The Outlaw

Edwin Myers would never have called his old friends the Cobbs ‘the perfect couple’ – that would have put a curse on their relationship. They were more like a pair of favourite shoes: polished, a bit battered, bent to the shape their wearers preferred, well-used and well-matched – you couldn’t imagine one without the other.

Until the event that turned them – or Ralph, anyway – into outlaws.

Edwin and Ralph went cycling every Sunday morning and then had a drink in the Unicorn, a country pub that didn’t mind sweaty men in Lycra mingling with the weekenders in their Gucci loafers. In their younger days they thought nothing of riding for thirty or forty miles with their club, the Grafters; now they were in their seventies, ten miles was a good stretch for legs that were getting lumpy and bladders that needed frequent emptying.

They were still in good shape, though, for a couple of old geezers: Ralph had a fine head of iron-grey hair, a face that was ruddy from his daily walks, clean-shaven and unlined except around the eyes, which were brown and slanted downwards, giving him that spaniel look of concern which most people found irresistible. He was gentle and funny and still working as a picture-framer, a little business he had built up after the firm who had employed him as a joiner went bust. Betty helped him, part-time at first, until she retired from the pharmacy, then she seemed to be always around, helping the customers choose the right colour of backing card to go with the frames, doing the pricing and invoicing and making sure Ralph kept to the delivery dates he had promised.

He was the airy, easy-going one for whom nothing was a problem; Betty was the practical, sensible one, the worrier who got things done.

The three of them – Edwin, Ralph, and Betty – had all been at the local school together, and none of them had moved very far from the place they grew up in. Ralph and Betty had been a couple since they were sixteen, and as far as Edwin knew they’d never had an affair, not even a one-night stand, with anyone else.

Some people thought that was the problem, when the event occurred. Not Edwin, though: he admired a fidelity he’d been unable to practice himself, having several girlfriends before marrying Belinda, which only lasted nine years before she left him over a drunken fumble with a redhead at a party. He swore he was just giving her Ralph’s contact details as she wanted some photographs framed, but Belinda waltzed off taking their daughter Roz with him, and Edwin had been single ever since.

Ralph and Betty had been good to him. If he dropped in and it happened to be a mealtime, they would always feed and water him, even if Ralph appeared happier to see him than Betty. But then if there were any little electrical jobs that needed doing, Edwin would undertake them, without charging them a penny, even though he’d retired. He always joked he would rather have his friends owing him, rather than the other way around: Ralph would pour him another glass of something and Betty would give that wry smile of hers he remembered ever since he’d asked if he could borrow her maths homework, as he couldn’t understand what their teacher Mr Mead had been explaining. She’d smiled and refused. It wouldn’t do him any good, she said; he had to make the effort himself.

Maybe it was that attitude, her high standards, her unbending principles, that caused the event to happen. But Edwin had never heard Ralph complain about Betty, not even in the days when they used to have that one extra beer they both knew would make Ralph late for Sunday lunch with his family, and cause their children, Mike and Mo, to giggle at Daddy being silly while Betty sighed and went and did some gardening. She’d always been an attractive girl and Edwin thought she’d turned into a handsome woman, slight but sturdy, with a restless energy that made Edwin think of a busy sparrow. The spaniel and the sparrow: an unlikely pair, but an enduring one.

The event took everyone by surprise, especially Edwin, who couldn’t believe it. The first he knew about it was when Mike, the Cobbs’ son who Edwin was godfather to and who was grown-up enough to have kids of his own, rang the bell on a Saturday morning. He was red-faced and dishevelled and rather than looking Edwin in the eye, he ran his hands through the fine dark hair he’d inherited from his mother, and blurted out, ‘Sorry, Ed, but Dad won’t be cycling with you tomorrow. He’s in jail.’

Edwin thought at first he might be joking, and smiled uncertainly. ‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘What for? Not paying a speeding fine?’

‘Kiddy porn,’ Mike said, staring at Edwin as if daring him to disbelieve him.

Edwin staggered back into the little hall of the council house he’d managed to buy and rewire after his divorce. Mike followed, and closed the front door behind him.

‘Mum wanted you to know,’ he said. ‘The police came first thing this morning. They were very good about it, really. No door-banging or flashing lights. The neighbours had no idea.’

Edwin felt his way into the living-room and collapsed on the sofa where he’d been reading the paper while eating a bowl of cereal. Mike hovered, leaning against the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘You’re sorry?’ Edwin exploded. ‘You’re kidding! Your dad?’

