Hubris - 3. Craig

Part One:

Father

The doorbell rang twice, and Paul Spencer got out of his armchair to go see who it was. He was a carpenter in his fifties, on early retirement due to a back injury. He shuffled down the hall in his slippers. The walls were covered in photographs of himself, his late wife and their son. Paul pulled the front door open.

On the doorstep stood two policemen.

‘Mr. Spencer?’ asked the taller of the two.

‘Yes?’ said Paul, squinting at the sunlight. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

‘We’re looking for your son, Craig Spencer,’ said the shorter policeman, taking off his hat. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, by any chance?’

Paul narrowed his eyes. He turned his head and glanced back down the hall towards the sitting room.

‘What do you want with him?’ he asked, slowly.

‘Never you mind,’ said the taller policeman, but the shorter one put a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

‘Sir, some accusations have been made against your son. We would like to bring him in for questioning,’ he said.

Paul had always seen himself as a law-abiding citizen. He believed in order and honesty. So he nodded. ‘Craig’s in the sitting room,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

The two policemen followed Paul down the hall into the sitting room. Craig sat reclined in a chair, a glass of cheap whisky in one hand. He looked blearily up at the officers, blinking a few times. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I thought you’d turn up sooner or later.’

‘Are you Craig Spencer?’ asked the shorter policeman.

‘I am,’ Craig slurred. He tried to stand up, but had some trouble hoisting himself out of the chair. He looked like he hadn’t showered in a couple of days. His dark hair was greasy and his face was stubbled.

‘In that case, we would like to bring you in for questioning regarding the assault of Nicholas Davis of Windfield Green,’ said the policeman.

‘’S not true, not a word of it,’ Craig slurred, draining his glass. ‘B’sides, kid had it coming. Little bugger . . . Queer, you know. Queer and—’

The policeman interrupted him. ‘You are under arrest on suspicion of sexual assault on a minor. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Craig fell silent. He blinked, took a few deep breaths, and finally pulled himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment where he stood. Then he looked at the police officers. ‘All right, then,’ he said grimly. ‘Let’s do this.’

Paul watched as the two policemen escorted his son out of the house to a waiting police car. He sighed and closed the door. He would follow later.

---

Part Two:

Boy

‘Look! I’m Mummy!’ Anthony laughed, shuffling out of his mother’s bedroom in shoes far too big for him. They were red, pointy and high-heeled. He wore a large, purple hat with a floral pattern, from under which a few blond curls were visible, and a green handbag swung from his elbow. His hazel eyes sparkled.

Craig laughed, too. He thought his friend looked very silly indeed.

He had had an excellent afternoon at Anthony’s house. They had watched cartoons and played hide and seek, and Anthony’s mum had cooked spaghetti for tea. Then Anthony had decided that they should play dress up, and his mother had told them they could use any clothes they liked, so long as they didn’t ruin anything.

‘Your turn!’ said Anthony happily. ‘It’s no fun if you don’t get dressed up, too!’

‘I dunno . . .’ Craig shuffled his feet. ‘It’s getting late. I think my mum will be here soon.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Anthony pouted, and Craig found himself unable to say no.

Anthony found him a pink blouse and a blue chiffon scarf, and got to work dressing him. Last, he went over to his mother’s vanity table and picked out some lipstick in a violent shade of red. He smeared some onto his own lips, smacking them and examining his reflection, before turning to Craig.

‘The final touch!’ he said dramatically, and advanced on him. ‘Do like this.’ He pursed his lips.

‘Are we really allowed?’ asked Craig.

‘’Course, I do this all the time!’ said Anthony dismissively. And so Craig did as he was asked.

While Anthony applied the lipstick, the doorbell rang downstairs. ‘Guess your mum’s here,’ said Anthony. ‘Smack your lips.’

Craig did. Then there were footsteps on the stairs, and Anthony’s mum called, ‘Craig? Your dad’s here!’

Craig stiffened, eyes widening. Dad? But it was supposed to be Mum!

He began to frantically remove the scarf and blouse, not even sure why he was in such a hurry to get them off, but then the door creaked, and he turned around.

Anthony’s mum let out a squeal of delight. ‘Look at you two! Really, though, Anthony, the ruby? I’ve told you before, you can use the peach or the rose, but not the ruby!’

