Geoffrey Derricks liked to think of himself as a housefather in a rather old-fashioned mould. ‘Kindly, but also firm and fair’, he told visitors to The Firs, the childrens’ home he ran with Ruth, his wife, in a large house just outside Fulmer. ‘I like to think of myself as a genuine surrogate father,’ was another favourite saying. Geoffrey was a bluff, broad-shouldered man, with paternal brown eyes, pepper and salt hair, and a neatly trimmed Edwardian moustache and beard, given to wearing tweedy jackets and corduroys, and fond of fostering open-air pursuits amongst his charges. Ruth matched him nicely – a sturdy, no-nonsense sort of woman who believed in getting on with life, and not brooding. She respected Geoffrey as a good man. But she had also begun to grow a little doubtful about some of his paternal propensities, because she suspected that Geoffrey’s interest in at least one of his charges might have grown rather physical - she had noticed Geoffrey spending an increasing amount of his time with a thirteen year old boy called Thomas.
Thomas was bright, and pretty, with blueish-grey eyes, and curly fair hair, and a rather petulant twist to his cupid’s bow lips. He was also something of a handful, and had been assigned to Geoffrey’s care to remove him from the baleful influences of a suspect uncle and aunt, who had taken him in after he had been abandoned by his parents following a marital rift. Gossip suggested that the uncle, a school caretaker, might have been a dirty-minded man with bad habits, and Thomas seemed to know rather more than was good for him about the birds and the bees. He also seemed to be rather too keen on trying to exploit his winning ways. Ruth was not fond of him, but she did not like to fuss.
However Ruth was not the only woman to have noticed this burgeoning closeness between man and boy, for Laura Owens had been keeping a weather eye on Geoffrey and Thomas as well. Laura worked at the home as a cleaning lady on four days a week, and cleaned for Gay Manion on Fridays. She had noticed Geoffrey and Thomas sneaking into an empty wooden hut at the childrens’ home on several occasions, and had been more than a little shocked to find a mattress neatly laid in a corner and a key-operated lock freshly fitted to the inside of the door. Most recently she had arranged matters so that it was possible to gain a mole’s eye view of the interior through an aperture made by moving one of the boards forming part of the hut’s wall, and had been wholly scandalised by the sight of two male shapes performing quite unspeakable acts on each other.
‘I can’t begin to describe what they were doing to each, ma’am.’ She was taking a coffee break, and Gay was feeding her biscuits. ‘It was shocking, really dreadful. They were doing things I wouldn’t have expected to see a man even doing to a woman.’
Gay had opened her eyes very wide, with the kind of shocked look that clearly expected more, and Mrs. Owens had nicely obliged. ‘They were naked, ma’am, not a stich, and at first they were kissing and cuddling together.’ Mrs. Owens had lowered her voice. ‘Then, ma’am, he started doing things to the boy.’
Gay had sat poised, her lips pursed.
‘He was bent over the boy, and the boy was holding onto him.’
Gay had been patient. There were times when it is best to listen, and this had been such a time.
Mrs. Owens had sipped her tea. It was plain that she relished this matter in the telling. ‘The hut was dark, ma’am. But I could see Derricks bent over the boy, and the boy holding onto him, and then Derricks stopped, and went on all fours, and the boy was kneeling behind him, and pushing at him.’
The two women had stared at each other in shocked horror. Gay had heard tell of the kind of things that gay men do to each other, and there have been complaints about cars parking in a wooded lane off the A40, and men meeting for carnal purposes. But this had been the first time she had ever heard an eye-witness report, and she had stored it in her mind in all its fearfulness.
Now Gay reviewed her plan of campaign. She would confront Geoffrey Derricks, and tell him both that he must end his relationship with Thomas, and also that Thomas must take Freddie Hoskins as a lover in his stead. She imagined the confrontation might be difficult, but she was sure that a threat of exposure would quickly make Geoffrey toe the line. She would leave Thomas to him - she had seen the boy on a couple of occasions and had not liked the look of him – and she imagined that Thomas would not find it hard to seduce Freddie Hoskins. Men were all the same: ever weak around a pretty face, and Gay imagined homosexuals to be little different.
