Widows & Orphans

by Michael Arditti

  ‘You’re scaring me. Is he in trouble?’

  ‘Yes, but not as serious as some. Will you ask him to come down?’

  ‘Of course. Go on through. Derek’s watching TV.’

  As Duncan walked into the living room, two shots rang out on the screen. From the corner of his eye he saw a half-naked woman in black fishnets and four-inch stilettos slump to the floor.

  ‘Duncan, my man, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ Derek asked, standing up and tucking in his shirt.

  ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.’

  ‘Sounds ominous! Just a mo while I find the remote. Switch off this rubbish.’

  ‘Let me guess, she’s a tart with a heart who’s informed on her gangland lover but still has to atone for her past.’

  ‘Is it a repeat?’ Derek asked, looking perplexed.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Duncan said, envious of a world where morality was defined by wardrobe.

  ‘Grade A crap, but it hits the spot. Fact is we’ve had a rough day. A meeting with Rose’s educational psychologist, the one who wrote the damning report. Seems like he won’t budge. And if he won’t, neither will the LEA. Linda’s a bit low.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Duncan said, conscious that he was about to drag her down further. ‘Is Craig –?’

  Linda walked in followed by Jamie, who looked worried by his father’s surprise visit. Although he had tried to make up for the horrors of the Christmas Day lunch by being both cordial and compliant during the remainder of his stay, he knew as surely as Duncan that something had changed for ever in their relationship.

  ‘What are you doing here, Dad?’ he asked.

  ‘I suggest that we all sit down.’

  ‘Will you please stop being so mysterious and tell us what’s going on?’ Linda said.

  ‘It concerns Jamie.’

  ‘What have you been up to now, Sport?’ Derek asked casually.

  ‘But not only him,’ Duncan said, taking a chair and waiting for them to follow suit. ‘I’ve come straight from Ellen’s.’

  ‘So what else is new?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Jamie…’ Linda said.

  ‘I saw the film clip you sent to Neil.’

  ‘The knob end!’ Jamie said, jumping up. ‘He showed it you? The little grass. I’ll kill him.’

  ‘He didn’t show it me. His mother found it.’

  ‘What film is this?’ Linda asked.

  ‘He should have deleted it.’

  ‘No,’ Duncan said, struggling to contain himself. ‘You shouldn’t have sent it.’

  ‘What film is this?’ Linda repeated, standing as though for emphasis.

  ‘It shows Craig and a friend beating up my mother’s carer in Salter Nature Reserve.’

  ‘Chris?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Craig?’ Derek asked. ‘My son Craig?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Linda said. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last Saturday. Chris is currently in the Princess Royal.’

  ‘The fucking idiots!’ Derek said.

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’ Linda asked.

  ‘Bad enough to have been kept in all week.’

  ‘Were you there?’ Linda asked Jamie.

  ‘No!’

  ‘So how come you have the film?’

  ‘Craig sent it to me.’ Jamie’s boast that ‘he sends me everything’ resounded in Duncan’s head.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘One of the girls filmed it on her phone.’

  ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ Derek said, moving to pour himself a drink.

  ‘No, Derek,’ Linda said. ‘Remember Dr Matthews.’

  ‘What were they thinking of?’ Derek asked, ignoring her.

  ‘You sent the film to Ellen’s son,’ Linda said. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s gay,’ Jamie mumbled.

  ‘What?’ Linda asked.

  ‘It was a joke.’

  ‘A bloody sick joke if you ask me,’ Derek said.

  ‘It’s not any kind of joke,’ Linda shouted. ‘A man’s in hospital.’ She walked over to Jamie, who was perched on the edge of the sofa, and slapped his face.

  ‘Mum!’ he cried.

  ‘What’s happening to you?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t do anything. All I did was send it. I’m sorry, right!’

  ‘Explain it to me slowly, Jamie,’ Derek said. ‘Craig and his friend were in the reserve with some girls and they beat up this bloke who works for Adele?’

  ‘No … I don’t know. Ask him. I wasn’t there.’

  ‘But he told you what happened?’

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘So how about you tell us?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. Craig and Alan went up to Salter on Saturday night with their girlfriends to … I don’t know.’