Behind her stood Craig’s stepfather, Paul, his face frozen in a thin-lipped smile that in no way reached his eyes. Craig tried not to look at him, as he finished removing the pink blouse. A moment later, Anthony’s mum was on her knees before him with some tissue paper, wiping away the lipstick. ‘There’s that handsome face!’ she said smilingly, stroking Craig’s cheek with her thumb. ‘Come back soon, all right?’

* * *

‘You are not going back there,’ Paul told him sternly once they were in the car. Craig nodded and looked away as the man continued. ‘The nerve of that woman, letting her son dress you up like a bleeding nancy! It’s enough to make you sick . . . And you probably shouldn’t play with that Anthony anymore. Way he carries on, it’s obvious, isn’t it? No wonder with a mother like that, though. Boy obviously needs a father figure.’

Craig sighed and gazed out of the window. Anthony was one of his best friends. He didn’t want to stop playing with him. He wasn’t about to say that, though, so instead he said, ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘She had to work late at the hospital,’ said Paul, as the car rolled to a halt at a red light. There was a short pause. Then, ‘Tell you what,’ said Paul, ‘how about we stop for ice cream on the way home, hm?’

Craig turned to look at Paul again. The man was smiling kindly at him, and Craig smiled back. ‘Yes, please!’ he said.

* * *

Craig woke up with a fierce need to pee some time around midnight and crawled out of his bed. He padded down the hall to the bathroom. He was on his way back to bed when he heard voices from inside his parents’ bedroom. He stopped outside and peeked through the crack in the door. Paul was sitting on the bed in his dressing gown, while Craig’s mother was unbuttoning her cardigan.

‘. . . And I don’t think Craig should be going over to that Anthony’s house anymore,’ Paul was saying. ‘I think he’s a bad influence. Him and his mother.’

‘Angela?’ asked Mum. ‘I think she’s lovely. In what way is she a bad influence?’ She pulled off the cardigan, folding it neatly, and got to work on the buttons of her blouse.

‘She’s just very . . . liberal. Allows her son too much freedom. When I arrived her son was behaving very inappropriately.’

Mum laughed. ‘Inappropriately? He’s nine!’

‘Exactly! Far too old to be prancing about in his mother’s clothing wearing lipstick!’

Mum frowned at him while she unhooked her bra. Craig felt like he should be looking away, but couldn’t quite help but stare as her rather substantial bosoms tumbled out.

‘What’s worse is he was having Craig dress up, too,’ said Paul. He didn’t really sound angry. Just worried. ‘I’m sure Angela is a lovely woman, but she’s not a very good mother. It’s not normal to have your nine-year-old son wearing your lipstick.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Mum thoughtfully, pulling on her nighty. ‘I can’t really forbid Craig from playing with Anthony, though. They’ve known each other since infant school.’

‘Well, if you want your son to turn out a bloody bender, then I suppose that’s fine,’ said Paul, his patience clearly wearing thin.

‘Paul, that’s not fair,’ said Mum. ‘I’m just saying, if I forbid him, he’ll just do it anyway. There are limits to how much I can control my son’s life.’

‘At least tell me you won’t let him go to his house anymore.’

‘Fine,’ said Mum. ‘No more after school visits to Anthony’s house. I promise.’

Craig looked down at his hands. He liked Anthony. He’d always liked Anthony. Anthony was funny and kind, and very very sweet. Craig had often, secretly, thought that if Anthony had been a girl he might have been very much in love with him.

With a sigh, Craig shuffled back to his bedroom and crawled into bed. He lay awake for a long time, thinking about Anthony.

* * *

Craig would remember that day for the rest of his life. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could easily forget. He was at school. His mother was late picking him up. The school had tried ringing her, but there had been no reply. Then they had tried ringing Paul, who hadn’t answered either.

Now there was a commotion by the entrance, however, and Paul came rushing in, his duffel coat billowing behind him, and a wide-eyed, scared look on his face. Craig’s heart sank. There was something wrong. He could tell.

Paul apologised to the school staff, and then caught sight of Craig where he sat. He rushed over and dropped to his knees before him. His hands shook.

‘There’s . . . Something’s happened,’ he managed. ‘It’s . . . Darla . . . Your mum, she . . .’ He cleared his throat and blinked several times. ‘I’m sorry. She’s in hospital. There was a traffic accident.’

They rushed to the hospital. Mum was in surgery for twelve hours.

She passed away from sudden cardiac arrest at 4:02 am.

At the funeral, Craig stood by the grave thinking, If she hadn’t been picking me up, she’d still be alive.