Mike nodded. ‘We had no idea,’ he said. ‘I don’t think Mum did either. Or if she did, she kept pretty quiet about it.’

‘She would,’ Edwin said bitterly. Then, ‘I didn’t mean...She couldn’t have known. Could she? Ralph? You sure it’s not a mistake?’

‘I’m sure,’ Mike said. ‘They found stuff on his computer, serious stuff, the stuff they jail you for. He must have been an addict for years.’

‘An addict?’ Edwin said. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve known him since we were twelve! We go cycling every Sunday!’

He was aware of how stupid that sounded, but it was only by holding onto to fragments of reality he could stop himself from drowning in disbelief.

It was the kind of horror that was as thrilling as it was overwhelming. Ralph and kiddy porn? It was not possible.

‘How did they find out? I mean, we all look at porn, don’t we?’

Why was he appealing to this boy, the father of babies himself, babies who somebody could film doing, being forced to do, unimaginable, unspeakable things? How could anyone be turned on by that? How could Ralph, a happily married man, a father, a pillar of the community, whatever that meant, a mild-mannered, self-deprecating, good-humoured picture-framer, for God’s sake, be a – a paedophile?

‘It’ll all come out in court,’ Mike said matter-of-factly. ‘They call it the dark web. The police have a unit that tracks people who access the illegal stuff. They’ve got it on his computer. He can’t deny it. He’s not, actually. He could go to jail, Ed. And be on the sexual offenders’ register.’

Edwin wanted to get up, put his arms round him, and give him a hug. He wanted to help him hold himself together, to make this whole thing go away. But he couldn’t move. He could hardly think. What could he say? What was there to say?

‘Just looking at it doesn’t hurt anybody, though, does it?’ It sounded pathetic.

‘Well,’ Mike said, still being calm and grown-up and reasonable. ‘You have to think of what the kids in the videos were made to do. That’s the crime, Ed. And watching it makes you a criminal, I’m afraid. Anyway,’ he added, levering himself upright from slouching by the door, ‘I’d better get back to Mum. We’ll keep you informed.’

‘Don’t go just yet,’ Edwin begged him. He knew he should be the strong one – he was Mike’s godfather, for Christ’s sake! He should be bustling over to Betty making sweet tea and offering to do whatever needed doing, assuring her he was there for her, and for Ralph too, his oldest friend. He should be supportive, discussing plans, thinking about all the lawyers whose lighting he’d installed, but what good would they be? A paedophile! Even a murderer was better than that.

Most murders, from what you read, seemed to happen by accident, but porn requires planning and concentration: turning on the computer, settling down to make a choice. Everyday porn, everybody looked at that at some time or other: grown-up people, with better bodies than you could ever dream of, sharing their pleasure with you – what could possibly be wrong with that? But children? For a man who seemed to, no, who did love his children and grandchildren? Who had, Edwin presumed but never asked, an active sex life with the woman he’d been with for over fifty years?

‘I’m so sorry,’ Edwin said. ‘I should’ve asked: how’s Betty taking it? It must be – I can’t imagine how she’s feeling. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling! Do you want a drink? A tea, or a coffee?’

‘I’ll tell you how I’m feeling,’ Mike said gruffly. ‘Pissed off! How could he? How dare he? We’ve got babies, the same age as the ones he was looking at! Renata threw up when I told her. She says she won’t let him near the kids. She won’t have him in the house. Which I kinda understand.’

‘Of course,’ Edwin said soothingly, though his voice sounded ragged. ‘But you know – innocent till proved guilty, and all that…’

‘There’s no question of his guilt,’ Mike said.

‘Right,’ Edwin said doubtfully. ‘What about your sister Mo? She was always –’

‘His favourite?’ Mike said scornfully. ‘She’s in shock. She’s with Mum now, telling her she’s got to leave Dad and move somewhere else before people start throwing bricks through the windows and spraying “Paedo” on the walls.’

‘They won’t,’ Edwin said automatically. ‘This is a nice neighbourhood.’

‘Yeah? Can you imagine how having a paedo as a neighbour is going to go down? That’s going to thrill them at the Unicorn, isn’t it? From which our whole family will be barred, you can bet your life. Apart from the effect it’ll have on property prices, we’ll be blamed, or Mum will. That’s what really pisses me off: we never knew a thing, none of us, but people will say we must have, Mum must have been aware, she probably wasn’t letting him have his wicked way, she drove him to it. So everyone’s sympathy goes to him, even though he’s ruined all our lives!’

