“It’s not?”
“Of course not.”
Claire could not hide her confusion. “But you said last time you hated being a... Being attracted to children.”
“You misunderstand, Claire. I hate being the social outcast that my predilection makes me. I hate being loathed for my honesty. For caring about children.”
She felt her voice rising. “Caring?”
Bristow nodded. “Caring deeply.”
“But you admit you’ve molested little boys!”
“I never used the word molested.”
“Then what?”
Bristow drew on his cigarette. “The problem with our society, Claire, is that people, adults, don't really like children.”
“A few, perhaps, but…”
Bristow persisted. “The majority. Even parents. Yes, of course, they love their own off-spring. That's natural instinct. But I'm talking about liking children for their own sake, as individuals. Most people do not.”
“I do.”
He raised a doubting eyebrow. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Can you honestly say you looked forward to it when your daughter, when Rebecca, brought her friends round to play?”
“Absolutely. It meant she was enjoying herself. Having fun.”
“So it was a selfish gesture. Because your daughter was having fun with them, these children were accepted in your home. But would you have enjoyed their company on their own?”
She hesitated. “That's different. I didn't know them myself. They weren't my friends. They were just kids.”
“Just kids? But that’s precisely my point, Mrs Meadows. Claire. You spend your time, by choice, in the company of adults, because, however much you genuinely loved your own child, children in their own right were not a part of your life. Because the company of children was not something you enjoyed.”
Claire had no answer to offer. Bristow continued.
“We treat children as second class citizens, Claire. Our society has no time for them. We express token outrage when they're harmed, of course. And sexual abuse arouses the strongest feelings of all, but it's not heartfelt. When I was taken to Court for the remand hearings there were crowds outside, baying for my blood. But an hour later these same people would be back at home, hitting their own kids for speaking out of turn, spending their child benefit on gambling, cigarettes and cheap alcohol, knowing full well that on the other side of the world children were dying of hunger or diseases caused by dirty water, or being maimed by weapons made in our own country, sold by our own government. As a society we have never come to terms with children.”
Claire listened with mixed emotions. He spoke with an affection for children that she'd rarely heard from anyone before. “You were a teacher, weren't you?”
“A while ago now, but yes. It was a job I really enjoyed. Teaching is... Was... My first love. English. That was my subject.”
“But if you knew... Knew that you were a pedophile… That you were attracted to children, why become a teacher? Wasn't that just asking for trouble? Putting temptation at your door?”
Bristow suppressed a smile. “Claire, at risk of appearing very coarse, do you lead an active sex life yourself?”
She couldn't hide her surprise. “Yes, but...”
“A heterosexual sex life? You prefer men to women? Adult men?”
She had to know where he was leading. “Yes.”
“Do you find that you want to have sex with every man you see? Every man you find yourself in a room with? Every man you have contact with?”
“Of course not. That’s absurd!”
“I'm sorry to be personal. Please bear with me. Do you have any gay friends?”
“One or two.”
“Do they lust after every person of their own sex that they meet or see? Would you feel uncomfortable in a room full of lesbians? Or more relaxed in a room full of gay men?”
“No, of course not, but...”
“Then why should a pedophile be different? Why can't I be in a room full of children and not want to interfere with every child there?”
75
“When they asked for my resignation, after my first arrest I was dumbstruck. It was so... Unnecessary. It was a girls' school. All girls. Not a boy in the place. If they'd thought about it logically they would have realized the post was ideal for me. I had no more sexual attraction towards young girls than I did towards animals. I was completely safe with them.”
Clare sipped her iced tea, listening intently.
“That's why I applied for the job in the first place. I'd always been a teacher. Poetry was my first love. I could bring Emerson, Dickinson or Whitman to life in a way no-one else could match. I was born to teach, Claire.” Bristow dragged on his cigarette. “Being surrounded by girls like that was the most sensible thing I could do. It avoided even the possibility of temptation, and God knows they were enough to tempt a saint. Skirts deliberately raised, top buttons undone. You know what adolescents are like.”
Claire conceded a knowing smile.
“But it did nothing for me. Nothing at all. Rumors began, that I must be gay. I denied them, of course. You had to back then. They were less liberal times.”
He stopped to drink his coffee, then: “One of the girls developed a crush on me. I should have seen it a mile off, but it just didn't register. Not at first. I thought it was just another wind up. She was fifteen. She became very brazen about her feelings. Making comments in class. Telling other girls she loved me. I found the whole thing abhorrent. In retrospect I should have told the Principal and put a stop to it at once. But I thought it better to try to ignore the girl. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. That was my downfall.”
He paused to draw heavily on the cigarette.
“What happened?”
“She turned up at my apartment one evening, in tears. Quite disconsolate. I invited her in. It was a stupid thing to do with any child. Especially her. But I thought she'd been hurt. She claimed she'd fallen off her bicycle.”
He stopped, staring into the distance. Memories. Painful memories.
Claire touched his arm. “Go on.”
