Sugar & Spice (19 page)

85

“He’s out! Home! What more do you want, for Christ’s sake?”
“It just happened, alright? I blurted it out because I felt sorry for him. I
could hardly change my mind afterwards.”
“You’ve done more than enough for the sick bastard already. It’s senseless you
feeling guilty, Claire. If he wasn’t a dirty, poxy, nonce he wouldn’t have been
dragged into this in the first place.”
“That’s not fair, Matt.”
“Fair? So he had nothing to do with Rebecca. He’s still a fucking nonce. He
still touched up those lads, and God only knows how many other kids we never got
to hear about. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“You don’t know him, Matt.”
“And you do? You’ve met him twice, in a visiting room in Canterbury jail, for
Christ’s sake. What the hell did you want to phone him for in the first
place?”
“To see if he needed anything.”
Matt stared at her in disbelief.
“He’s not some kind of monster, Matt. He has feelings, just like you and me.
He didn’t go out and attack some stranger in a dark alley. He felt for those
children.”
“The only thing he felt was their balls.”
Claire walked away in frustration, staring through the window over the Channel.
“Matt, just this once, try thinking instead of reacting. I’m not saying what
he did was right. Just that he did it out of affection, not… not lust. Whoever
killed Rebecca was not the same person as Thomas Bristow.”
“We know that now. It doesn’t change what he did.”
“I mean not the same type of person. He never set out to hurt those kids. It
was an expression of love that went too far.”
“That’s his version.”
“He’s not a liar, Matt.”
“Just a fucking good actor. He’s taken you in completely.”
“He’s not an actor. He blinks too much.”
“He what?”
She returned to her seat, determined to argue her case. “He blinks, Matt. An
actor’s eyes only blink when they tell them to. Haven’t you ever noticed that?
Thomas couldn’t act to save his life.”
“Oh, it’s Thomas, now, is it? Claire, what he did was not just illegal. It was
wrong. Sick. Indecent. Obscene. Forget whether it was bloody affectionate or
not. He’s a self-confessed paedophile. A pervert. A pederast. He preyed on
little boys, for Christ’s sake.”
Claire looked into his eyes, trying to see through the anger. “I thought I
knew you better.”
“Likewise. I never thought I’d hear you defend his kind.”
“I’m not defending him, Matt. Just trying to understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. The guy was wrongly arrested. It happens.
He’ll get compensated. What about those kids he did touch up? Their lives were
ruined because he wanted to be… What did you say just now, affectionate?
Christ, Claire, they’ll bear those scars the rest of their lives. I don’t
suppose they’ll ever be capable of normal sex lives themselves. Did you ever
stop to consider that?”
Claire stared at him, uncomprehending. “What makes you the expert?”
“It’s common knowledge. The abused kids are traumatised. They never fully
recover. They’ll probably become perverts themselves. It’s always the same.”
“Always?”
“Always. What worse thing could happen to you? It’s sick. Fucking sick. And
now you’re planning to act as chauffeur for the bastard? He’s out. Free. Just
forget him, Claire. He’s not worth a light.”
“God, Matt, you’re so… So prejudiced.”
He didn’t want an argument.
Least of all this one, least of all now.
Maybe they were spending too much time at one another’s homes.
He said quietly, “I’m as liberal as the next guy when it comes to sex, Claire,
you know that. What happens between consenting adults is entirely their own
affair. But I draw the line at children. Any normal person does. It’s got
nothing to do with prejudice.”
“Have you ever heard of the Paedophile Information Exchange?”
“PIE? Sure. Bunch of perverts back in the seventies, wanted to legalise sex
with kids. Most of them were locked up. They should’ve thrown away the key.”
“You know about it? You’ve never mentioned it.”
Matt shrugged. “So?”
“Thomas was a member.”
“Surprise me.”
“I felt disgusted at first, but the way he explained it, it sort of made
sense.”
“What the hell’s gotten into you, Claire? How can child molesting make
sense.”
“That’s not what I said, Matt. But if I’ve learned one thing from meeting
Thomas Bristow it’s that they’re not all raving lunatics. They’re intelligent,
thinking individuals trying to come to terms with the way they are. The way
nature has made them.”
“Oh, it’s natural now, is that it? It’s natural to fancy little kids instead
of being attracted to other adults, like normal people?”
“I’m not saying it’s right, Matt. And of course it’s unacceptable. Children
have to be protected. But knee-jerk reactions like yours aren’t achieving
anything. It’s precisely this failure to make a distinction between people like
Thomas and lunatics like Uncle Tom that meant an innocent man was locked up and
two more children lost their lives.”
Tears flowed freely. He passed her a box of tissues. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to… I’ll make a coffee.”
From the kitchen he said, “If you’re going through with this then I’m coming
too.”
Claire managed a smile. “Matt, I’ve mt him before.”
“Not alone.”
“Thomas is completely harmless.”
“Tell that to the kids he fondled.”
“Matt, I’m not a child. I can handle Thomas Bristow.”