* * *

Craig’s real father had passed away before Craig was born, and both sets of grandparents were also gone, so Paul was the only family he had left. Thankfully, he was already his legal guardian, which made things easier. Not easy, but easier.

Craig called Paul ‘Dad’ to his face, but ‘Paul’ in his head. That’s the way it had always been. But they got along very well, and while Paul could be stern when the occasion called for it, he took every opportunity to spoil Craig by buying him treats, and taking him out to the cinema or to amusement parks, or for drives in the country. He took him to rugby matches regularly, and always made sure they had ample guy-time together.

None of this changed after Mum died. If anything, Paul made sure they had even more time to spend together, and though money was occasionally tight, Paul earned enough from his carpentry to give Craig a comfortable and safe upbringing. Paul never married again.

A few months after Craig’s mum had died, Anthony and his mother moved away from town. Craig had been spending less time with Anthony, at Paul’s request, making up excuses whenever Anthony invited him to his house. The day before he left, however, Anthony cornered him after class.

‘I just wanted to tell you,’ said Anthony, ‘I think I know why you haven’t wanted to play with me lately . . . Other than the stuff with your mum and everything, I mean. And I wanted you to know that I’m gonna fix it. That’s why we’re going to America, cause there’s something wrong with me and we’re gonna fix me. So . . .’ He trailed off and gazed at his shoes.

‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you!’ Craig blurted. ‘I like you the way you are . . .’

Anthony looked up quickly and blushed crimson, a slow smile spreading over his lips. ‘Well, I don’t,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t like me. There’s bits you can’t see that . . . well. It’s gonna get better. And maybe I’ll come back one day and you’ll see.’

Standing before Anthony now, looking at his sweet, earnest face and faced with those wide eyes, Craig forgot all his reservations, all the reasons he wasn’t meant to play with the other boy. They just slipped away, and it felt like not seeing Anthony at school every day, not seeing his smile, would make a hole inside him.

‘Won’t you write?’ asked Craig, rather desperately.

Anthony shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘If I’m gonna change . . . I need to not talk to people who knew me before for a while. I’ll miss you, though. You’re the only thing I will miss.’

It was Craig’s time to blush now. ‘Really?’ he asked weakly, and Anthony nodded. ‘Well, I’ll miss you too.’ It sounded lame, but he really did mean it.

‘I know,’ said Anthony. He looked around, as if to make sure no one else was about, and then he stood up on tiptoe and kissed Craig on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Craig,’ he whispered. Then he turned and walked away.

---

Part Three:

Girl

‘Pathetic, letting the Welsh smash us like that! Shameful,’ Paul grumbled. ‘England’s going downhill when we can’t even beat a bunch of bloody sheep—’ He cut himself off and smiled apologetically at Craig. ‘No matter. More popcorn?’

‘Yeah, cheers, Dad,’ said Craig, grinning, knowing exactly what Paul had been about to say, and Paul picked up the empty bowl and sauntered off to the kitchen.

Craig pulled his legs up under him, turning his attention to the telly. It was September, and Craig had been seventeen for three weeks. Tomorrow was the first day of his final year of college. Craig had always been a big kid, but over summer he had filled out even more. He’d had a summer job helping out at Paul’s carpentry business, which had involved a lot of heavy lifting, and where he had previously been pudgy, he was now beefy. He had grown another inch or so, too, officially making him tallest in his year, unless Andy had managed the same feat.

A new programme was just starting, a documentary about night clubs. Paul came back in with a fresh bowl of popcorn, just as they showed a scene from a drag club in Brighton. Young men danced obscenely with one another as a drag artist in pink feathers performed on a stage.

‘Makes you sick, doesn’t it? Bunch of nancy boys touching each other like that,’ said Paul.

Craig nodded, somehow unable to take his eyes off the screen. He was very uncomfortable with gay people. Uncomfortable with the idea that another man might hit on him.

‘We had one of them where I grew up,’ Paul continued. ‘Bit older than me. Disgusting. Tried it with one of my mates, so we taught him a lesson. He never did anything like that again.’

‘If I was gay I’d probably kill myself,’ Craig said darkly.

Paul chuckled. ‘Lucky you’re not then, eh? Don’t you worry, son, I’ve raised you right. No chance that you’ll turn fairy, eh?’ He laughed, and Craig laughed as well. ‘Change the channel, will you?’ said Paul. He set down the popcorn on the coffee table and sat down next to Craig. ‘I think Top Gear’s on two.’

