A Pure and Honest Heart

by Zambezi

Chapter Seven

Richard thoroughly enjoyed the two days he spent with the Johnsons. He had never experienced the freedom of real country living, nor indeed the hardships. He could plainly see that the Johnsons struggled as cattle and dairy wholesale prices fell, making them ever more reliant on the fine Goldings hops they grew. But cash crops were a once-a-year sale and expenses were year-round. He found himself developing a great deal of respect for Bill and Catrin as they juggled the constant demands of a family with the resources available to them.

His relationship with Jamie hit the ground running straight away, so that by the time he left on the Sunday to spend two days with his father they felt as if they had known each other for years, and treated each other as equal contemporaries. He could also see where Brad got a lot of his caring, compassionate personality from. Of course, much had rubbed off from Bill and Catrin, but he also saw Brad caring for his younger siblings with much of the warmth and love he had experienced from Brad himself. As he had never had siblings of his own, Richard hadn't really considered what it would be like to be a brother to someone until he found himself kissing Rosie's arm better when she was accidentally hit by a piece of machinery and had come running to him crying. And, he had to admit, it felt good being there for someone.

His relationship with Brad had also grown over the course of his visit. As he gradually began to accept that Brad really was straight and could never provide the whole spectrum of love to him he also started to relax and view Brad as exactly what he was - a really good, dedicated, friend for whom no favour was too big or small. Under Brad's tutelage he had a couple more hours of driving instruction and had now more or less mastered clutch control and hill starts, and had learned how to milk cows and lay out feed for them. On the Saturday afternoon they all piled into the UMM - six wouldn't fit in the Sierra - to go and watch Jamie play soccer for his club team. He looked, Richard noted, hot in his soccer kit, his brieflines framing his bubble butt by showing through his white shorts as he bent forward to place the ball for the free kick he curled into the net for the only goal of the game. As they rode back to the house in the very back of the jeep, Richard sat right next to the sweat-drenched young teen, trying to be discreet about the deep breaths he took of the intoxicating scent.

On the Sunday, as Brad took Richard into Faversham - after lunch and an emotional farewell from the rest of the family - to catch the train up to London both boys were deep in thought. Richard was wondering if he was still in love with Brad when he knew he couldn't have him, and whether he was about to repeat the same mistake with Jamie. Brad was thinking about two things, firstly that he needed to have a long talk with his parents about his rejection from Oxford and the sponsorship offer from Zelda Williams, and secondly that Sarah's parents were out of town that night and they would be alone for the evening.

As the Sierra chugged its way into town, Richard turned and looked at his older friend, and asked, "Brad, I'm not trying to be funny but how do you know when you're in love?"

"A wise man once told me that love is when what happens day to day doesn't matter, because being together is enough, and I think that's partly true. For me though, it's when you want someone above all others in both your darkest hour and your proudest one, so that you can share the pain or the pleasure. To give an example most can relate to, I really love my parents, and when I am in pain I cry out for my mother. I want them to be with me, just like when I have my proudest moments I want them to be there to share it with them too. And it's the same with Sarah. Remember that rugger game against Woodlands, where I dropped the ball in the last minute and they scored to win the game?"

"Yeah, you stayed out on the pitch, alone, for an hour afterwards. You didn't move."

"I was thinking of Sarah. I wanted her there to comfort me."

"Sorry I couldn't do it for you Brad."

"You kinda did, Richie," Brad replied. "But it wasn't what I wanted," he continued, quickly realising what he had just said.

Seconds later they pulled up at the station. "You sure you'll be OK to get back to London from here?"

"No worries."

"Call the house if there's a problem, and call when you get to your Dad so we know you've arrived safely."

"Will do." Richard said, as he looked at Brad earnestly. "Thanks for everything you have done for me this weekend, and for the last six months. And I'm sorry all these bloody feelings I have are getting in the way."

"It's supposed to be difficult, growing up and learning to love. That's why the rewards are so great."

"I hope you're right, cuz if go on with all this love for people and no-one to love me in return I'm gonna explode."

"You're a great guy Richie, honestly, and there's plenty of time. You do have a lot of love to give and you're handsome, intelligent, and caring. You'll find someone."

Richard opened the door, his demeanour suddenly cold. "I'll see you back at school then?"

"I look forward to it. I'll miss you until then."

"Me too," the younger boy responded, as he climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him.

