A Suitable Lie (25 page)

‘What made you come back so quickly? You’ve been barely gone a week.’

‘I knew that the blackmailer would carry out his threat when I didn’t give him the money. After all, he’d got plenty from me already. Each day I was away I spoke with Mum, I knew from her voice that she’d received nothing. So I thought, if I came home I could intercept the mail before Mum got to it. The bank, I would just have to take my chances. I know that if there is any potential of embarrassment
they don’t bring a case to trial. I hoped that they would just sack me.’ He started playing with the salt cellar.

‘You’d be as well telling me what’s in these photos if they’re going to be sent to the bank anyway.’

‘Andy, I can’t tell you. Not face to face. I’ve known you too long. I don’t want to see the expression on your face when you find out.’

‘Okay.’ In the face of Malcolm’s contrition, I suddenly felt ashamed of myself for pressing the point. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Will you take me into the bank to face the music?’

‘Sure. If you want me to.’ Now that he was going to own up to his actions, my anger at him had dissipated and I was keen to offer my support.

‘Who’s conducting the investigation?’

‘Roy Campbell.’

‘Fuck.’

C
onversation and noise hit the brick wall of Malcolm and my appearance when we entered the banking hall. Heads looked up from printouts, fingers hovered over keyboards as everyone watched our progress through the hall and into my office.

‘Ah. The very man.’ Roy Campbell was sitting behind my desk. His eyes were on Malcolm as he spoke.

‘Malcolm’s here to tell you everything. Including the fact that I had nothing to do with any of this,’ I said.

‘We know,’ answered Roy, still staring at Malcolm. His expression a mixture of loathing and disgust.

‘What do you mean, you know? Why the fuck have I been suspended then?’

‘We’ve just only worked it out. This was handed in, over the counter this morning.’ He opened a large brown envelope and threw the contents across the desk at me. ‘The police are on their way.’

‘Oh no,’ I heard from behind me, then felt a gust of movement as Malcolm sprinted from the office.

‘Malcolm,’ I shouted and turned to go after him.

‘Leave him. We don’t want to see the disgusting animal in here again.’

‘Roy, what the…’

‘Andy, look at the pictures.’

I followed the line of his accusatory finger.

‘Oh … shit …’

W
hen I reached my car, there was no sign of Malcolm. I’d hoped that he would wait to speak to me. Roy followed me out.

‘So what happens now?’ I asked him

‘This,’ he waved the photograph in the air, ‘we burn. Malcolm ceases to exist as far as the bank is concerned.’

‘They won’t charge him?

‘What do you think? The press would have a field day with this. I can just see the headlines. I just mentioned the police to give him the frighteners.’

‘What about me?’

‘You go home, put your suit on and get back to work.’

‘Oh, you think so.’ I stared at him, cooling down the heat of my anger before I spoke. ‘I want a written apology from you and from the bank before I even think about it. I feel a few days on the sick coming on, after all the stress I’ve been put through. There might even be a case for compensation.’

‘There’s no need to be like that.’

‘No need?’ I shouted at him. ‘No need?’

His expression changed as he realised he was in a deserted car park with a very angry and much bigger man than him. And one with a recent record of violence. He took a few steps back.

‘Andy…’ His tone was placatory, almost subservient. ‘I was just doing my job.’

‘Just doing your job? What a prick. All kinds of nasty people have used that as their justification.’ I stabbed him in the chest with a rigid finger. ‘You couldn’t wait to suspend me. You probably danced around my office after I’d gone.’ I stepped towards him.

‘Andy, calm down. Hitting me won’t undo any of this.’

Fortunately, I was not so angry that his words couldn’t reach me. ‘Aye, but it would make me feel a whole lot better.’ I poked him again. He took another step back and came up against a wall. He cowered, trying to merge with the brick.

‘Look at you, you’re pathetic.’ As my words sounded in my ear, I heard them in Anna’s voice. Not so long ago she had thrown the same words at me and here I was asserting my power over another, weaker person. I was no better than she was.

I thrust my hands into my pockets and backed off.

‘Stand up and come away from the wall, Roy. I’m not going to hit you.’

‘Of course you’re not.’ His laughter was just short of hysteria and filled with uncertainty.

‘No I’m not. But I do want a letter of apology and I’m going to take the rest of the day off. Give the letter to Sheila. She’ll get it to me.’

I
drove to Malcolm’s house. He would have gone straight home to try and stop his mother from opening the envelope that was surely there. I had to speak to him, to offer him my reassurance. What I had seen depicted in that photo was going to take some getting used to. The truth that Malcolm was gay, was neither here nor there as far as I was concerned. But it was obviously an issue for him. Hadn’t we got over all that? Clearly not. Shame had driven him to the theft, as it had driven me to physically attacking someone. Shame was something that I was on intimate terms with. Perhaps I could be of help to him.