  ‘But it was freezing on Saturday,’ Linda interjected. ‘Don’t you remember when we went to Nana and Granddad’s?’

  ‘They had booze and stuff. I don’t know. Anyway, Craig went to take a leak and this queer – Chris – pounced on him and tried to fiddle with him, and maybe because they were wrecked … Look, it was stupid, I know, but I wasn’t there!’

  ‘You mean the guy molested him?’ Derek asked.

  ‘He grabbed his dick,’ Jamie said with growing confidence.

  ‘The sick fuck!’

  ‘Derek, please,’ Linda said.

  ‘That puts a very different slant on things.’

  ‘Why?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘Why do you think “why”? Craig’s a kid. If some pervert comes on to him, he has a right to defend himself.’

  ‘Couldn’t he just have said “no”?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Let’s be civilised about it. That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?’

  ‘You two squabbling will get us nowhere,’ Linda said.

  ‘He’s lucky he’s only in hospital. He could have been sent down for years. Banged up with all the nonces.’

  ‘And that’s the attitude you’ve taught Craig?’

  ‘What would you have done if it’d been Jamie?’

  ‘That’s totally different.’

  ‘I see. Your boy’s sacred but mine’s fair game?’

  ‘No, Jamie’s thirteen and Craig’s sixteen. And, as luck would have it, he’d stumbled on a gay cruising spot.’

  ‘Maybe he missed the signs? Like the ones on the swifts’ breeding ground. Only I forgot; they don’t breed, do they? They just fuck. Day and night, like animals.’

  ‘Says the man who plans to open Britain’s first sex pier.’

  ‘At last! I wondered when you’d get round to that. Any chance you can find to point the finger at the Weedons! Well, you know what I think? Craig was right to batter the bloke.’

  ‘You don’t mean that, Derek,’ Linda said.

  ‘Don’t I? He did us all a favour.’

  ‘Be sure to say that to the police,’ Duncan said.

  ‘What police? Why?’

  ‘There’s a criminal investigation. We can’t withhold evidence.’ Derek’s outburst had removed all Duncan’s doubts about how to proceed. Any hope that he might leave the father to discipline the son had vanished with the realisation that the father was part of the problem.

  ‘Now wait a minute –’

  ‘And the evidence is conclusive. You talk about Craig defending himself. Take a look at this.’ He pulled out Neil’s phone, found the clip, clicked Play and handed it to Derek.

  ‘Can I go now?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘No,’ Duncan said.

  ‘It’s not your house any more!’

  ‘No,’ Linda echoed.

  Duncan fixed his eyes on Derek as, grey-faced, he watched the footage. The one minute fifty-two seconds seemed longer than they had at Ellen’s. Finally, Derek put down the phone and drained his glass in silence.

  ‘Well?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘May I see it?’ Linda asked.

  ‘No!’ Derek s
aid. ‘How does this thing…?’ He searched the phone. ‘There! Deleted. Gone for ever. So much for your evidence!’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t send it to someone else?’ Duncan said, giving thanks for his instinct.

  ‘Did he?’ Derek asked Jamie, who shrugged wretchedly.

  ‘Or that I didn’t make a copy?’

  ‘Did you?’ Duncan nodded. ‘You shit!’ Derek clenched his fist and punched the arm of his chair.

  ‘Blood pressure, Derek!’ Linda said.

  ‘Look, I’ll bollock Craig. I’ll give him the biggest bollocking he’s ever had. I’ll make his life a misery. That’s enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know it’s not. You saw what he did. If you have any sense of justice, you can’t hush it up.’

  ‘He’s sixteen years old! He’s never done anything like this before.’

  ‘And I’m sure the police will take that into consideration.’

  ‘And if they don’t? He’ll go on trial. He could be sent down.’ Derek’s voice cracked. Linda put her arm round his shoulders but he shrugged her off. Jamie sat with his head in his hands.

  ‘Which is why he must give himself up. It’ll count in his favour.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘I’ll wait till this time tomorrow, then I’ll go to the police myself.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Mr Whiter than White. Mr “Anyone who drops a sweet wrapper on the beach should have his hands chopped off”.’

