by Conrad Jones
The picture on your Facebook page is not me. You have got the wrong man. Take my name off it!
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?’ Jaki asked, concerned. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Richard looked at her. His mouth opened, as if he was going to speak, but no words came out. He heard Celia’s voice shouting for him from the kitchen, but he could barely understand her words. His body was numb; fear and shock coursed through his veins. They were going to tell his employers and the police what, exactly? He couldn’t think straight. Panic set in.
‘Richard,’ Celia called again, ‘can you come in here, please?’ He looked at his screen and swallowed hard. ‘Richard,’ she shouted. The volume of her voice had increased and there was an edge to it. She was mad about something. His breath stuck in his chest, he couldn’t move. ‘Richard! Can you hear me?’
‘Mum is shouting you,’ Jaki said, sitting down again. ‘Pass me the remote on your way out, please.’ She grinned sarcastically.
‘I’m watching this,’ Jake snapped. Jaki huffed and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The door opened again and Celia walked in. Her long blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail. The twins had inherited their good looks from her. She was lean and fit for thirty-six, and turned heads wherever she went. Her blue eyes were piercing and there was anger in them.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ she asked, holding her iPad in one hand and a large glass of white wine in the other. Richard looked at her blankly. He thought about answering but couldn’t find the words. She had her really-pissed-off look on her face. His mind was frozen with fear. ‘I’m talking to you, Richard. Did you hear me?’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, pushing his phone between his leg and the armchair, wanting to push it right down into the material where it could never be recovered. His face flushed red, embarrassed and confused. ‘I didn’t hear you. I was watching the football.’
‘You can hear me now?’
‘Of course.’
‘Pause it. I need to speak to you,’ she said, gesturing with her head. ‘Come into the kitchen, please.’
Her eyes were wide and accusing, he could see the tension on her face. She was pissed off about something. He could hardly move; his limbs were lead. What was wrong with her? What could he say anyway? Now isn’t a good time, Celia. I’ve just been called a paedophile online. He hadn’t done anything, but the accusation was enough to stun him. It was impossible to respond normally.
‘Richard,’ she snapped, trying to keep the anger from her voice. ‘I need to speak to you in the kitchen, right now.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Richard pushed himself out of the chair and walked unsteadily towards the door. Jake watched him, concerned. Something was going on. Adult stuff probably. There was tension in the air. It was worse at the weekends when Mum didn’t have to get up early. She would drink until her words were slurred, and berate Dad about underachieving because he wouldn’t apply for the deputy head position. The next morning, she would make a cooked breakfast for the family and be completely oblivious to what a bitch she had been. Jake wasn’t going to get married and put up with that shit, that was for sure. Any girlfriend who gave him a hard time would be down the road straight away. Then he thought about April Morris’s breasts. If he was honest, she could say whatever she wanted to him.
Celia led the way and walked into the kitchen; her pink tracksuit clung to her hips, flattering her shape. She glided across dark slate tiles to the island, which acted as a breakfast bar. When they’d first met, Richard was smitten – he still was. She was the prettiest woman on the planet as far as he was concerned.
‘Close the door, Richard.’
His throat was dry and he felt parched as he closed the kitchen door. The light reflected from white high-gloss units, almost dazzling him. He looked at her and waited.
‘I don’t want you to panic,’ she whispered. She gestured for him to move closer.
‘Panic about what?’
‘I’ve had a message,’ she said. ‘Not a very nice message.’
‘Let me see,’ Richard said, feeling his stomach clench.
‘What the fuck is this all about?’ she whispered, pointing to her iPad. Richard stepped closer to look at the screen. There was an email open. The sender was Predator Hunter Northwest, at an AOL address. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. Celia stared at him while he read the content:
Dear Mrs Vigne,
This may come as a shock to you, but we feel we should let you know that your husband, Richard, had a relationship with a minor. Her name was Nikki Haley. Nikki tried to commit suicide a month ago as a direct result of the affair. Your husband is a paedophile and should not be allowed anywhere near children. It has come to our attention that he is employed as a teacher, which is like letting a fox into a henhouse. The information has been sent to the police and the press and his employers. We intend to make this public and feel it is only fair to warn you, as you have children of your own.