She dressed carefully for her visit, in a dark blouse and neat black suit, for she intended to be taken very seriously. The Firs was a large rambling house, not far from Mrs. Hartland’s home, with a driveway tunnelling through twin walls of rhododendrons before opening onto a neatly mown lawn. The children were bussed out to local schools during the day, so that they could interact with peer groups, and watched television when they came home, or pursued various fulfilling hobbies. Both Geoffrey and Ruth Derricks had a name for making their charges feel safe and secure.
Gay parked beside the home’s minibus and ran through her plan of attack. She would confront Geoffrey, and strike hard.
Events developed perfectly. She found him pottering in the home’s entrance hallway, and fixed him with a fierce eye. ‘Good morning, Mr. Derricks.’ She made her voice stern, and her sternness was a thing that had made many men quaver.
Geoffrey stared at her, and knew that something was badly amiss. Gay and the Derrickses were normally on the friendliest of airkissing terms, and Gay’s formality, coupled with the severity of her dress, boded no good at all. He suspected that Mrs. Owens had been up to mischief, because Thomas had found a loose plank in the hut wall, and swore that he had seen the cleaning lady prowling. His forehead began to bead with little drops of sweat. He knew that he had been weak, and done wrong, but had hoped that Thomas might be mistaken. However now he knew himself to be in deadly peril. He had been a fool, and he risked being punished for his foolishness. He must speak to Thomas immediately this woman left, and totally end their relationship.
Gay saw that he had a guilty conscience, and pressed her attack. ‘I’ve come to have a serious word with you.’ Her voice was a tocsin.
Geoffrey gulped. Hewas normally a jovial man, given to beaming benevolently at all and sundry, and occasionally stroking his beard in a thoughtful sort of way. But now he wished himself a Cheshire cat, that he might fade gently from sight. He nodded, trying to look as impassive and nonchalant as he could, gesturing towards the door of his office.
The room was comfortable, with a view out through a big bay window over fields of grazing cattle. Geoffrey pushed the door open, standing back to made room for Gay, and made a brave attempt to wave her into one of a pair of comfortable armchairs positioned companionably either side of a low coffee table, his gossipping chairs.
But Gay had not called to gossip. She picked a chair with a hard seat facing his desk, and waited for him to sit down. Then she spoke slowly, choosing her words with deliberation. ‘Mrs. Owens has been talking to me.’
Geoffrey shivered slightly. He knew what would come, and his small comfortable world balanced on the verge of imploding.
‘She has seen a boy attempting to lead you astray.’
Geoffrey stared at her. This was less than he had feared.
Gay’s eyes were hard. ‘I think the boy is a bad influence, and is going to get worse.’
Geoffrey did not say a word.
‘I have some reason to believe that he has been corrupted by the likes of Freddie Hoskins, the antique dealer.’
Geoffrey blinked. Gay Manion was now moving along a wholly unexpected tack, and must be embroidering, for as far as he knew Thomas and Freddie had never spoken to each other, let alone consorted.
‘The man is evil.’
He stared at Gay Manion like a rabbit mesmerised by a snake.
Gay softened her voice a little. ‘It’s not you, Geoffrey.’ She paused, and her manner grew sympathetic. ‘You have come up against a bad apple, and he threatens to drag you down with him. He belongs in Hoskins’ world.’
The room was silent. Geoffrey Derricks tugged a large spotted handkerchief from the pocket of his tweed jacket and wiped his forehead. He needed time to think, but his mind was wholly confused. He managed to stammer a few words. ‘I don’t think I understand, Gay.’
Gay knew that she had this man in the palm of her hand. She looked stern. ‘You must resist temptation.’
Geoffrey nodded. He would never, ever, enter the hut with Thomas again.
‘You must cast them out together.’
‘But…’
Gay brushed him aside. ‘The man is an evil influence, and the boy is made in the same mould. They belong together.’
Now Geoffrey had begun to sweat again. He could dimly perceive where Gay was heading, and he knew that she was paving a path to a scaffold. ‘But I can’t put them together.’
‘Hoskins had been trying to buy a table from you.’