Brad watched his friend walk into the station without turning around, and he felt inexplicably deflated. Then he realised what he'd just done, less than 48 hours after he had resolved to stop doing it. He'd once more given Richie a flicker of hope. And then he wanted to hug him to say goodbye and reassure him but the opportunity had escaped, and he was left feeling empty.

Downhearted, Brad drove back home and half an hour later sat down with his parents and explained about his university application progress and the offer he had received from Zelda. The experience would be invaluable for his CV even if the opportunity proved not to be long term, and he might learn enough about business to help the struggling farm. And the money to support him throughout university was like manna from heaven since he was unlikely to get that kind of support from anyone else. As a decision, it was a no-brainer. And, at the back of his mind was the nagging thought that he had to do everything in his power to support Richard for as long as Richie needed and wanted that. Within minutes of talking with his parents, Brad had hand-written a letter to Inglewood accepting the offer.

With Richie a bit further to the back of his mind, Brad made his way to the Clarkson household. He and Sarah kissed long and deep in the doorway before they moved inside, gradually shedding their clothes as they progressed up to her bedroom. When they got onto the bed Brad slowly licked his way around the curves of her body and then gently massaged her from head to toe to get her totally relaxed and worked up. Finally, he slipped a condom on and entered her slowly to begin making gentle love. As he always did, he kept his eyes closed throughout all of the intimacy until eventually, as he approached his climax, he opened them. Then, as he looked down to capture the look of sheer ecstasy he knew would be on his lover's face, he saw Richard instead. The vision tipped him over the edge: changing gear he rammed harder and harder as he jetted spurt after spurt into the rubber confines in the most intense orgasm he'd ever experienced and closed his eyes again as he collapsed on to the taut smooth body beneath him.

When he came down from his orgasmic high he opened his eyes again and looked tenderly at Sarah.

She spoke first, knowing instantly that something was not quite right.. "What's wrong honey? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I feel like I did."

The young lovers lounged around for the rest of the evening but they were distant. Every time Sarah tried to get her boyfriend to talk about what had just happened, he told her there was nothing to talk about and changed the subject. But when they went to bed for the night, he held on tighter than ever, whispering "I love you" repeatedly into her ear.

Brad returned to Trinity on the last day of the break refreshed and ready to tackle the final month of the term that would take them up to the Easter break. He took Richie to one side on their first night back in school to apologise for once again offering that faint glimmer of hope to his besotted friend. Richie brushed it off, acknowledging that he now accepted Brad would never be interested in him, but when they gave each other a hug to draw a line under it neither of them wanted to let go as they both inhaled each other deeply. It was only footsteps outside Brad's study-bedroom door that caused them to spring apart.

Richard beat a hasty retreat as Tony Fleming walked into the room after a perfunctory knock. "He seems to be spending more and more time with you," Tony began, nodding his head down the corridor to indicate about whom he was talking. "Half the school saw you two leave together on Friday. You know people are talking?"

"It doesn't surprise me," Brad replied. "What are they saying?"

"That you're fucking each other."

"Nice."

"Are you?"

This was getting a little personal, Brad thought. "Absolutely not! We're just friends, and we live close by so it makes sense to travel together. He's an OK kid you know, even if he is a Third Former. He's only a few months older than my brother, and they're good friends too."

"So you've seen each other outside school?"

Brad panicked. "Um, yeah. Like I said, we're not far apart geographically and our parents wanted to meet up to meet each other and discuss things like sharing transport and stuff," he made up, thinking as he went.

"OK, sounds reasonable." Tony sounded a bit pissed off.

It suddenly dawned on Brad what this was about. "Oh my God, you're jealous, aren't you?"

"Don't be silly."

"You are. You're jealous that I spend as much time with him as I do with you."

"OK, maybe a bit. If it's just because you've become friends then I'm fine with that, even if few are. I was worried that I was being pushed aside because I wouldn't, er, put out." He grinned.

"Trust me, it's nothing like that," Brad replied, his mind racing. If people were going to be talking, he figured, then he and Richie would both come under a lot of pressure from people 'having a bit of fun'. He knew he could cope, but could a fragile - and gay - boy not yet fourteen cope as well? He wondered. He also resolved to spend more time with Tony, realising he'd probably neglected him since Christmas.

Over the next few weeks, in between cricket practice, Brad spent a lot of time putting the finishing touches to his various course work submissions and planning a rigorous revision timetable that would lead right up to his A level exams in May and June. Things at school ran fairly unremarkably, although a huge flu outbreak at Woodlands deprived Trinity of a grudge hockey game, and Brad the chance to settle a personal score with the Bearded Wonder.