  ‘I think you should go now, Duncan,’ Linda said.

  ‘Believe me, if there were any other way.’

  ‘Of course there is. I’ve fucking told you what it is.’

  ‘No.’ Whatever Derek might think, he took no pleasure in accusing Craig. Nonetheless, he refused to defend him by blackening Chris’s name. However differently Chris might behave in the dark, he did not believe that someone who cared so tenderly for Adele would have accosted a total stranger without encouragement. ‘An innocent man is hooked up to a drip in hospital.’

  ‘Just go please,’ Linda said. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as we’ve decided what to do.’

  ‘Of course.’ Duncan moved to the door. ‘Goodnight, Jamie.’

  Jamie sank his head deeper in his hands without replying, and Duncan returned home. The following afternoon Linda called to say that, after a family conference, Derek and Frances had taken Craig to Falworth Road police station, where he confessed to his part in the assault, implicating Alan and Rosalie but absolving Sue. He explained how, high on a cocktail of vodka and marijuana, he had lost control when Chris lunged at him. Determined to make a clean breast of it, he showed the officers the mobile phone footage, but the filming itself turned out to be instrumental in the CPS decision to charge him. He was given police bail to appear before the magistrates the following week. His solicitor was optimistic that in view of its being a first offence and his previous good character they would refer him to a Youth Offending Panel rather than impose a custodial sentence.

  Duncan felt torn. At least Craig’s age freed him from agonising over how much of the story to report. There was no such escape clause, however, when two hours later one of Ken’s police contacts tipped him off that detectives returning to the crime scene had discovered Henry’s mobile beneath a pile of leaves.

  ‘Do we follow it up or do we back off because he’s one of our own?’ Ken asked.

  ‘We back off because there’s nothing to it,’ Duncan replied with more confidence than he felt. ‘He’s the vicar of the Cliff Top Church. The woods are on his doorstep. He often walks his dog there. I’ve gone with him myself.’

  ‘At eleven o’clock at night?’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t drop it earlier in the day?’

  ‘Because it was the number that was used to call the ambulance.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Seems our Henry is one of those naughty vicars you read about in the papers. Though not of course the Mercury,’ Brian piped up from across the desk. ‘Still, you know what they say: “a stiff prick has no conscience”.’

  ‘A limp one doesn’t have many scruples either,’ Duncan replied pointedly and left the room.

  He was relieved when at seven o’clock everyone went home and he was able to put the events of the week behind him. The atmosphere in the office, already tense, had been further strained by the arrival of assessors to value the fixtures and fittings. He had kept the staff as fully informed as he could, assuring them that a rescue plan was in place, which he hoped to announce within a fortnight, but they had greeted the news with responses ranging from mild disbelief (Sheila) to outright derision (Rowena and Brian).

  For once he was thankful not to be spending the weekend with Jamie. He had nothing in the diary but dinner with Ellen at her line manager’s on Saturday and lunch with her at Ridgemount on Sunday. He went to bed early, waking soaked in sweat from a nightmare in which he was forced to witness the attack on Chris. His horror at his inability to protect the broken body intensified when he caught sight of the hooded face and saw that it had transmuted into Henry’s. Lending more credence to his subconscious than usual, he decided to pay Henry a visit and, receiving no answer from the vicarage phone and knowing to expect none from his mobile, he drove to Salter in the hope of catching him in church. As they edged up the slippery road, Rocinante appeared to be as nervous of the encounter as he was. Despite the difficult journey, he was almost relieved that St Edward’s was locked, but the respite proved to be short-lived since, crossing the lane to the church hall, he found the door open and Henry laying out chairs. The contrast with his last visit could not have been more marked. The mural had been painted over and the entire room was a sanitised white.

  ‘Paradise has vanished from our walls,’ Henry said, ‘although if you look closely at the far left, you can still see the shadow of peacock feathers. Or is it a trick of the light?’

  ‘Did the probation service send you a second team?’

  ‘No, they had no one available. But members of the congregation were queuing up to pitch in.’

  After helping Henry to prepare the hall for the quarterly strategy meeting, Duncan followed him back to the vicarage.

  ‘Any more news on the takeover?’ Henry asked, bringing two steaming mugs of coffee to the kitchen table.