Joan opened the door to me as I walked up her path.

‘Andy, what’s going on?’ She twisted her fingers. ‘Can you tell me, cos that boy of mine is saying nothing.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I heard a commotion out in the street, opens the window and there’s my Malcolm wrestling in my front garden with another guy. This fella’s shouting at me, look at this envelope missus, he shouts.
I thought Malcolm was going to kill him. I’ve never seen him so angry.’

‘Where’s Malcolm now?’

‘He’s up the stairs in his room.’

‘I’ll go and speak to him.’

‘Will you son? I’m worried sick. Don’t know what’s got into my lovely wee boy.’ She started to cry.

Putting my arm round her shoulder, I led her into the living room.

‘You have a wee seat here, Joan. I’ll go and speak to Malcolm and see what’s going on.’

‘No need, Andy.’ A voice carried from the door. ‘He’s here.’ Malcolm’s clothes were dirty and torn, his hair dishevelled and his eyes shone with defiance. His whole body was rigid with it. Like an animal that had been backed up against a wall, he was turning to fight.

‘Have you come here to gloat? To tell me how much I disgust you? Well you can save your breath, cos I couldn’t give a fuck anymore.’ He looked at his mum. The anger that was keeping him upright lessened a little. ‘Here you go, Mum. This is what all the fuss is about.’ She caught the envelope, her expression fearful. Whatever was hidden within the brown paper, she didn’t want to see.

‘On you go, Mum. You might as well know what your son is.’

‘I don’t want to look at this, Malcolm.’ She looked tiny in her chair.

‘Well you’re going to have to.’ He reached her, opened it up and thrust the photograph into her hand, ‘The bank will soon be charging me with theft and this’ll be all over the papers.’

A small sound escaped from between Joan’s lips. She didn’t want to look at the photograph, but simultaneously was unable to tear her gaze from it. In it she saw her son playing a prominent part. He was naked, bent over an office desk, while another naked male was poised to take him from behind. The bank’s highly recognisable logo was on the wall behind them.

‘Malcolm, the bank won’t charge you. They’re afraid of the negative publicity it would attract,’ I said.

He looked at me. The anger in his eyes died. It was replaced with deep, burning mortification.

‘Oh no.’ He reached out and tore the picture from his mother’s hands. He fell to his knees in front of her. ‘Mum, can you forget you saw this?’

His eyes searched hers for a clue to her reaction. Several emotions vied for the stage of her face. Disgust and disbelief bowed before the curtain for mere seconds. A mother’s love for a son in turmoil then took centre stage. I could see she wanted to hug him, but her repugnance at the images held her arms down by her sides.

‘Son, I don’t care if you’re gay, straight or if you wear garters under your suit. But this is something a mother doesn’t want to see…’ She closed her eyes against a flow of tears. Malcolm’s shoulders heaved as he gave in to his.

‘Listen, I’ll go and wait outside…’ I felt I was out of place.

Sitting in my car, I searched my memory for clues as to Malcolm’s sexual identity. People had continuously, over the years, questioned me as to his preference. They cited his lack of a long-term girlfriend and his continued habitation with his parents.

For me, all of that was a big, fat so what.

There was a knock on my car window, the door opened and Malcolm sat in the passenger seat. His eyes were puffed red with spent emotion, but otherwise, he looked lighter, easier.

‘Thanks.’ He offered me his hand. ‘Thanks for seeing this thing through with me. You’re not disgusted?’

‘If I’m to be completely honest, I’ve always kinda known that you were…’ I was unsure if I would offend him by saying the word. He helped me out.

‘Gay,’ he said.

‘But you weren’t talking about it, so I wasn’t going to bring it up. Anyway…’ I shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

‘Yeah, we like to
think
we’re living in enlightened times.’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, it was my call. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, never mind tell anyone else.’

‘But why didn’t you just tell everyone as soon as you were faced with this blackmail? People are a lot more understanding nowadays.’

‘Are they? Really? Sure, in the big city, there’s safety in numbers and anonymity. But in a town the size of Ayr? Folk give it all this tolerance crap in public, but in their own home it’s a different story. Besides, you have no idea what it’s like growing up, knowing you’re different. All I wanted was to be the same as everyone else. Dad screamed at the telly every time Boy George was on it. When we were kids, the worse insult you could call anyone was to call them a poof. I wanted no one to know. I would have hid it from myself if I could. So, knowing that every ounce of me was screaming “liar”, I carried on with my life as a hetero. I went out with girls, got drunk with the guys and hoped that I would be happy.’

‘Were you?’

