gym and pool at their home on the River Thames. However, although he tried hard, when stressed, the ‘South London’ boy was evident.
He wasn’t sure what he hoped to glean from his meeting with the boy Roddy attacked. The meeting was perhaps sparked by the guilt he carried for failing to parent his son when he needed it, a lot more and a lot earlier!
Mr Pettifer accompanied him to meet the boy, whom they found in the sick-bay, sitting in a small lounge watching TV.
He was a pale and slender boy, slightly effeminate, but good-looking and alert. Richard decided that the long hair was what made him look faintly girlish. He personally didn’t like long hair on a boy, but he shook off the prejudice, and made an effort to be non-threatening and genuinely concerned.
They sat on the neighbouring chairs and the boy turned the TV off as they sat down.
“Kenneth, this is Roddy’s father, Richard Myers. He wants to make sure you’re all right and assure you that Roddy will not trouble you again.”
Kenneth looked unimpressed and somewhat sceptical.
Richard laughed.
“Okay, I can see you’re not convinced, and I understand that completely. This is not a case of me trying to be over protective, which, I admit, I might have done in the past. You see, young man, I have a problem with Roddy, much of it of my own making, and I need to understand him better if I am to sort him out. Can I just ask you some questions?”
“If you want.”
“Mr Pettifer has explained about this incident, and I am not bothered about it, to be completely honest. I am sorry it happened, and am grateful that you do not wish to pursue charges, although, perhaps that might give Roddy the sharp shock he may need. I don’t happen to believe that the criminal justice system would deliver him a sharp enough shock, as all it appears to do is play at giving penalties to criminals these days.”
This statement surprised both Kenneth and the Headmaster.
“No; what I need to know is what makes Roddy do the things he does. I understand you’ve been a year-mate of Roddy for a few years?”
“Yeah, a few.”
“Have you crossed swords with him before?”
“About every week for as long as I’ve known him.”
“Why?”
“Good question; I certainly don’t know. We don’t mix in the same groups, we don’t share many classes, and I’m not into the sports he plays. I keep out of his way for the most part, and yet, he will seek me out to be deliberately intimidating and aggressive.”
“Is it just towards you, or are there others?”
“I’m not the only one by any stretch of the imagination, but he does like picking on me.”
“And you don’t know why?”
“I have a suspicion,” Kenneth said.
“Yes?”
“Now, I’m not the most macho bloke, but he picks on anyone smaller, boy or girl. However, when he picks on me, he mostly seems to derive enormous pleasure from accusing or suggesting that I’m gay. Yet, my suspicion is that he’s struggling with his own sexuality, possibly feeling attracted to me, and hating himself for it. Therefore, the only way he can deal with it is to become aggressive towards me,” Kenneth said, glancing at the Headmaster.
Richard sat there, both shocked and surprised. He blinked several times, on the verge of returning an angry denial on behalf of his son. However, as an intelligent man, the boy’s words sounded quite reasonable. The silence drew longer, so Kenneth began to feel awkward.
“Can I say that whether I am gay or not is irrelevant? As it happens, I’m not, but I have done nothing to entice or attract Roddy, or even to deliberately annoy him, so one has to ask why he consistently picks on me with homophobic insults.”
Richard nodded. He had never considered this. He had considered most things, but never this. He reflected on his own attitudes to homosexuality, and knew he’d been vociferous about how unnatural and disgusting he felt all gay people to be. He felt a little more guilt settle on his shoulders. One never knows quite what psychological baggage you pass on to your children without thinking. If Roddy was gay, or even questioning his sexuality, and knowing that his father had such extreme views on the matter, how would he deal with it?
He stood up.
“For a young guy, you’ve an extremely wise head on your shoulders. You’ve given me things to think about that I had not considered, so for that I thank you. Roddy will not be returning to this school, as I think we’re going to have to rethink his education, and, well, we’re going to have to do lots of stuff if we’re going to get him sorted.”
Richard shook Kenneth by the hand, thanked the Headmaster and went off to collect his son.
Mr Pettifer regarded Kenneth in a new light, for the second time.
“Just to let you know that Dr Anne Dobson will be here at one thirty. Once she h
as seen you, then I suggest you stay here until the time to go home.”
“Thanks sir.”
Linda was euphoric, as she had secured a contract worth over six figures for her company. The only fly in the ointment was Kenneth, whom she had completely forgotten. She rang the school to be told that he had gone home by bus as usual and he appeared to have recovered.
She felt angry that he was, yet again, burdening her with trivialities that prevented her from achieving her potential. The next emotion she experienced was guilt for feeling the way she did. Then she felt angry towards her husband for caring more about his job than he did her, and never being there to share the burden that was their son.
By the time she got home, early for a change, she was in a foul mood.
She left her car on the drive, instead of putting it away as normal. She had arranged to see Yvonne later, just to give her a chance to unwind and vent her spleen to someone who cared.
Coming in the back door for a change, Linda walked into the kitchen to find a strange young woman sitting eating toast at the breakfast bar. Homework was spread around the worktop.
She was a pretty girl with a lovely figure. How Linda wished she had a figure like hers. She was dressed in a tee shirt and shorts. She looked at Linda and then at the clock, with an expression of undisguised shock on her face.
“Hello, you must be Kenneth’s new friend. I’m Linda, is he upstairs?”
The girl struggled to gather herself. She closed her mouth and stood up, wiping her fingers on her shorts. The gesture was hauntingly familiar to Linda.
“No,” she said, “He isn’t.”
The girl’s voice was well modulated, but although definitely higher in pitch than Kenneth’s, there was, once again, a similarity.
Linda stopped, frowning, as her brain told her one thing and her reasoning told her that it was impossible.
“Where is he, then?” she asked, still playing the denial game.
“You really are blind, aren’t you? I mean, I get more sympathy and understanding from complete strangers than my own mother.”
“Kenneth?” she asked, uncertainly.