“I made her comfortable. She said she'd hurt her thigh. High up. She insisted I look at it for her. I never gave it a thought. It just didn't occur to me what she was doing. She wanted me to feel for bruising. I said no, that I shouldn't, but she lifted her skirt anyway. She had no underwear on. Of course, I should have thrown her out, there and then.”
“But you didn't.”
“I asked her to leave, but she refused. She told me she loved me, that she fantasized about me. About she and I, making love. I was flustered. She... She started touching me. Tried to kiss me. I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I hit her. Not hard, you understand. Just a slap. I had to. I had to stop her somehow. She just stood there, in shock.”
Claire could see tears well in his eyes.
“It was a selfish gesture. Totally selfish. I didn't stop to think about her feelings. I made some cruel comment about spotty schoolgirls. I can't believe I said it. I would never treat a pupil like that normally, boy or girl. It must have been so deeply, deeply hurtful to her. She was just a child. A child in a woman's body. I grabbed her by the arm and forced her out of the flat. Told her never to come back.”
He stopped again, sipping tea. His hands shook.
“The next morning I learned she'd hanged herself.”
76
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Her hand touched his.
“It was the single worst moment of my life. I've never forgiven myself, Claire. Never. Obviously the police became involved. Her diaries were full of fantasies about she and I. Incredible fantasies. If only she could have harnessed that imagination in her prose. In the end I was cleared of any responsibility. Her friends confirmed I had never done anything to encourage her. But by then it was too late.”
A tear rolled down his cheek, and Claire felt her own eyes moistening in sympathy. His trem
bling free hand lit another cigarette.
“Of course the police knew about my history. They searched my home and found some magazines. Not child porn, you understand. Quite innocent by today's standards. Artistic, even. But open to misinterpretation. The Board of Governors requested my resignation the same day. Ostensibly over the girl's suicide. They said it would be inappropriate for me to continue in my position.”
“Was this a local school? Rochester, I mean?”
“In Greenwich. I lived not far from Kathy. After the incident I was unemployable, of course. No blame was attached to me for the girl's death. The inquest exonerated me fully. But word got round about the magazines. The rumor mill began working over-time. Life became very unpleasant. It was inevitable that I had to move.”
“That's when you moved to Brighton?”
“Fifteen years ago now. We used to come across to Irondequoit as kids, Kathy, my brother and I, with our parents, for the Lake Ontario experience so it was a natural choice. I had a little money put by. It seemed a good idea at the time. A new start. But it proved a millstone. I applied for jobs, but got no further than the preliminary interview. As soon as it came to references I was finished. Even if they didn't know about the magazines it was enough that I had resigned over an indiscretion resulting in a pupil's suicide. The coroner's exoneration counted for nothing. I tried to move again, but nobody wanted to buy a house a ChoMo had lived in. I was stuck, no job, no chance of a job, and unable to move out.”
He dragged long and hard on the cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. “That was when I got my ice-cream van. Needless to say it didn't work out. I ended up with heavy debts. It was a short-lived business venture. I promise you it was done with the best intentions. I never tried to lure children with free ice-creams as the papers suggested.”
“I believe you.”
“Then I turned to teaching again. You have to understand, I wanted to be with children. Near children. Not for sexual reasons, but simply because I enjoy their company. Eventually I gave up trying to get a school post and started advertising privately as a one-to-one teacher. I tried to take on just girls, for obvious reasons, to avoid any temptation, but it wasn't practical. Girls are different from boys. It's not politically correct to say so, I know, but they learn differently. They respond to a class environment differently. Ask anyone who actually understands children. Not a teacher. Someone who likes children. What I mean is, there simply weren't enough girls in need of private tuition to make it viable.”
“So you took on boys?”
“I had to. At first I was very careful. I made sure I was only with them when other people were around. I did my best to make sure I didn't compromise my or their positions. But as I got to know them, and as their parents got to know me, the whole thing became more relaxed, informal. My relationship with one boy, Kevin, just developed to a stage beyond what is socially acceptable.”
He paused again, deep in thought, his eyes misted.
“Your coffee will get cold.”
He picked up the cup and sipped, his mind distant. “I never hurt him, you understand. It was never a sexual relationship as such.”
“Then what...?” Claire found herself leaning forward, wanting to know more.
“Love. Love and friendship. I'm not saying I didn't find him attractive. He... Kevin, was beautiful. Blonde hair. A perfect complexion. Pale blue eyes that danced in the sunlight. It's funny, but he was more like a girl than a boy. You'd have thought that would be a turn-off for me, but no. I fell in love, plain and simple.”
It was a struggle to get the words out but she had to know. “How old was Kevin?”
“Ten.”
Ten. The same age as Rebecca. Her body recoiled but she acted as if making herself comfortable. She stared at the man before her, not comprehending, yet somehow sympathizing. Disgusted by his words, she found herself moved by the affection in his voice.
“It lasted a year. We became very close. Kevin started coming to my home, after school. His parents worked late, so it meant I could give him extra lessons and act as a child minder at the same time. A convenient arrangement all round.”
