“That would be fine, thank you, sir.”
“Now, that deals with the Myers, I suppose we will have to discuss your gender problem. If you’re not feeling up to it, then perhaps we could do this another time?”
“No, I’m fine, sir. I’d rather get it over with, as I’ve been hiding for too long. I should have spoken out a long time ago; only my parents are still in denial.”
Martin looked a little crestfallen at the prospect of having to discuss this now, but he forged on.
“As you know, this school abides by the local authority guidelines with respect to equal opportunities and respecting the different, ah, life-style and sexual orientation, and, um, gender related issues to which both students and staff adhere. I have to admit that, to date, there have been no such issues in this school, so the matter has not surfaced before.
“I would need to confer with the board of governors and check the guidelines for further guidance, but I would need to know whether you intend to initiate transition whilst a pupil?”
“I hadn’t planned to, but then I hadn’t planned to tell anyone either. I suppose you could put it down to the bang on the head, but now it’s out, I would also have to check things as well. Put it this way, sir; I’m a male at the moment, and I have no great desire to start wearing girl’s clothes and prancing about in makeup and making an arse of myself. I want to be a girl, yes, but I’m rather reluctant to become a clown and have everyone laughing at me more than they already are.”
Martin stared at Kenneth with fresh eyes. Here was one switched-on young man.
“I am relieved to hear you say so. I will, of course, be available to support and assist you while you are a pupil here. If I can render you assistance in getting some help, say with a medical referral, then I would look into it for you. I have a duty of care to ensure you get the most from your education, and as I perceive that your family life is, ah, somewhat difficult in this area, then I will see what I can do to alleviate the situation.”
Kenneth felt the unexpected sting of tears spring to his eyes. He was not used to adults offering constructive help. Their standard reaction was discouraging and hyper-critical. To come across one that was the opposite was strange and a little unsettling.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“I would be happier that a doctor examined you after your little fracas this morning, so what would you say if I arranged for a doctor to come here, and after they’ve checked you over as far as the old head is concerned, you can have a chat about the other?”
Unable to speak, Kenneth smiled his thanks and nodded his agreement.
Then, if you’d care to go back to see the nurse, you can rest for a bit and I’ll see what I can arrange. Would you like me to try your mother again?”
“No thanks, sir; she’s made her priorities very plain.” Martin rose and opened the door, for a moment, it felt as if the young person was actually a girl, but it was but a fleeting moment. He watched as Kenneth walked slowly back to the medical wing. He felt inordinately sorry for that young man and everything that he was about to face in his life.
Eight
Guilt is a great motivator, but often it motivates too late and insufficiently to undo all that needs undoing, or to mend all that requires mending.
Richard Myers was a driven man. He was driven by several different factors: pride, greed, ambition, desperation and more recently, guilt.
He was very proud of his humble roots. His first wife had often told him (before divorcing him) that he was boring on the subject. He never forgot that he started out with nothing, and so everything he saw around him he had achieved himself and with a lot of hard work.
His father had been a milkman, while his mother had been a cleaner at the local council offices in south London. School in Brixton had been tough in the seventies and early eighties. While riots were happening on the streets, not a lot was happening in the classroom.
The norm was somewhere below average, and anything above that was subject to ridicule and often violence from one’s peers. Richard had been bright, but he was also a realist. In class he pretended not to work, often deliberately failing tests so as not to shine out. However, when the national exams arrived, he passed with A grades, confounding his teachers and parents alike. All expected him to fail, so the natural assumption had been that he cheated somehow.
However, after being interviewed and check-tested, they discovered that he as a bright boy and he had indeed worked hard without anyone knowing.
However, scholastic subjects are fine and dandy, but actually do little to prepare the vast majority of ordinary children to become adults in the real world. Richard was no exception.
In his final years at school, he ran an illegal tuck-shop. At the weekend, he would cycle to the Cash and Carry and buy sweets, fizzy drink cans and crisps (candy, soda and chips for our US cousins), transporting them in a rucksack back to his home. Each day he’d smuggle a small quantity into school to augment the rather revolting school dinners and turn a healthy profit.
It was a natural progression to supply cigarettes alongside the other items. He came to the notice of a local drug dealer, who was impressed with the ease by which Richard attracted a broad clientele. Richard was given an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Only he did refuse.
Well, to be honest, he didn’t so much refuse as approach the local police and speak to the detective sergeant in charge of the drug squad. In short, he volunteered to become a paid informant. The police encouraged him to go into business with the drug dealer, and adding weed to his list of available products.
Six months later, Richard had still not got caught; either by the police or the school authorities. As a result of his intelligence, the police raided six addresses in the Brixton area and arrested fifteen people, recovered over a million pounds worth of drugs and boosted the Metropolitan Police’s flagging public image to such a degree that the sergeant was promoted and received a commendation.
Needless to say, no one knew about Richard’s part except for one policeman who wasn’t going to say anything as he was rising nicely thanks to Richard’s assistance.
Richard received an informant’s fee, which, being a small percent of the cash seized, turned into a considerable sum. This had two effects on Richard. One, he was untouchable as far as the local police were concerned, and two, he was able to step into the shoes of those who were now languishing in Brixton Prison. After all, he now had a lot more cash with which to buy merchandise.
Incidentally, none of those arrested were aware that he was an informant, so he was able to continue his ‘work’ unimpeded by the police or the other criminals.
He left school at sixteen after his O levels in 1982.
By the time he was twenty-two, he was a millionaire. He knew it was a matter of time before either the police, or the opposition caught up with him, so he sold his ‘dealership’ to an old friend and former customer called Larry Evans. Interestingly, four months later, Larry was found up an alley with his throat cut.
Richard went respectable. It was an easy task, as he had no police record and was able to finance just about anything he wanted to. He bought a small premises with a yard, into which he brought four limousines: big, black and beautiful. He then hired a team of six drivers, all female, big and beautiful. He paid a retired police driving instructor to become the manager and to teach them to drive properly. He then hired out his cars with their exotic drivers. The joke was that he, as the owner of the business, couldn’t get insurance to drive his own cars, as he was under twenty-five.
He was a hit with the business world, particularly amongst the Arab business world. After two more years, aged just twenty-four, he signed a contract with two Middle Eastern airlines for their first class VIPs, as well as several private companies and individuals.