He nodded silently, dabbing at his forehead.
‘Let the boy spend a few moments with him. The boy might lure him to some hidingplace, perhaps on a Friday. That would be sufficient.’
Geoffrey closed his eyes. He understood perfectly. Gay Manion wanted him to talk Thomas into luring Freddie Hoskins into the wooden hut, where no doubt Mrs. Owens would be waiting and watching, and he would also have to persuade Thomas to forget about their own indiscretions. He gulped for air. ‘I’m not sure Thomas will do it.’
‘Tell him that he’ll be in the papers.’
Geoffrey Derricks paled. ‘I c-can’t, I c-couldn’t.’ His voice was a weak stammer.
Gay Manion was implacable. ‘Tell him that he must do it if he wants to stay out of trouble.’
Geoffrey nodded faintly. He was not sure that Thomas would not betray both antique dealer and housefather if he scented potential reward. His knew that his neck rested on a block, with an axe poised.
Gay Manion got to her feet. ‘I shall come back to you in two weeks’ time.’ Her voice was steely again. ‘I am sure you will have something to tell me by then.’
Geoffrey nodded again. He suspected that he was about to enter the hardest fortnight of his life, and had no inkling at all of how it would develop.
However Thomas proved a great deal more amenable than he might have expected. They were walking in the grounds of the home, the same afternoon, because Geoffrey had told the boy that they must have a serious talk, and Thomas was busily trying to ensnare Geoffrey’s hand.
‘You don’t fancy me any more.’ Thomas’ voice was reproachful.
Geoffrey pulled his hand free and tried to inject a little firmness into his own voice. ‘You mustn’t talk to me like that.’
Thomas skipped forward a few steps and turned to face him. ‘You weren’t so cruel to me when you were buggering me in the hut.’
‘Sssh.’ Geoffrey looked round in alarm. Mrs. Owens’ spying had made him suspect an eavesdropper in every blade of grass. ‘We made a mistake.’
‘But I liked it.’ Thomas looked winsome. He was a pretty boy, as slim as a girl in a singlet and tight jeans. ‘We don’t have to stop just because someone was spying on us. We could find somewhere else.’
‘No.’ Geoffrey stopped dead in his tracks. ‘You don’t realise. We’re in trouble.’
‘Not me.’ Thomas shrugged. ‘I’m under age. They won’t do anything to me.’
Geoffrey sighed. He felt like weeping. ‘All right, I’m in trouble.’
‘I won’t snitch on you.’ Thomas took his hand and pulled the housefather against him, reaching up to kiss him on the mouth. Geoffrey made as though to push the boy away, and then gave way, and they embraced. ‘We could go under the trees. Right now. I’d just need to push my jeans down.’
‘No.’
‘It’s that woman in black, isn’t it? The one who came this morning.’
Geoffrey nodded. Now he was as jumpy as a nervous cat, and he drew Thomas towards a wooden bench shaded by a large oak. They would be less visible seated than standing. They both sat, and he tried to keep Thomas at arm’s length. But the teenager was determined, and was soon hard up against him, and Geoffrey knew that he would weaken.
The boy stroked Geoffrey’s corduroys gently with the flat of his hand. ‘What does she want?’
‘She told me she knew.’
‘What’s she going to do?’
‘She wants me to put you onto the antique dealer who was here last week.’
‘Fancy man come to look at your table?’
Geoffrey nodded again. Thomas was an observant boy. ‘She bears a grudge against him.’
‘So she thinks she could blow him away if he made a pass at me?’
‘Something like that.’
Thomas looked thoughtful, and was silent for a long moment, holding a little away from Geoffrey now. Then he spoke slowly, forming his words as his thoughts developed. ‘What would be in it for me?’ Suddenly a pretty boy was neither pretty, nor a boy, any longer, but a hard, calculating and rather less becoming young man.
Geoffrey felt himself sinking. ‘She’ll probably go to the police.’
‘And then the papers?’
He was silent.
‘I’d be alright, wouldn’t I?’
‘I suppose so.’
Thomas smiled, and his smile was a cold cruel grimace. ‘Leave him to me, the next time he comes to try and buy that table. I’ll see if I can get him into the hut.’