Jamie came up to Trinity for three days the week after half term to sit the scholarship exams. He was much less of an academic than his older brother and struggled manfully, but was unsure of his own performance. The results would not be available until after the Easter break, so the family put it to the back of their mind and got on with their business as best they could.

The whispering campaign Brad had feared over his friendship with Richard never really materialised, thankfully. There was, however, an unrelated incident in the penultimate week before school broke up for Easter scared the life out of him. He had been in his study one evening, long after Third Form lights out, talking with Tony about nothing in particular, when the door burst open and Allesandro Correlli, one of Richie's Third Form roomates, came tumbling in, clearly under some distress.

"Brad, please come quickly. Something terrible is happening and we don't know what to do - Richard told me to come get you."

The House Captain stood up quickly and walked over to put his hands on his young charge's shoulders. He knew from the terror in young Sandro's voice that something serious was going on. "Whoa, Sandro, calm down. Exactly what's happening?"

"Davis is... He's...he's...making Marcus do sex things," Allesandro panted in his accented English.

"Come on Tony." Brad was already out of the door.

The three of them raced upstairs to the Third Form dorm, only to find Chas Danton sitting there alone. "Where are the others?" Brad enquired.

"Dunno." He clearly was not getting involved in this one.

"Brad, bathroom," Tony called from several yards up the corridor where he had started to explore.

When Brad got to the bathroom he was confronted with a sight he never wanted to see again in his life. Bob Davis, the scourge of every decent schoolboy, had his trousers open and was sporting a giant erection. He was also holding Marcus Carter, who was down on his knees, by his hair and forcing his throbbing hardon at the fourteen year old's face. "I said suck, you cocksucker," he bellowed, his eyes glazed in a narcotic stupor. To one side lay Bob Gillson, blood streaming down his face from his nose and a gash over the eye. Next to him was Richie who barely looked much better, having clearly taken one or two hits himself.

As Brad watched, momentarily stunned, Richie picked himself up and jumped on Davis again, screaming "Leave him alone you bastard!"

A millisecond later Nathan Gregory appeared in the doorway. "What the fuck..." he began.

Automatically the three senior boys moved forward just as Richie went flying back across the bathroom, having been thrown off like a piece of fluff. Nathan went to tend to him and Gillson while Brad and Tony tried to wrestle the drugged up Davis to the floor. They weren't having a lot of luck although the bully did release his grip on Marcus long enough for the terrified boy to escape through the door. Seeing his friends struggle, Nathan also leapt on Davis and eventually the three of them had restrained him sufficiently that he stopped resisting and gave up.

Looking back over his shoulder, Brad called out to Correlli to go and get Mr Stephens immediately, and for Richie and Gillson to find Marcus and for all three of them to wait in his room until he could take them up to the sanatorium to be checked out by matron. The three House Prefects then frog-marched Davis down towards the Housemaster's study where Tom Stephens met them moments later.

As Tony and Nathan explained to the teacher what had just happened Brad ran back to his room. His first instinct was to rush up to Richie and hold him tight to shield out the rest of the world, but he knew he couldn't do that in front of the other two, and besides there was one other boy who probably needed his attention a little bit more. Marcus was nowhere to be seen, however, Richie explaining that he appeared to have run straight from the bathroom and not returned. As he walked Richie and Bob up to the 'san' he explained that while what they did - intervening to protect their roommate - was slightly foolish, he was very proud of them for doing so. "For too often, people just stand by and let bad things happen," he explained as they walked. "I reckon if you let that happen without doing anything, you lose the right to complain about it."

Leaving them with matron, Brad walked back to Wordsworth now much more concerned about Marcus Carter, who by midnight had still not reappeared. It was a cold March night outside and the boy had only been in his boxers, although his uniform coat was missing from his locker. With Tom Stephens' blessing he got a few of his prefects out of bed and organised a search of the campus and immediate surroundings, telling them to report back to Wordsworth in half an hour whether they found him or not.

Brad had a sneaking suspicion he knew where he'd find the missing boy. Marcus was very keen on metalcraft and woodwork, and he would have known that the outlet vent for the Design Block's basement plant room made a great little hiding place, although it would have shut off and stopped producing heat by now. Sure enough, as Brad poked his head into the alcove and shined his flashlight in Marcus was there, shivering, sobbing, and smelling of something particularly nasty. Brad took off his own coat and draped it over him as he sat down next to the terrified boy and placed an arm over him. Marcus pulled back slightly at first, but then relaxed and sank into the unexpected embrace.