Regards
The words sank in and struck home. Every letter was a dagger in his guts. He was going to vomit. He read and reread the message. Celia watched him intently, analysing his every move. He could feel her eyes boring into him, searching for the truth. His legs were shaking, threatening to collapse beneath him. His mind was in turmoil, nothing was working properly. He felt guilty.
‘Richard?’
‘What?’ he stuttered.
‘Why can’t I hear you denying this?’ Celia said, her voice strained. She looked into his eyes. Her bottom lip began to quiver. ‘Please tell me this is a hoax, or someone’s idea of a sick joke?’ Richard looked at her then back at the screen. He shook his head. ‘Richard, tell me this isn’t true. Who are these people?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you know a girl called Nikki Haley?’ Tears filled Celia’s eyes. She waited, but he didn’t deny knowing her. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You need to tell me that this is a lie, Richard.’
The kitchen door opened and Jake stepped in. His eyes were almost bulging out of his head. He was holding his iPad.
‘Dad,’ he said, panicking. ‘Someone has posted some shit about you on Facebook.’
‘What do you mean?’ Richard stammered. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says you’re a paedo, Dad.’
Richard couldn’t believe what was happening. Why had they done this to him?
‘Delete it immediately,’ Celia said, angrily.
‘I can’t delete it,’ Jake said, shaking his head.
‘Of course you can. Get it off your page now, and block the sender.’
‘Mum,’ Jake tried to explain. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Don’t argue with me, Jake,’ Celia snapped. She took a large glug of wine and stared at Richard. Richard stared back, his mouth open, shocked and stunned into silence. ‘Just do it.’
‘I can’t, Mum,’ Jake insisted. ‘It’s not on my timeline, it’s been posted on the school page.’
‘The school page?’ Celia repeated, eyes widening. ‘Let me see.’ She read the posts. ‘I don’t believe this is happening.’
Richard and Celia exchanged glances. There were no words. They stared at Jake as if he were a talking bear. It couldn’t be real. The school page was active and well used.
‘Has anyone read it yet?’ Celia asked, her voice cracked, panic setting in. The ramifications were echoing around her mind.
‘There are over a hundred comments on it already,’ Jake added, quietly.
‘Richard?’ Celia pleaded, her voice soft. She took a deep breath and shook her head sympathetically. ‘Can you please explain what the fuck is going on?’
‘No.’ It was all he could manage. ‘I can’t explain it.’
‘Who are these people?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, quietly. ‘I wish I did.’
‘Why would someone say that, Dad?’ Jake asked, astounded. His phone beeped three times in quick succession. He looked a
t the screen and then at his father. ‘My friends are texting me, asking me what it’s all about.’ Richard wanted to curl up and die. It was bad enough without his kids being sucked into the situation. He knew only too well how cruel kids could be to each other. ‘What do I tell them, Dad?’
‘Don’t tell them anything,’ Richard said. He couldn’t think of anything to tell them. Hey, Jake, is it true your dad’s a paedo? How do you answer that?
‘Richard,’ Celia said. She grabbed his arms and shook him gently. ‘Will you answer me and tell me what is going on, please?’ Richard shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t find the words to answer. Whatever he said would be wrong.
‘I honestly don’t have a clue.’
‘Richard, do you know this girl?’
‘What was the name?’ Richard asked, frowning.
‘Nikki Haley.’
‘The name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘It doesn’t ring a bell?’ Celia repeated, shaking her head. ‘You’re making it sound like you might know her, but conveniently can’t remember.’
‘I’m racking my brains here to make sense of this, Celia. Do you know how many teenage girls I’ve taught over the years?’
‘Who said she was a pupil?’ Celia asked.
‘I’m assuming.’
‘Why would you assume that?’ she asked, confused. ‘Have you taught a girl called Nikki Haley?’