* * *

‘You ready for Kim’s party tomorrow?’ asked Andy, thumping Craig on the back. Craig looked up from his sausage and mash, grinning.

‘I still think it’s a little bit stupid to have it on a school night, but yeah, I’ll be there. Won’t everyone?’

‘Everyone with half a brain, anyway,’ said Andy, sitting down next to him. ‘It’s not really a good idea to miss the first big party event of the year, if you want to have a social life for the rest of it.’

‘True,’ said Craig, picking up his fork. Andy had been his best friend since they were eleven. They had been of the same shape and size and temper when they met, but Craig had noticed with satisfaction that he was now taller than his friend. ‘What modules are you taking this year?’ he asked casually.

‘Do we have to talk about school?’ Andy yawned demonstrably.

‘We’re at school,’ Craig pointed out.

‘Exactly! Anyway, we have more important things to talk about. Did you see the new girl?’

Craig glanced at him. ‘What new girl?’

‘The cute little blonde? You didn’t see her?’ asked Andy.

‘Apparently not. She in our year?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Either way, she is hot! Not much tits to speak of, but that face . . . Wow. And legs. You need to see her legs.’

Craig snorted a laugh and shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunity to check out her legs,’ he said.

‘All I’m saying is, I’d like to get in there.’

‘That doesn’t mean much. You’d do it with anything with a pulse.’

* * *

Craig met the new girl later that same day. He walked into English to find her at a desk by the window. The seat next to hers was free, so he took it. She looked up at him as he sat down.

There was something very familiar about her. She had wide, hazel eyes and curly blonde hair. She greeted him with a shy smile.

‘Hi,’ said Craig. ‘I’m Craig.’

‘I know,’ she said. Her voice was a shimmering alto, deeper than he would have expected from someone who looked so delicate.

‘You do?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘You, erm . . . Have we met?’

‘Once or twice,’ she replied. ‘Long time ago. I’m Tania.’

Craig racked his brain. Tania . . . He didn’t know a Tania that he could recall. ‘You look familiar, but I don’t really think I remember you,’ he said apologetically.

‘We went to school together, years ago,’ said Tania.

‘Really? I find it hard to believe I wouldn’t remember you,’ said Craig without thinking, before realising how cheesy it sounded and looking away, blushing. Tania only smiled, however.

‘I’ve changed a lot,’ she said.

Craig wondered if maybe she used to be fat, or just mousy and plain. Were that the case, it certainly hadn’t persisted. The girl before him was monstrously pretty. She was very slim and near flat chested, but that somehow only served to complete the picture. And anyway, it was her face that really set it all off. She had beautifully arched eyebrows and a small, pink mouth, and rosy cheeks.

‘We should catch up some time,’ he said lamely. Then he remembered Kimberly’s party. ‘Er, there’s a sort of party thing . . . Tomorrow night. We could, I dunno . . . go, if you like?’

‘Like, together?’

Craig shrugged. ‘Or whatever,’ he mumbled.

‘I’d love to,’ said Tania, smiling sweetly, and there was something so familiar about that smile. It made Craig feel warm inside, and she was so gorgeous, and she was going to a party with him . . .

‘Right,’ said Craig. ‘Good.’

* * *

Craig introduced Tania to all his friends at the party. He was gratified to discover that nobody else seemed to remember her either. They had a good time, dancing and drinking and laughing.

‘Oh, wow, I think I need some air!’ said Tania after a particularly up-beat song. Craig offered her his arm, and they ventured out into the back garden.

It was mostly deserted. A few smokers stood just outside the door, but Craig led Tania onwards to a bench a bit further down the garden, next to an apple tree. They sat down in silence, but it was not an uncomfortable one. When Tania looked up at him, it was as though time lost all meaning, and all Craig could do was stare.

‘You all right?’ she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, er . . .’ Craig cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. I’m good. You?’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘Great party!’

‘Oh, yeah, Kim’s dos are always first rate. Did you know her, back then?’

Tania shook her head. ’Not really. I didn’t really know an awful lot of people properly . . . I didn’t have a lot of friends.’

‘See, that’s so weird, cause you’re . . .’ Craig trailed off, looking away. He felt his face flush slightly.

‘What?’ Tania nudged him with her elbow, and he looked up at her. ‘I’m what?’

