Chapter 1
Nigel Learns to Lie
Saturday was by far Nigel's favourite day of the week. Week days were
fine enough, if one liked school, and Nigel did, generally. There had
been a few unfortunate incidents at Wickham Primary, such as when
Nigel peeled off all his clothes during Mrs. Farthley's spelling
lesson , or when he brought the Naughty Derby Man to school, a toy
figure that would spring an erection when an unsuspecting chum pulled
up on his drinking arm. In both instances, he and Mummy and Daddy had
horrible event for a little boy.
But what boy doesn't have a few missteps in his education? And it
had all come out very well, actually.
mass at St. Peter's if Mummy and Daddy got around to it, which wasn't
often. In particularly nice weather, after mass they'd go to the park
for an ice or perhaps even a picnic, and listen to the military band.
Sundays could be nice.
But Saturdays were the best. No one was in school and no one was in
church, and Nigel was free to play with his best friend Evan Ethridge
down the lane or take a short walk to visit his other best friend
Harry Campbell, the amiable middle-aged grounds man of St. Peter's
Church, and play in the man's meandering garden. If Nigel preferred
to stay home, he very nearly had run of the place, for his
twelve-year-old sister Claris was usually out with her boyfriend
Jeremy and her other friends, doing mysterious teenage things.
So this particular Saturday found Nigel sprawled on the parlour floor
constructing a Tinker toy rocket ship for his metal army men and
patiently shooing away advances by Poohkums, the family cat. As
usual, Mummy had gone out on the stoop to fetch the afternoon paper.
When she came in she casually tossed it on the dining table and then
poured two cups of coffee, one for her and one for Daddy, just as she
did every Saturday before supper.
"Roger!" she called upstairs, "Coffee's poured."
A set of heavy footsteps came rumbling down the staircase and Roger
appeared in the kitchen.
"Well, I think I've got Nigel's headboard fixed," he announced, "No
more banging about in the night!"
Almost immediately, another set of footsteps thumped down the
staircase. Nigel scowled. They were Claris' thumps.
Now, if there had been any omen that this particular Saturday would be
one of the most stressful in Nigel's short life, it was that Claris
had been home all day. She had come in late the night before, and
Mummy and Daddy had grounded her. She'd spent the entire day sulking
in her room, like a snake ready to strike. Claris had only come
downstairs to watch her favourite music show, Ready Steady Go! Still
fuming, she stormed into the parlour, clicked on the television,
turned up the volume to an earsplitting level and dropped into the
divan, knocking over Nigel's rocket ship as she did.
space ship."
"Claris! Apologise to your brother," her father ordered as he took a
sip of coffee.
spack."
"Mummy!" Nigel shouted without looking up, "Claris called me a bad
name!"
"Claris!" Angela shouted from the kitchen, "Apologise nicely to your
Roger and Angela usually divided the paper between them and chatted
over anything interesting the Evening News might have to offer that
day. Roger almost always began with the Sport.
"Let's see how the Admirals are faring," he'd invariably say, snapping
open the section.
"I've never understood your fascination with rugby," Angela commented.
Angela began perusing the regional news section. She seldom read an
article, and only partly if an unusual story caught her attention.
After all, day after day it was essentially the same news really, only
with different names. She casually leafed through the pages with a
mildly bored expression. But then Angela stopped, turned back a page
and peered intently at it. After a moment, she very purposefully laid
the section flat on the table and examined it again.
"What is it, dear?" her husband mumbled.
Rather than answer him, Angela glanced furtively into the parlour,
first at Nigel on the floor and then at Claris sunk pouting in the
divan.
"Claris!"Angela shouted over the tellie, "Could you please turn the
sound up? I sort of like that tune."
Surprised, the girl dragged herself over to the set and turned up the
volume.
fight in a tin bucket."
"I do hate them. I just don't want the kids to hear this," Angela
replied anxiously and jabbed a finger onto the newspaper, "Look at
this, Roger! Right here!"
She turned the paper around so he could read the article. The banner
line blared, "Intern Accused in Molestation."
"No, Roger," his wife insisted, "Read it!"
"In a continuing investigation, the offices of a well-known child
psychiatrist were again the object of court action today as a warrant
was issued for the arrest of an intern therapist, identified as Mr.
Ian Monroe of Brompton, on charges of child molestation, after
investigators received reliable information indicating several
children had been inappropriately touched or otherwise victimised over
a period of perhaps greater than two years. Mr. Monroe is being held
in York pending arraignment."
"Don't you remember? Ian Monroe!"Angela whispered, "He was Nigel's
therapist!"
"Nigel?" her husband replied with a blank look, "Are you sure?"
convinced Nigel didn't like him in the least, and now I know why!"
Roger was suddenly swept with a feeling of dismay.
"He only saw him once, wasn't it though?" he offered hopefully, "I'm
sure nothing happened."
"But how do we know?" Angela asked, and reached out to clasp her
wouldn't even take off his coat."
There was a moment of silence and as they held hands across the table.
just can't let it go, you know."
"How do you want to go about it?"
"We'll come on like a family meeting," her husband suggested, "Bring
up the matter gently. I don't want to frighten or upset him. We'll
have to be very careful."
"Alright," Angela agreed, "No show of emotion, no matter what he
says."
But Nigel straight away recognised that it wouldn't be a regular
family meeting. He'd been minding his own business playing on the
carpet when suddenly his parents' feet appeared right in front of him.