‘Not that I can remember,’ Richard mumbled. He tried to get a grip. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter if I have.’ Celia stared at him open-mouthed. She was shocked and confused. ‘I haven’t so much as touched any of my students, never mind had a relationship with them, so her name is irrelevant.’
The kitchen door opened again and Jaki appeared, a look of horror on her face. ‘OMG,’ she gasped, ‘have you seen this shit on Facebook?’ She looked from her dad to her mum and then at her brother. It was obvious they had. ‘Dad? What is going on?’
‘Will you say something, please?’ Celia pleaded.
‘What would you like me to say?’ Richard sighed, his anger rising. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, questioning, confused, accusing, but most of all disappointed. A random Facebook group had accused him of being a paedophile, and the three people he loved unconditionally were looking at him with uncertainty in their eyes. It was breaking his heart. ‘What can I say to make this better?’
‘You could deny knowing this Nikki Haley girl for a start.’ Celia said, angrily.
‘Okay. I don’t know anyone called Nikki Haley,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Does that help?’
‘Not really,’ Celia replied, quietly.
‘There isn’t much I can say really, is there?’ Richard said, shrugging. He was at a loss to explain it.
‘Dad!’ Jaki hissed. She was horrified. ‘Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?’ she said, throwing her arms in the air. ‘OMG, I will never be able to show my face in school again. This is an absolute nightmare. We’ll have to move to another area.’ Richard looked at her in disbelief. He hadn’t noticed how selfish she had become. ‘My Snapchat is going ballistic. None of my friends will ever talk to me again.’
‘Thanks for your concern, Jak,’ Richard said. ‘Obviously this is all about you, and what your friends will think. Don’t worry about what it could do to my career.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ Jaki mumbled. She walked over to him and hugged him, placing her head on his chest. He held her tightly and breathed in the scent of her hair. His eyes caught Celia’s and she looked away. The show of affection made him feel stronger. ‘Why would anyone do such a shitty thing to you?’ she said, hugging her dad. ‘Who would say such a thing about you, Dad?’
‘I don’t know,’ Richard said, ruffling her hair. ‘Someone has got their wires crossed. It’s just a mistake.’
‘We need to call the police, Richard,’ Celia said, pulling herself together. ‘Call them now before too much damage is done.’
‘Here, Dad,’ Jake said, holding out his phone. ‘Mum is right.
Call the police.’ Richard stared at the phone. ‘Call them, Dad, before people start to believe it.’
Jake’s words seemed to reach into the dark place Richard was hiding. Celia watched his expression change: his eyes focused, the muscles in his jaw tightened. He looked at the phone and shook his head. She was nauseous. He still hadn’t denied it. Not properly. Not convincingly.
‘Will you get my phone from the other room, son?’ Richard asked. ‘It’s on the armchair.’ Jake nodded and ran through into the living room. Jaki stared at her dad in disbelief. He could feel their uncertainty in the way they were looking at him. He needed to get a grip of the situation.
‘This is all complete bullshit,’ he said, finally. Their expressions changed immediately. Celia looked relieved. ‘I have no idea where this group has got this information, but they have got the wrong man. It is total bullshit.’ Jake came back into the kitchen in a hurry. He handed the mobile to his dad. ‘Thanks, son.’ He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he wanted. It rang a few times before being answered. ‘Helen, it’s Richard,’ he said. He listened for a moment. ‘Yes, we’ve seen it, that’s why I’m ringing. You’re the page admin, so you can remove it. I need that post taken down and the group blocked from the school page, and I need it done now.’ He listened again and nodded. ‘That’s great, Helen. I can’t thank you enough.’ There was another silence as he let her speak. ‘I will be calling them next, see you tomorrow.’ He ended the call and looked at his family, one by one. ‘Right, listen to me. Helen Wright is the school page admin. She will remove the post immediately. We do not panic, understand?’ Celia and the twins nodded but didn’t look convinced. ‘Go on your Facebook profiles and check your security settings are locked so no one can contact you, or see your list of friends. I don’t want these idiots contacting anyone else we know. Then, go on the group page and block them.’ They looked at him in silence. ‘What are you waiting for? Do it right now, please!’ he said, clapping his hands to get them going, even Celia moved quickly. ‘I’m going to speak to the police, although I’m not sure that a crime has been committed.’