Spurred on by the alcohol and the clear, starry night and the look in Tania’s eyes, Craig leaned in hesitantly to place his lips on hers. It was not Craig’s first kiss, though it was the first time he had felt so nervous. He had not been misreading the signals, it seemed, because she returned the kiss. Her lips were small, but soft and pliant.

When he pulled back, he said, ‘I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you yesterday.’

‘I know.’ There was a wicked glint in Tania’s eye, and Craig’s heart started to do double time. But then she looked away, her expression growing sort of sad.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Craig.

‘Nothing, I just . . . It’s nothing.’ She looked up at him again, smiling. ‘I wanted you to do that since you talked to me, too.’

‘Think we could do it some more?’ asked Craig hopefully. She laughed.

‘Of course!’

* * *

‘So, this is my room.’ Craig threw his arm out lamely. Tania glanced around, at the posters of rugby-players, the Superman memorabilia, the sports car calendar above his desk and the poster of a lightly clad Shakira above his bed.

‘Rugby union or rugby league?’ asked Tania, turning to him. Craig raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Sorry, dumb question from a dumb blonde. Rugby union, obviously.’

‘You’d better believe it, missy!’

Tania laughed, and the sound somehow went straight to Craig’s groin. She sat down on his bed and looked up at him expectantly. Craig ran a hand through his dark hair, shifting his weight back and forth between his left and right foot a few times, before finally going to sit next to her.

‘So,’ she said, picking at the hem of her blue skirt.

‘So?’

‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’

Craig did. For a really long time. Before long they were lying on the bed, legs entwined, lips locked, and Craig thought he never wanted to be anywhere else. Tania was perfect. He wanted to be with her forever.

When they finally came up for air, he asked, ‘Will you be my girlfriend?’

Tania smiled. ‘I thought I already was.’

‘I—Yeah. I mean, I really want you to be.’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’

Craig smoothed back her curly hair and kissed her cheek. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot. ‘My girlfriend,’ he said, the word sounding so right.

‘My boyfriend,’ she answered. She was smiling still, her cheeks flushed and her lips red from the kissing. ‘I’m so happy!’

‘Me too.’

‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘I’d never even kissed anyone before yesterday . . . I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life and now . . . It couldn’t feel more perfect or right.’

‘I feel the same.’

‘I’m glad.’ She leaned in and kissed him again, and the world dissolved, and all Craig could see, all he could perceive, was her, his perfect girlfriend with her perfect lips, in his arms. All his own.

---

Part Four:

Thing

Craig had been at home with a cold for five whole days. Five days of not seeing his friends. Five days of not seeing Tania.

They had only been together for a few weeks, but Craig was happier than he could remember ever having been before in his life. They hadn’t done it yet. Tania wanted to go slow, and he respected that. She had let him see and touch her breasts, though, which had been amazing. Perky little things, tipped with small, pink nipples. He had spent most of his five days in captivity thinking about those breasts, and the prospect of having one of those nipples between his lips.

It was with great disappointment that he found her not to be in school when he got there on Thursday morning. The morning seemed so slow and grey without Tania’s smiling face to energise him. He hadn’t spoken to her for a couple of days, either.

He found Andy between lessons. ‘Hey, dude.’

Andy leered at him. ‘So, where’s your boyfriend?’

Craig blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘“Tania” or whatever he calls himself?’

Craig laughed. ‘I think you’ll find that Tania’s a girl. I should know, I’ve seen her tits.’

‘Right. She-male, then. Whatever.’

Craig hesitated. If this was a joke, it wasn’t a very funny one. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Don’t tell me you don’t know!’ Andy turned away.

‘Know what?’ Craig grabbed Andy by the sleeve to stop him walking away. ‘Andy!’

Andy turned back to look at him, both eyebrows raised. ‘You really don’t know? Yesterday, “Tania” forgot to lock the door in the loo, Jenny walked in on him and saw his dick.’

‘What?’

‘I’m telling you, it’s true. It’s all over school, everyone’s heard by now. Your little “girlfriend” is a boyfriend.’

Craig stood frozen to the spot. His mouth felt dry and his heart hammered in his chest. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Tania was his perfect girlfriend, his angel! She was definitely one hundred percent a girl.

And yet, as he thought it, something clicked, and somehow he knew.

He left school, his legs moving of their own accord, carrying him up and down streets he hadn’t walked in eight years, until he stood outside a very familiar front door. He rang the doorbell.