Brad spoke first. "It's safe now Marcus. Bob Davis is with Mr Stephens and now half the house is out looking for you."

"I was so scared, I didn't mean to shit myself. I just couldn't face everyone else right now," he sobbed.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise. After what he did that's the last thing anyone's concerned about anyway. Let's get you to the san and cleaned up and checked over, and you can stay there for the night."

"Why did he do it? Even if he thought I was a poof, why did he try to force me to give him a blow job?"

"Marcus, I don't think for one moment that was a gay thing. I know a couple of gay people, and...." Brad paused and gulped before continuing, "...and they are the kindest, most gentle people I know. Please don't think they're all like that. I think that was much more a power thing. He's just a nasty piece of work, whether he's gay or not." They sat in silence for a moment before Brad continued, "Apart from the obvious, are you OK?"

"My head really hurts where he pulled me to the bathroom by my hair."

"Then we'll get the doctor to check it out. Come on." Slowly they got up and walked over to the sanatorium together, entering through the back door to bypass the other two boys in the treatment room and going straight for a bathroom where Marcus could get under the shower and clean himself up. Brad went to the treatment room to call back to Wordsworth to report finding Marcus, and then brought matron up to speed out of earshot of Richie and Bob Gillson. He was just going out through the door when the on-call doctor arrived, so he stayed for that.

Richard, it turned out, only had a few cuts and bruises. Bob was not so lucky, having picked up a broken nose to go with the gash that needed a couple of adhesive butterfly stitches. More worryingly, the doctor was sufficiently concerned about Marcus that he insisted he be kept in the san for close observation, as he was concerned about where his scalp had been pulled forcibly from his skull. The other two boys asked to stay there with him as well and both doctor and matron concurred, so Brad went back to Wordsworth to throw one filthy uniform coat in the dry-cleaning bin and fetch some clean clothing for Marcus, and uniform for the next day for the other two. Richard caught him alone in the corridor when he arrived back.

"Thanks for everything tonight Brad."

"I'm so glad you're OK. I don't know what I would have done if you'd been hurt badly." He pulled his young friend into a warm hug and, as they embraced, he planted a discreet kiss in his hair. His eyes teared up as he left the building.

It was nearly one in the morning when he got back to Wordsworth for the last time that night. Most of the boys were back in bed, but both Nathan and Tony were still in Tom Stephens' study with the Housemaster guarding Bob Davis, who was beginning to come down from whatever it was he'd been high on.

Brad was about to ask automatically where the wine was, but realised that might have been inappropriate, and he didn't particularly want glass lying around with Davis in that state. He quickly explained what had happened up at the sanatorium, leaving out some of the shittier details. Tom Stephens then filled him in with details of his discussion with the Headmaster, who had been sufficiently unimpressed with being woken up that he had decided to expel Davis from Trinity. Without the ability to restrain him physically, the three prefects and their Housemaster took it in turns to stay up and stand guard over Davis in pairs until his parents could collect him the following day. In the few lucid moments the prisoner had as he drifted in and out of sleep he clearly did not feel any remorse, and arrogantly seemed to regard the whole affair as a bit of a joke. After being woken by Nathan, Brad and Tony resumed their vigil at a little after 0600, staying until Mrs and Mrs Davis arrived two hours later to take him away.

The end of term couldn't come quickly enough for Brad, who had felt physically and emotionally drained after that incident. Marcus Carter was kept in the san for over a week before being sent straight home for the holidays several days early, as the trauma to his scalp caused his head to swell to monumental proportions before the massive fluid build up between scalp and skull slid down his neck and dissipated in his abdomen. Brad and Richie went to visit him most days after class and chatted to him for a few minutes, strengthening the bond between them that had formed since the incident.

Richie and Bob Gillson, meanwhile, were everyone's heroes for having stood up to Bob Davis that night, and although the still desperately shy Richie was not particularly keen on the adulation he really enjoyed being treated as one of the lads by the others. For the first time in his six months at Trinity, he felt he belonged.

Bradley Johnson and Richard Young returned to their families for first part of the Easter holidays. Brad, as expected, was required to help out on the farm for most of his time, but was able to knock off early enough on an afternoon to get several hours of revision done each day, except for the day of his eighteenth birthday which fell at the beginning of April.

Meanwhile Richie, after having watched up all of his Queer As Folk episodes, moped about the house most days bored rigid. His mother had become a woman possessed with her new conference centre venture, with architects, interior designers, and all sorts of other people crawling over Inglewood. He took to telephoning Brad every evening, just for a chat about nothing.