He was wrestling back some control; the accusations had been a terrible shock. A person’s reputation could be destroyed in minutes on social media. He had seen teachers’ careers ruined by false accusations before. If you throw enough shit at a wall, some of it sticks. Tarnished reputations were rarely rebuilt. The perception is always ‘no smoke without fire’ – especially for a teacher. He would have to manage the situation – take control and stay in control – or risk losing everything he had worked for. He dialled the police non-emergency number and smiled at Celia, hoping to reassure her. She tried to return it but failed miserably. He could see uncertainty in her eyes, mistrust on her face. He couldn’t blame her for that. At the beginning of their relationship she was convinced she had caught him out. She thought he was still sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t. They had remained friends but he had never cheated on Celia with her. Celia had suffered severe bouts of bulimia, anorexia, and depression throughout their marriage. There were underlying mental health issues that she had refused to recognise existed, and that he just accepted as the norm. There had been unfounded accusations of infidelity all through the marriage. She couldn’t help herself. He said she was insecure and she said he was a cheating bastard. Even when things were good, there was always suspicion in their relationship. It was in her eyes, her voice and her actions; she was forever checking his pockets and looking at his social media accounts. He knew she checked his phone regularly so he removed the password and left it lying around so she could check it, at will, to alleviate her jealousy. Many men wouldn’t have put up with the constant accusations, but he wasn’t one of them. She was Celia, beautiful but flawed. He loved her, always had and always would.
She watched him as he made the phone call. He looked away from her and said hello, giving his name and address
and some details. Celia watched him intensely and googled the name Nikki Haley: nothing came up locally. The profile of an American ambassador to the United Nations was top of the search, and she didn’t look like a minor. She deleted the search from her history.
Richard dialled the speaking clock and cut off the call immediately. He paced up and down the kitchen, talking loudly and clearly, as he explained what had happened to nobody.
2
He watched them talking for over half an hour; some were angry, some were emotional, some were animated, pointing fingers and apportioning blame. They were a ragtag bunch of misfits. There were passive members of the gathering and aggressive members – some bullied others. They were angry that their latest sting had failed. He was their target and he had turned the tables on them. They had arrived, hidden, and waited patiently, and then realised he was not coming. They had pretended to be a twelve-year-old boy, that he had been grooming online, and he was supposed to be a fifty-year-old paedophile called Paul. He had strung them along for months – chatting, building a friendship, flirting – until they were convinced they had caught a predator. They had thought they were more intelligent than him, and that was a mistake. Most of the group were below average intelligence, that was obvious. The men wearing camouflage gear, or black combat trousers and boots, were the real idiots. They believed they were a militia: soldiers of justice. If guns were legal, they would be the ones who owned machine guns to go hunting rabbits. They genuinely believed they were tracking predators, hunting paedophiles, but the hunters were actually the hunted. Not that they knew it until it was too late.
They were disappointed and deflated. A lot of time and effort had been invested in setting up the sting, but their victim hadn’t turned up. When one of their missions failed, everyone blamed everybody else for tipping off the paedo by bragging online. The group was a mishmash of ages, social standing and levels of intelligence – some of them weren’t too bright, sharing everything on their Facebook page, leaving discretion to chance. On the other hand, some thought they were Jason Bourne, communicating online in code with the other deluded idiots. The rest of the bunch would be somewhere in the middle. As a group they appeared to be unlikely friends, having little in common. One thing they did have in common today, though, was disappointment. The anticlimax was palpable. Some talked more than others and some didn’t talk at all. He watched and waited, calm yet excited. His pulse was beating steadily. The urge to walk amongst them, and tell them how stupid they were, was overwhelming. He had to sit tight. Patience would pay dividends tonight. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants.