He could hear tentative footsteps. Then the door was pulled open.

There she stood. Or rather, there he stood, and Craig felt as though his entire world was falling apart around him, because he had been here, so many times, years and years ago. And he remembered where he had seen those hazel eyes. Right where they were now.

‘Hello, Anthony,’ he said quietly.

Tania . . . no, Anthony stared back at him, wide-eyed. Her . . . His . . . cheeks were red and tear streaked. ‘Craig . . . Oh, God.’ She . . . He . . . looked away. Craig shook his head. He was having a hard time keeping his pronouns straight in his head, but he somehow felt oddly calm just then.

‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

The girl who had been Tania but wasn’t took a step back, and he stepped inside the house. Wordlessly, they went up into her room. It was as he remembered it, if a little more grown up and a bit more girly now than it had been. They stood there, for a long moment, facing each other in silence.

Tania/Anthony spoke first. ‘Craig, I—’

‘Shut up!’ Craig spat. ‘When were you gonna tell me, eh? When you were ready to fuck? What?’

‘I’m sorry!’ she whimpered. ‘I’m so, so sorry, I just . . . I was afraid, of how you’d react, that you wouldn’t want me if—’

‘If I knew you were really a boy?’

‘But I’m not a boy! I’m . . . Physically, I’m somewhere in between just now, but inside . . . I was always Tania.’

‘You’re Anthony.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not. I never was, not really. I always knew, I . . .’ Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. ‘Childhood gender dysphoria rarely persists, but mine did. I always knew I was meant to be a girl. We moved to America because there I could get puberty blockers, and they’d start me on hormones much sooner than they would here.’

‘But you have a dick.’

Tania looked at him as though he’d slapped her. ‘I’m . . . I’m pre-op, yeah. I can’t get the surgery till I’m eighteen, so . . .’

‘Show me.’

She shook her head again. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I won’t.’

‘Show me!’ Craig roared, and her eyes went wide.

Her hands shook as she pushed her skirt down, letting it drop to the floor. With trembling fingers she pushed her tights down to her knees. ‘Please,’ she said softly, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I . . . This isn’t really me, this thing, it doesn’t belong on me . . . Please, don’t make me!’

He glared at her, unrelenting, clenching his fist. She closed her eyes and she pushed her knickers down over her narrow hips.

‘It . . . it’s almost useless now,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t . . . I don’t get erections anymore. I haven’t in a long time. I mean, it takes a lot to get a reaction, and I don’t try, so . . .’

As he stared at her, at him, at that piece of flesh between his legs, Craig was filled with a blinding, white-hot rage. Before he knew what he was doing, he advanced.

He watched, as though from outside his own body, as he grabbed Tania . . . Anthony . . . by the wrists. Pushed her, him, around, onto the bed. Undid his belt. And she, he, Tania, Anthony, his girlfriend, his never boyfriend, cried the whole time, begged him not to, told him she, he, loved him, had always loved him, begged. Begged . . .

When it was over, Craig floated back inside his body, and looked down at the weeping, crumpled mess on the bed under him, still whispering, ‘Please, don’t . . . Craig . . . Please . . .’

Craig pulled back, horrified. What had he done? Pulling his trousers back on, he hurried from the room, ran outside, ran all the way home, lungs burning. He fumbled with his keys, unlocking the front door and running straight for the bathroom, where he was violently sick. Then he stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair was damp, plastered to his sweaty forehead. His face was white, sickly pale. He felt sick still, but there was nothing left in his stomach, nothing left to puke up. Nothing but guilt and fear and anger and pain.

He took a shower, as though that would wash it away. It didn’t. Nothing could. Nothing ever could.

* * *

Tania did not come back to school. A few days later, it was announced that she would not return, and that she was moving away. Craig passed by the house on his bicycle one day and saw that it was up for sale.

The following week, Tania’s mother showed up at school. She looked like she always had, if somewhat older. Blonde, pretty and buxom, with perfectly manicured nails and fashionable clothes. Anthony’s mum, who had been so kind and warm and cooked such good food and baked tasty cakes for parties and school events. Tania’s mum, now. What had her name been? Angela?

Craig met her in a corridor and froze. Had Tania told her what he had done? Had she come to report him?

The woman only stopped, cocked her head to one side and looked at him. Then she smiled in recognition. ‘Craig!’ she said. ‘It is Craig, isn’t it?’