He dredged his coffee beaker, eyes distant. “Kevin's parents asked me if I would teach him to swim. They knew I swam regularly. I agreed, for all the right reasons. Then Kevin started bringing his friend along too. I should have put a stop to it right there, but I thought I was in control. I was wrong. It was just too much for me.”
He finished the cigarette and immediately lit another. “I'd always been attracted to boys, since the Lord only knows when. Even as a child myself I found other boys stimulating. Exciting. I was always last out of the showers after sports. I didn't understand it as a sexual thing then. I just knew I found them attractive. The one day I...”
Claire leaned forward. “Thomas?”
“One day I touched another boy, while we were showering. It just happened. He beat the hell out of me, there and then, while the other boys cheered him on. The Coach burst in, and when he heard what I'd done he dragged me off to the Principal. Literally dragged me. By the ears, naked from the shower, in front of all my class-mates. Across the play-ground to the Principal's office on the other side of the school, past boys and girls together. It was so humiliating. I was caned so badly I could barely sit afterwards. But somehow, I enjoyed it. Not the caning. Not the pain itself. But the relationship of the pain to touching my class-mate. The being dragged naked across the playground in front of everyone. It was pleasurable somehow. I used to fantasize over it for months after.”
He saw Claire wince. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so graphic.”
“It's okay. Honestly.” It was a pathetic lie, but she had to know more. “Please, continue.”
77
“That was when I realized I was gay. I was about fourteen, just going through puberty. The boy I'd touched was the same age, but less developed, if you follow me. He was the youngest in the class, I think. Certainly the least developed physically. Not that it stopped him pulverizing me.”
He stared into space. “The Principal made me see a counselor. It was that or exclusion. My parents were livid. My father belted me, right over the wounds from the caning. But it just reinforced my will to be different. The counseling was a complete waste of time. Some stupid woman telling me I'd grow out of it. She even gave me some dirty magazines to take home, to try to make me normal again. You know, naked women, one leg over here, one leg over there. And that was just because they thought I was gay! I threw the magazines in the trash. They did nothing for me. Absolutely nothing.” He paused. “Have I said too much?”
“No. Please, go on. I need to understand.”
“Taking Kevin and his friend swimming was the big mistake. If they'd been competent swimmers I could have contented myself with just looking. But I had to teach them. To hold them in the water. And one thing led to another...” He stopped again, staring deep into the empty cup, seeing nothing.
Claire gently touched his arm, urging him on.
“Swimming pools were always my weak spot. Look at it logically. Where else can a pederast go and see young boys naked? I loved to stand in the shower, watching boys come and go. Is this upsetting you?”
Claire shook her head. It was, but she needed to hear it. “What about Kevin?”
“It was all so innocent. I helped them dry themselves. Helped them dress. I was like a father to them. I began to fall in love with Timothy just as I had with Kevin. They were so alike, especially undressed. Boys are. Combine the innocence of a child's face with the purity of his body and you have... Well, something special. No ugly body hair. No bulging muscles, just pure, white skin. Like satin.”
The door opened. “Bristow! Time's up!”
The shout brought Claire back to reality. She looked at Bristow. His eyes were moist. Almost in tears. He looked embarrassed.
“Please, I must know.”
“Timothy told his parents. Not maliciously. He just didn't realize. They ca
lled the police. I still can't believe what happened next. They actually took Kevin into care. Kevin! For what I'd done! I was jailed too, as you must know. I deserved it, in a way, even though it was done for love. But to punish Kevin...”
“What happened to him?”
“I don't know. His family had moved by the time of my release. He'll be a grown man by now. I can only hope he's happy.”
The warden's voice boomed. “Bristow! Come on!”
“I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable, Claire. I know it won't have been pleasant for you. But thank you for listening. I just hope you can understand. I loved Kevin, just as you must have loved Rebecca.”
Claire reached a hand out and took his as he stood to go. “I know you did.”
She couldn't believe she said it.
She couldn't believe she meant it.
She sat and watched him leave, to a chorus of hissing and verbal abuse. It was saddening to watch.
He was frisked at the door before being moved out.
78
Every city has its red light district and every red light district has its under-age girls.
For years now Buffalo in the north and Yonkers in the south had been his preferred options, but Buffalo was not on his route today, and after a close call with the police when he'd mistakenly propositioned a twelve year old on a street corner only to find she was waiting for her mother, he had not been back to Yonkers.
He collected the van from the lock up, playing the CD all the way.
He took the I-86 parallel to the Pennsylvania border, then south past Yonkers to the Big Apple, arriving mid-evening.
He parked the van in the lot of a cheap motel and made his way to his room. His window afforded a depressing view of the city. The motel was functional. He could afford much better, but slumming it was part of the appeal.
He lay on the bed a while, one eye on a second-rate movie, his mind elsewhere. At nine he made his way to the bar, establishing a rapport with the steward, relating a hoary tale of a long day's work and the promise of an early night, in an accomplished West Coast accent the local barman could not distinguish from the real thing. He made his farewells at ten and stopped at a phone in the lobby, imitating conversation into the receiver.
Sugar & Spice (US edition) Page 15