86

Claire rose early, a light breakfast, and watched the newspaper boy as he came
up the drive, wondering if Thomas would have found him attractive. She shut the
thought from her mind. Matt was right: she was getting too involved. She would
make clear to Bristow this was a one-off.
It was instantly recognisable, the wilting garden leading to boarded windows and
a paint-daubed front door. The graffiti sickened her, but she knew it had been
done before the mistake had been realised. She couldn’t bring herself to condemn
it, but her heart went out to Bristow for having to live there with it. Amidst
the blind hatred.
As she made her way up the path curtains twitched at neighbouring windows,
curious eyes watching her every move. There was no attempt to be discreet. She
felt like a zoo exhibit. Instinctively she pulled the hem of her dress down. She
realised she was doing it and smiled to herself. She could probably walk in the
house stark naked and Thomas wouldn’t blink an eye.
She knocked a fourth time. No response. The neighbours were looking on.
She knocked again, louder still. Nothing.
She checked her watch. She was early, but only by a few minutes. She pushed
against the door but it held firm. The boarded downstairs windows afforded no
view into the house. She stood back and looked to the upstairs windows, one of
which had miraculously survived the attack unscathed. There was no sign of life.
Hesitantly she made her way round the side of the house, where the back garden
told a similar tale of wanton vandalism. She knocked hard and the back door
gave, the lock broken.
The door swung wide and she stepped over the threshold.
“Thomas?”
She felt for the light switch, illuminating the dark kitchen, recoiling in
shock. The vandals had been everywhere. The walls, cupboards, the fridge, even
the cooker, were daubed with obscene slogans. Piles of broken crockery had been
swept into the corners, awaiting final clearance. She felt pangs of guilt that
he’d been living like this for the past week.
“Thomas, are you there?”
Uneasy, she made her way through to the living room, putting on the lights as
she went. The television lay smashed on the floor. The sofa and armchair had
been slashed, the kitchen knife still in the material. The fish tank lay
shattered on the floor, the water long since evaporated. The debris had been
swept to the corners in a half-hearted attempt at clearing up.
The stairway faired little better, graffiti sprayed up both walls, paint spilt
over the carpet. She took one step at a time.
Anxious.
Cautious.
The bathroom was a mess, the basin and toilet pan broken, the bath covered in
paint, the walls daubed with obscenities.
“Thomas, are you okay?”
There was only the one bedroom. Myriad images crossed her mind.
“Thomas, it’s Claire.”
She hesitated outside the door. “Thomas?”
She knocked gingerly, praying he would call out feebly, bed-ridden. The flu.
Anything.
No answer.
She pushed the door open and gasped as the stench of excreta assaulted her
nostrils. She clicked the switch but nothing happened. The curtains were drawn,
but a flickering computer monitor provided enough light to make out the figure
on the bed.
She stepped in, fearing the worst, ready for almost anything.
Almost anything.
But not this.
For a full minute she just stared, unable to take it in. Her legs weakened and
she felt herself slide faint against the wall. She steadied herself and reached
for her inhaler. Her fingers clutched at her mobile.
Ambulance.
Police.
Anyone.
She’d never seen a dead body before, except on TV. This was the real thing.
The unsanitised version.
He lay sideways across the bed, his head hanging down one side, his legs down
the other, the body naked but for brown, nylon socks. A polythene bag clung
tight around his head, tracing every contour. What looked like a small orange
protruded from his mouth. The blood had drained to the feet and head, lower than
the rest of the body, causing purple blotching of the skin. With death the anal
sphincter muscle had relaxed, accounting for the stench.
The face stared out at her from beneath the taut polythene. The distorted
features and the blue hue stood out as much as the bulging eyes, the polythene
giving the skin an eerie sheen in the dim light.
Poor Thomas. Poor, poor Thomas.
To go through all what he’d suffered, only to end it all in this horrible
fashion just when there was a chance for a new start.
The monitor caught her eye. The classic Windows screen-saver. Cautiously she
moved closer. She was wary of the naked body before her, but curiosity was
stronger. She gingerly nudged the mouse. The screen leapt into life.
The title said it all.
Lover Boys.
It was unlike anything she’d ever imagined.
She felt sick just from the single glance, but morbid fascination made her stare
until her stomach heaved and she managed somehow to close her eyes.
She turned on Bristow’s dead body angrily, wanting to spit, to shout, to scream.