He didn’t know how to respond. What would happen if he said yes?

‘Goodness, how you’ve grown! Do you remember me?’

Craig swallowed, and then nodded.

Angela took a couple of steps closer. ‘All right?’

‘Er… yeah.’ He hesitated, looking around. There was no one he knew about. ‘Is… Is she okay?’

Angela sighed. ‘As okay as she can be, I suppose. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. I think she’s sad she didn’t get to say goodbye. I’m just here to pick up the last of her stuff and fill out some paperwork. Shall I tell her you said hi?’

Craig was filled with a mix of relief that Tania hadn’t told her mother what he had done, and disgust with himself for having done it. For the past week he had felt more self-loathing than all the moments of happiness in his life could make up for. He had barely slept. He hated Tania for making him feel this way. Hated Anthony. Hated them both because if he let himself think it, for only a moment, he would know that he had been just as in love with Anthony as he ever was with Tania. He shook the thought, forgot it as soon as it had entered his mind.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Better not. Too . . . sad.’

The older woman nodded. ‘Well, it was nice seeing you again, dear. Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.’

‘Probably not.’

‘No. Probably not.’

* * *

The next day a local paper said, 17-year-old slits wrists in bath, dies. No one asked why she had done it. It happens so frequently among gay and transgendered youth, it was said. She had caved to the pressure, been depressed because she had been discovered and not accepted, because she had to move away again. That’s what people said. It sparked an anti-bullying campaign. LGBT awareness campaigns. Acceptance campaigns. People lit candles. People sent caring, sweet letters of condolence to her mother. And no one knew, no one but Craig knew, why Tania Grant had killed herself. A month later, it had all been forgotten and everyone had gone back to their daily lives.

Craig did not go to the funeral.

---

Part Five:

Son

Paul walked behind Mr. Bligh down the narrow corridor. When they reached the thick steel door, a police constable nodded his head and pulled out a heavy set of keys to unlock it. Mr. Bligh stepped aside, motioning for Paul to enter.

‘I’ll be out here,’ he said. ‘Knock when you’re ready for me.’

Paul went inside. The room was cold and spartan, with only a table and three chairs. In one of the chairs sat Craig. He didn’t look a bit better than he had the day he was arrested. He was cleaner now, but his face was gaunt and stubbled and he had black circles around his eyes. His hands were not cuffed. There was no need for that, as he could not escape from the room and there was nothing in there with which he could hurt himself or anyone else.

As Paul pulled out one of the chairs opposite, Craig raised his head to look at his father.

‘Well.’ Paul folded his hands before him and looked his son in the eye. He wanted to smile at him, but it felt somehow inappropriate. ‘How do you feel?’

Craig shrugged and looked away. ‘Done.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Is there anything else I should be feeling?’

‘Anger?’ Paul suggested. ‘Disappointment, perhaps?’

‘I’ve moved through all the stages of grief. I’m already at acceptance.’

Paul nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not too late to appeal, though.’

Craig looked up at him sharply. ‘Do you believe that I did it?’

‘I—’ Paul paused. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. The evidence had been fairly damning. By the time the defence made their case it already seemed a done deal. And the testimony of the victim, that boy . . . Paul couldn’t lie to himself. Even he had believed him, as disgusted as he had been with the whole situation.

Before he could make up his mind, Craig continued. ‘I did, you know. I remember doing it, I . . . I remember, but it’s like I wasn’t really there.’ His voice was flat and impassive. Paul had perhaps expected his confession to be more passionate.

‘And it’s not the first time, you know,’ Craig went on. ‘That was the same. No control. Just . . . I was angry and I just did it.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘They’re probably gonna do it to me, aren’t they? In prison. I hear they always do, to rapists and child molesters. It’s no less than I deserve. Maybe I’ll learn to like it.’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Paul, and he wondered why he said it. ‘You’re not—’

‘Not what? Queer? No. I’m not.’ Craig laughed. It was a harsh sound, without any sort of mirth. ‘And that’s the funny thing in all this, isn’t it?’ He looked down at his hand, his expression darkening. ‘You should probably leave now, Dad. I believe I’m about to be processed.’

Paul stood up and looked down at the man he had raised as his son. He told himself he felt nothing for him but pity, but somewhere in the back of his mind was a feeling he refused to acknowledge—the feeling that perhaps he himself was not entirely blameless in this.

He turned his back on his son, knocked on the door and, when the constable on the other side opened it, left the room.