Geoffrey was both suddenly appalled, and in the same instant knew with a wholly chilling certainty that he was now completely at Thomas’ mercy. He pulled away a little. He needed to escape, and get back as quickly as hecould to the comfort and security of The Firs.
But Thomas moved back against him, and held him in place, and was now attempting to unzip Geoffrey’s corduroys. ‘I said I wouldn’t snitch on you.’
Geoffrey tried again to pull away. ‘We mustn’t.’
Now Thomas had his hand inside the corduroys, and was questing purposefully. ‘Come on, let’s just have a quick one.’
Geoffrey tried once more to free himself, but he knew that his withdrawal was fashioned more in show than conviction. ‘No, Thomas.’ He protested feebly, because he could feel himself growing tumescent, and knew that lust would inexorably force his path.
‘Come on.’ Now Thomas was tugging at his erect penis. ‘We can go in the bushes, and do it quickly.’ He pointed towards a nearby clump of rhododendrons. ‘We’ll take it in turns, and I’ll let you come first.’
Geoffrey felt his will ebbing from him, and knew that he would be damned by pleasure. He followed Thomas reluctantly into the clump, and then his guilt and fear were swept away as he watched the boy lower his jeans around his ankles and bend forward. This was the moment when nature controlsled all, and a hidden force within him must be requited. He freed himself, and entered, and he was consumed. It was a matter of perhaps a moment, and then he felt the pressure and pain of entrance in his turn, and it was a thing that blocked out all else, and then they were both spent.
They dressed again in silence, and Thomas smiled at him. ‘That was good.’
Geoffrey did not reply. He was digging himself a grave, and he lacked only for a memorial stone.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll knock off the antique bloke, and we’ll be able to go on bonking as if he had never been.’
Geoffrey shook his head silently. He knew that the gesture was meaningless: he did not possess the courage to prevent Thomas framing Freddie, nor the will to resist the boy. He was standing at the portals of a hell shaped in evil, and the gates of hell were about to open wide.
Meanwhile Gay Manion had reworked her order of battle and was making a telephone call to a friend working for a local paper. Things were developing well, and she would profit best by stirring up as much dirt as possible as fast as she can. Situations that are pushed ahead at speed frequently tend to develop their own snowball momentum, cleaving their way through silly doubts and scruples.
‘My cleaning lady had discovered that a prominent man in the village is a raving paedophile.’ She rolled the word on her tongue with relish. ‘I want to expose him, and I need your help.’
Janice, the newspaper friend, smiled wryly. Gay was off on one of her crusades again, and would probably invent richly in a bid to generate publicity.
‘No, really. She’s seen him buggering an under-age boy.’
Janice sniffs. ‘Were they selling tickets, dear?’
Gay frowned. She did not like to be doubted. ‘They didn’t know she was watching. I want to do something about it.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a scandal.’ Gay suffused her voice with moral righteousness. ‘The boy’s in a home: the man wants to turn it into a brothel.’
Janice sniffed again. ‘You’d have to have proof, dear.’
‘The boy was being abused and he hates it.’
‘He’d have to shop the man.’
‘It disgusts him.’
‘Would he go to the police?’
Gay did not hesitate. ‘I’m arranging for him to talk to the County Youthguard team and Berks and Bucks Police’s new Paedophile Unit.’ This was a little beyond the truth as it stood at the moment of her speaking. But she was determined to make it happen.
Janice’s ears pricked up, and now she was interested. Gay’s swans frequently proved to be grandstanding geese. But sometimes there were grains of truth in her gossip. ‘You mean you want some publicity?’
‘He’s a well-known name in the village, dear.’
‘You mean you think you’ve got a story?’
‘You could write it.’ Now Gay’s voice was flattering. ‘You’re good at that.’
Janice reflected for a moment. Gay was a woman of shadows and half-truths, of allegations and rumours, a woman fond of placing others between herself and the light, and wholly evading responsibility. But half-truths were sometimes half true. She spoke cautiously. ‘Count me in when you have the social and the police on side.’
Gay smiled to herself as she hung up. She had a pot, and it was starting to boil up nicely.