The betrayal stung.
She’d believed him.
Believed what he’d said about loving, caring relationships.
About not harming the child.
“You bastard! You bastard!”
She flung the mouse at Bristow’s corpse and ran from the house in tears, quaking
with anger, locking herself in the car until the police arrived.

87

He was on the top floor of the Riverside car-park when he saw her, peering
anxiously over the parapet down towards the footbridge across the River Severn
below.
He stopped to watch, admiring the colourful, loose fitting top and
figure-hugging pink nylon leggings to mid-shin. The ribbon in her hair matched
the leggings. There was something about the way she walked, the way she held
herself, that set him salivating. He licked his lips, deep in thought, checking
the date on his watch. Three times.
“Mum! Mum! Up here!” The girl waved energetically at a figure below. “Meet
you at the lift!”
He rummaged through his shopping bags and retrieved the roll of tape, tucking it
into his pocket. As she came closer he slipped his belt off and dropped it just
inside the boot of the car, ready.
It was over in seconds.
He grabbed her from behind as she walked past, hand over her mouth to stop her
screaming. The other hand brought the tape up while she was still too surprised
to struggle, slapping it across her face.
There was no time for neatness. He wound the metre length around her head, back
across her mouth and around her head again. She struggled valiantly, but with
both hands free he quickly pulled her arms behind her back, using his belt to
strap the wrists and ankles together, and threw the child into the boot, among
the M&S grocery bags.

88

He took the M54 back to the motel on the M6 services and parked alongside the
transit at the far end of the car park, out of sight of the main building.
It was too risky to move the girl by daylight. He looked around, making sure
no-one was watching, then opened the boot and leaned in. The traumatised child
struggled futilely against her bonds. He thoughtfully loosened the tape across
her nose, shifting the child’s body, laying her head against the car blanket,
determined she should be comfortable.
He passed the evening casually, dining on steak and ale pie at the restaurant,
with two cups of hot tea, then retired to motel room to watch TV. He needed to
relax. He washed his hands a half-dozen times, pacing the floor, anxious,
sweating. He told himself a day early didn’t matter. But he knew it did. He
cursed his lack of self control.
He lay down on the bed and tried to get interested in the film, to take his mind
off the girl a while. The evening was warm, the air conditioning poor, his body
tired. Slowly his eyes closed.

89

Jeff had been stealing cars since he was twelve.
It seemed the older he got, the more difficult it became. Or maybe it was just
that vehicle security systems were getting better.
Either way, the saloon was a last resort. His mates would fall about laughing.
But after twenty minutes sauntering in the car-parks time was short. There was a
poor choice tonight and the best ones were parked in unhelpful places. Well-lit
areas, near the main concourse.
He was in the vehicle and driving away in less than fifteen seconds, taking it
casual, not wanting to draw attention. The M6 was quiet but he held a steady
sixty-five, taking the Junction 12 exit and picking up the A5, meeting his
friends at Crackleybank.
They sat together on the roof, drinking cheap supermarket lager, laughing and
joking into the early hours. The fuel gauge was showing empty. They took it for
a final trial. Teggs had it up to a screaming ninety-five when it began to
splutter. It came to a halt on the A5 outside Weston-under-Lizard.
Jeff was careful as always, wiping the interior clean with a hanky. His prints
weren’t on record, but he didn’t care to take chances. A can of petrol was
retrieved from the follow-up car and the saloon was liberally doused inside and
out, just to make sure.
They were joy-riders, not car-thieves.
It just never occurred to them to look in the boot.
The girl felt the heat before she smelt the smoke.
Suffocation took her out just before the flames reached her.