‘But he’s still – your dad,’ Edwin pleaded feebly. ‘And he’s still my friend. Whatever he’s done, that’s not going to change. People will come round, you’ll see.’

‘You reckon? Dad’s crossed the line, Ed, and there’s no going back. I don’t know what drove him to it – maybe we’ll never know, even if he goes into therapy –’

‘It could happen to anyone, Mike!’ Edwin burst out. ‘Anyone who looks at porn, that is. And that’s practically everyone. I mean, I’ve never looked at stuff like that, I’m not turned on by kids or young people, I never thought your dad was. But maybe – you said he was an addict, addicts just drift to the hard stuff, don’t they? And from there to the harder. He couldn’t have thought he was hurting anyone, not your dad. He’s never hurt anyone in all the years I’ve known him, never! He must have got so carried away that he never considered what the kids he was looking at were actually going through. You know how – or maybe you don’t, you’re still young, you don’t have trouble getting excited the way you do when you’re our age – but they’re just pictures, Mike, not people.’

Mike made himself taller, and concentrated on doing up the zip of his Puffa jacket. ‘They’re not just pictures, Ed,’ he said quietly. ‘They are a record of criminal acts, and if you pay for them to give yourself pleasure, you’re a criminal, of a kind no one forgives. He faces jail, Ed, and if he survives that, which at his age is not going to be easy, he’ll still be on the register for years. It’ll haunt him for the rest of his life, as well as the rest of us. Mum says she’ll stick by him – they’ve been together so long, she couldn’t get used to anyone else – but when they’re alone, she’s going to look at him and think about him doing stuff on his computer, and what’s that going to do to their relationship?

‘I don’t know about Mo,’ he continued, ‘but Renata might soften towards him in time. Say she did, and we take the kids round there for Christmas, or just a cup of tea: in the back of our minds – no, in the front! – we’ll always be wondering what he’s thinking about them. His own grandchildren! He won’t be able to go to the shops, or the pub, or even – say you died, Ed, and he’d want to be at your funeral, assuming he hasn’t killed himself first. He won’t be able to go anywhere without wondering what people are saying about him, and whether they’re going to do anything about it.

‘He’s made himself an outlaw, Ed. He’s joined the bad guys, and there’s no way back, no way at all.’

Edwin’s head felt as if it was bursting. ‘You don’t seriously think – he might hurt himself?’ he croaked.

Mike shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t you at least think about it?’

‘It would be a coward’s way out,’ Edwin said, ‘and your dad’s not a coward. You don’t think that, do you?’

‘No,’ Mike said slowly. ‘I don’t think that. But he is a selfish bastard. And when it all comes out, which it will, I don’t know what will happen. Nothing good, that’s for sure.’

He strode towards the front door. Edwin heaved himself up from the sofa. ‘If you see him,’ he managed, ‘will you give him my love?’

Mike gave him a curious look. ‘If you like,’ he said.

‘And please tell your mother if there’s anything she needs, anything at all –’

‘She doesn’t want to see anyone at the moment. But she wanted you to know. As Dad’s best friend.’

‘Of course,’ Edwin said, his hand on the latch. He tried a smile, which felt lop-sided. ‘Maybe,’ he added, ‘we’ll laugh about this one day.’

He knew it was the wrong thing to say by the wooden look Mike gave him.  He closed the door and shuffled back to the living-room.

The cereal had gone soggy, not that he fancied eating. The coffee was cold. He considered having a snifter, for the shock, but then thought about Ralph, down at the police station, maybe in a cell, he hoped on his own, for everyone knew what happened to nonces. Or maybe he was being questioned, interrogated, harried. Gentle, funny, friendly, hapless, innocent Ralph. Innocent till proved guilty.

Edwin thought of all the hundreds, probably thousands, of miles they’d cycled side by side, or one behind the other, with Ralph in the lead, his calf muscles never flagging. How could someone so like himself do something so – incomprehensible?

Didn’t he owe it to their friendship to try and understand? Surely if he took a look at some porn sites he’d never tried before, it wouldn’t affect him? You have to know someone before you can judge them, and he thought he knew Ralph better than anybody, except Betty, but she would never venture into the dark side of the internet. Nor would, nor should, Ralph’s children. It was up to his best friend to make sense of it. What were friends for?

Edwin unearthed his laptop from the mess of papers on the coffee table Ralph had made him from an oak chest one of Edwin’s customers had thrown out. He sat back on the sofa and glanced at the windows. Nobody could see in without trampling over the little patch of grass that needed cutting.

Edwin opened up his machine, shivered, and tapped it awake.