‘I couldn’t have been more miserable. Eventually…’ his fingernails came under close scrutiny ‘… I cracked up. Either I would continue to live as a fraud or I would end it all.’

‘You thought of suicide?’ I was shocked.

‘Yes.’ He stared at his own private movie somewhere beyond the windscreen. ‘I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was something that disgusted me, something that disgusted everyone I knew. I couldn’t live with it.’ He looked at me. ‘Can you imagine what my dad would have done if he’d lived to see this? He’d have kicked my arse out. Never wanted to see me again.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I wanted something painful, something that would punish me for taking the coward’s way out. Each time I walked to work, I thought of jumping in front of a lorry. Every time I walked over the railway bridge, I thought of jumping on to the power lines. But I couldn’t do it. I was such a coward, I couldn’t even do that.’

‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself?’

‘I do now. But at the time … Anyway, I phoned the Samaritans. Spoke to some woman for hours. She was brilliant, should have got a medal. She gave me a number of a gay helpline. I phoned them.
That was even more difficult than phoning the Samaritans, it was tantamount to an admission of guilt.

‘So some guy at the end of the line arranged to meet me in Glasgow and take me to a gay club.’

‘What was that like?’

‘An eye-opener. It was like … you know those horror movies where the stupid victim walks down into the cellar when you know they shouldn’t. Well, I could almost hear the violins screech as I walked in the door of that club. I was nervous as hell. Anyway, this guy was really nice. Told me there was nothing to be ashamed about, that he knew exactly what I was going through and there was loads of people like me. So there I was, knees knocking, ordering a pint at this bar, with all these people around me. Some were normal looking, some were outrageously camp, but they all disgusted me. I disgusted me. I ran straight out the place and threw up all over the pavement outside. Came home on the train.’ He laughed. ‘I tried to pick a fight with this big bruiser on the same carriage, hoping that he would kick the shit out of me. He just ignored me. And I was back the next night and the next.’

‘Did you meet someone?’

‘Aye, I met loads of someones. There was one guy in particular. He was so good-looking, so confident. I wanted to be him. Other guys warned me about him, said he was dangerous, slept with everything with a pulse. But I was like a love-struck teenager.’

‘Was this the guy that was blackmailing you?’

‘Yup. But first he had to corrupt me, and boy was I up for a spot of corruption. Once I got started I was obsessed. Couldn’t get enough cock.’ Ineffectually, I tried to conceal my grimace at his words. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. It was so alien to me to hear those words being said by another man.

‘Sorry.’ Malcolm looked over at me. ‘Am I making you uncomfortable?’

‘No, well … yes.’ I felt that I should at least be as honest as Malcolm. ‘It takes some getting used to. Don’t worry. I want to hear
your story. I want to understand what it was like for you.’ I could see the parallels between us. We were both fighting with our own images of masculinity, we were both trying to overcome our self-pity and shame. In this fight I was able to put to rest my old version of masculinity. I was able to see that its true definition is in any act, gesture or quality that ennobles the state of being male. Perhaps hearing how Malcolm faced up to his personal monster would help me face mine.

‘The younger guy in the photo?’

Malcolm read my expression. ‘Don’t worry. He’s seventeen. Looks a lot younger, to be fair. The rest you know about. He talked me into the scenario you saw in the photographs, then he manipulated the situation to get some money from me.’ His laugh was basted in irony. ‘The bastard must have seen me coming. He must have rubbed his over-moisturised hands with glee when he saw me walking in that club.’

‘What now?’

‘Now, I try to get on with my life. Hope that my friend will forgive me.’ He smiled at me. ‘Hope my mother can live with a gay son. Try to be happy with who and what I am. And no I’m not going to burst into a Gloria Gaynor song.’ His laughter this time was unadulterated good humour. ‘And what about you?’ he asked.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. You know how us gays are noted for our sensitivity, as well as a fascination with all things Streisand,’ he added
sotto voce
. ‘But I wasn’t drowning so deep in my own shit that I couldn’t see you struggling in yours.’

Taking a deep breath, I told him everything.

By the time I finished talking, the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon and the distant clouds were painted an optimistic red.

Malcolm listened without interrupting. Without judgement. Without laughing at me.

‘So what now?’ he asked.

I offered him a smile in reply, impressed by the change in him. A simple acceptance can be a huge help. I felt a boost from his courage.

‘Well, if my poofy pal can do it…’ I laughed.

‘Hey.’ Malcolm swiped at my arm, pretending to be offended. His grin showed otherwise.

‘Seriously, if you can get through what you have, then I can give it a go. No more bowing down to that bitch. And there’s no way she’s going to keep my sons. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do or how I’m going to get them back. But I’ve got to do something.’