He looked up expectantly, but Mummy and Daddy weren't looking down at
him. They were looking at Claris. Perhaps she was getting in more
trouble, the boy thought hopefully.
"Claris," Daddy announced, turning down the tellie, "We'd like you to
go up to your room for a bit and listen to records, if you don't
mind."
"Go upstairs, dear," Mummy repeated in an affectionate tone, but gave
her a look that couldn't be misinterpreted, "We'll be up in a bit to
explain."
Of course, Claris had a tantrum. She jumped up, roughly shut off the
television, and tromped upstairs.
"I hate you! You're so unfair!" she shrieked and slammed the door.
Claris was really in barney now, Nigel smiled, and he looked up at his
folks expectantly. Odd, but neither Mummy nor Daddy seemed to have
even noticed her rant. Instead, they were staring down at him, and it
occurred to him that perhaps it was he who was in trouble.
Daddy awkwardly squatted down beside his son.
"Nigel. Could you put aside your toys and come have a talk?" he
asked, "We'll have a little family meeting."
Obediently, Nigel set his Tinker toys on the rug and he felt his tummy
unheard of. Nigel got to his feet and Daddy stood up with him. The
boy started toward the kitchen table where family meetings were always
held, but Mummy stopped him.
"Do you want to sit on the divan instead, Roger?" Angela suggested
brightly.
"Yes! Good idea, Angela," Daddy replied with a peculiar smile, "Let's
sit on the divan."
Mummy and Daddy were talking like television people. Perhaps, Nigel
back, he found his parents seated shoulder to shoulder in the sagging
sofa, without a doubt very uncomfortable. He tried to wedge himself
between them.
Daddy never called him sweetheart. Dutifully he climbed onto his
father's thigh, his alarm mounting. Daddy put an arm around him and
for a moment Nigel wondered if it wasn't an ambush of some kind. He
do.
"I'm sorry Daddy," Nigel whispered, "I'm sorry Mummy."
Both Roger and Angela look at him in shock.
"Sorry for what, darling?" Mummy asked.
"You haven't done anything wrong, son," Roger assured him and gave him
a pat, "Did you think we were upset with you?"
cheek and hung quivering on his chin.
her finger, "You're not in any trouble at all. We just wanted to talk
with you a bit."
Most children knew, as did Nigel, that a soft tear was useful in
turning away wrath, but the depth of his parents' fawning affection
was unprecedented. The boy found himself becoming more alarmed still.
"What do you want to talk about?" he finally ventured.
Roger and Angela quickly looked at one another and, just for a moment,
they seemed as unsure and upset as Nigel.
Mummy asked, and then looked at Daddy, "What was his name, dear?"
"Ian Monroe, wasn't it, dear?"
"Yes," Mummy confirmed, "Do you remember going to see Ian the
therapist last spring?"
They were talking like television people again.
"Yes," Nigel replied, then, in hopes of ending the investigation,
explained, "He wanted to be my friend, but I didn't want to, and he
asked if I wanted to draw about my problem but I didn't want to, and
then he was worried because I'd taken my clothes off and put them in
the corner, and he could see I'd hurt my shoulder because Dirk pushed
"Yes, yes," Daddy interrupted, "But tell us more about what the
therapist did."
"Then he picked me up and put me on the examining table and he looked
at my bruise."
"Then what happened, sweetheart," Mummy leaned forward and put on an
encouraging smile.
"Then he touched my bruise and it hurt and he said he'd better give me
a good examination to see if there were other parts hurt."
"Go on," Daddy said, wearing the same smile as Mummy, "What did he
examine?"
"My head and my shoulders," Nigel began, "then my back and then my
The boy abruptly stopped. As he described each part that Ian had
examined, his parents' expressions became more and more concerned. He
couldn't account for it at all, and he suddenly felt like bursting
into tears. There was a long silence.
"Nigel, love," Angela said, her voice wavering slightly, "You know we
adore you more than anything in the world, and we will always love and
protect you. But you must tell us ... Did Ian touch you anywhere that
Nigel nodded gravely, and his parent's faces went pale.
"When he touched my bruise," the boy said, "It hurt."
down there?"
penis?"
Roger bit his lower lip and then said slowly and evenly,
"Yes. That's what we mean, Nigel. Did Ian touch or bother your
penis?"
The truth was that Ian had touched his penis. Nigel had had an
erection, despite being nervous, and Ian examined it so closely the
he had claimed. Nigel became so uncomfortable that he'd blurted out
he had to go to the lavatory and immediately jumped off the table.
When he'd come out, Ian had told him to get dressed and to not say
anything to anyone.
All the same, when Nigel glanced back into his parents' faces, they
looked as if they expected to see Poohkums squashed on the roadway. So
Nigel did the only thing he could do. He lied.
"No, Daddy," Nigel finally whispered, and looked down into his lap in
shame, "I just jumped off the table to use the lavvie and then I put
on my clothes."
A wave of relief swept over Mummy and Daddy's faces and they suddenly
smiled real smiles. Daddy gave Nigel an affectionate, manly hug, and
Mummy dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse and kissed him on
the forehead.
"You're such a good boy," she said, "Thank you for telling us."
"We're so proud of you, Nigel," Daddy exclaimed, "For telling the
truth."
Both Mummy and Daddy embraced him again, and Nigel felt absolutely
awful.
HMSVV Christmas 2011
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