  ‘It’s ninety-nine per cent certain we’ll go with Newscom. They’ve made a derisory offer for the shares but a decent one on jobs and pensions. So no one should be dependent on Press Fund handouts.’

  ‘I can’t see them keeping on “Notes from the Pulpit”.’

  ‘Me neither. It’ll be twenty pages of celebrity interviews and gossip with a four-page insert of local news. I can’t work out if the community will lose its mouthpiece because the Mercury’s failed or the Mercury’s failed because there’s no longer a community that needs a mouthpiece.’

  ‘Perhaps a bit of both?’

  ‘Still, why should anyone care so long as they can log on to a chat room full of like-minded people? Internet communities – what a contradiction in terms!’

  ‘Be fair, you’ve never been the web’s biggest fan.’

  ‘I’ve always said it’s a useful source of information –’

  ‘And misinformation.’

  ‘That too. But there it ends. People talk about “a virtual world”, yet they use it to give their lives authenticity. They look at what’s on their screens rather than in front of their eyes. What’s that phrase of St Paul’s about our imperfect vision?’

  ‘“For now we see through a glass darkly.”’

  ‘Right. That’s another metaphor that’s become a reality. Except that the glass is a screen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t repeat that to any of the big shots at Newscom if you’re hoping for a place in their integrated media team.’

  ‘It’s too late. I’ve already received my marching orders.’

  ‘Really? That’s their loss. I’m very sorry.’

  ‘It was inevitable. There’s no way
I could have worked for the new management.’

  ‘So have you given much thought to what’s next? Will you even stay in Francombe?’

  ‘You won’t get rid of me that easily. Can you keep a secret? I’ll be moving in with my new wife.’

  ‘You’re going to marry Ellen? But that’s wonderful!’

  ‘You must promise not to breathe a word. We’ve not even told family.’

  ‘My lips are sealed. But you can’t stop me praying for you. I’m delighted – absolutely delighted – for you both.’

  ‘Thank you. Let’s hope everyone else feels the same.’

  ‘Still no rapprochement between Jamie and … I forget the other boy’s name?’

  ‘Neil. No, quite the reverse. It’s no longer just the fallout from Christmas. They’ve both been involved – thank God at one remove – in a vicious attack on my mother’s carer. He was queer-bashed in the Nature Reserve.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You do? How?’

  ‘The chaplain at the Princess Royal is a friend,’ Henry replied, giving nothing away.

  ‘I tried to ring you this morning,’ Duncan said, seizing the moment. ‘But I got no answer from your mobile.’

  ‘I lost it yesterday when Brandy and I were w-a-l-k-ing on the beach.’

  ‘No, you lost it in the woods,’ Duncan said sadly. ‘The police found it next to the spot where Chris was attacked.’

  Henry stood up slowly and moved away from the table. For several moments he gazed out of the window, before turning back to Duncan.

  ‘What must you think of me?’ he asked, sweat beading on his brow.

  ‘The same as ever. That you’re the best friend I have in this town.’

  ‘Ah yes. They should carve it on my grave. Always a friend, never a lover. Like a cautious investor I prefer to spread the risk.’

  ‘Is it such a risk?’

  ‘You tell me. I’m fifty-six years old. I’ve never known love, except for God’s love of course. I bang on about that on a daily basis. But if it really were infinite, would He have made me gay?’

  ‘You can’t mean that?’ Duncan said, alarmed by the depth of his self-loathing. ‘I thought it was only evangelicals who went in for all the “male and female created He them” twaddle.’

  ‘Yes, like my old Director of Ordinands who claimed to know that homosexuality was a sin because every time he thought about it his genitals came out in a rash. Don’t smile! It’s the gospel truth. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not speaking for anybody but myself. God gave me a vocation and then made it impossible for me to fulfil it. I preach about the need to be whole and at the same time I’m forced to compartmentalise my life. Do you know what it is to long for someone’s touch? I don’t mean Ellen’s or anyone special’s. Just a. n. Other’s. I can go for weeks when my only human contact – that’s physical contact – is the Sign of Peace. Let’s hope that my congregation is more at peace than me.’