Brad, for his part, was not consciously aware of the pleasure he got from those calls until, one day, he didn't get one. He was clearly distracted as he and Sarah lay on his double bed that evening, talking about nothing in particular. Eventually, she decided to bite the bullet and announced: "We need to talk."

"Do we?"

"Darling, you've been miles away since Christmas. At first I thought it was your grandma but it's obviously not. Is it something I've done?"

Brad sighed, picking her hand up in his. "No, honey, of course it's not you. It's just I've been so busy at school, and there's so many things going around in my head."

"Like what?"

"You know, just stuff." This was not a conversation he wanted tonight. He was still wondering why Richie hadn't called.

"Brad, we've known each other for nearly six years. I think I deserve more than 'just stuff'," she replied.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"There's someone at school who needs a friend more than you could imagine, and I've been looking out for him. It takes a lot of my attention."

"Brad, that's really sweet of you but you're not at school any more. Forget about him."

"I can't. He's been calling every night through the holidays and he didn't tonight. I'm kinda worried; I can't stop thinking about him."

"Well, whoever he is he's a big boy now. He can cope without your voice at the end of the phone for one night. Fuck, if I can then so can he."

"It's not that simple."

"Brad, listen to yourself! That school and the people there are not your life, your life is here!" Sarah had raised her voice by now.

Suddenly, Brad was irritated. "Yes, my life is here, of course it is. But my future is there! That's why I tear myself away from nearly everything I love to go there for months at a time, and during that time I just happen to make friends there too. Close friends." He began to break down into occasional sobs, tears streaming in his eyes.

"Look at yourself. How can you say you love me above all else when you're so upset over a fucking school friend?" She had stood up by now, in one of those jealous rages that only women can produce.

Brad jumped off the bed himself and raced around to her side. "Of course I love you honey," he cried, pulling her close to him as he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. She sobbed quietly onto his shoulder too. "I love you so much Richie." Before he'd even said it, he knew he should not have.

"What?"

"Uh, slip of the tongue."

"A Freudian slip? Come on Brad, I deserve a better explanation than that." She was furious by now.

"OK, so Richard - you met him, remember - is the one who didn't call. He's such a lovely guy, but such a basket case too. He's been on my mind all evening," Brad replied calmly.

"But you just said you loved him," she screamed.

"Well..."

"Well what?" Sarah interrupted, screaming louder still. "Is it him who's been distracting you since Christmas? Was it his ghost you saw when we were having sex at half term?"

"Well..."

"Don't you 'well' me Bradley Johnson!"

This was the moment Brad snapped. "I wouldn't if I could get a fucking word in edgeways! Richie is a guy who has been pissed about by his own parents for the last three years. Everyone at school - the people he sits in class with, the people he eats with, the people he shits with, they all hated him until he risked his own life for one of them, just because he's a bit quiet, a bit private, and a bit different. Do you hear that? He risked his own physical well-being just to fit in with the crowd, to go one day without being tripped up in the dining room as he carried his tray to his table, to be able to leave his underwear in the laundry room without it being pinned to the notice board with his name and someone else's skidmarks on display. I have far more respect for him than I do anyone else on this planet. And do you know what has kept him going these last six months? Me! The knowledge that every time he came out looking better than the next man that I would be proud of him because he was true to himself and that he set out to act like I would have done. And you know what? I am proud of him. I am as proud of him as I would be if he were my own brother or my own son."

Sarah had tears openly streaming down her face by this stage. "But do you love him?"

"Of course I do, I thought that was obvious! I love him with every fibre of my being!" Brad screamed back

"More than me?"

"Right now, when you're shouting and screaming, yes!"

"But you can't stop thinking about him. Are you in love with him?"

A deathly silence followed. Brad hesitated, thunderstruck, avoiding eye contact. He didn't have an immediate answer, and Sarah knew it.

"Brad?"

More silence. Eventually, he looked up at her. He was crying, but he didn't need to say anything.

"You bastard!" She threw her jacket on and stormed out of the door.

"Sarah!" Brad cried as he chased her down the stairs and out into the yard, but she was already in her car and on her way.

Richard's daily phone calls resumed the following day, but he found Brad distant and distracted compared to his earlier enthusiasm and energy. Slightly concerned, and with his mother's encouragement, the younger boy suggested he visit the Johnsons for a few days towards the end of the holiday, with Brad to return with him to Inglewood for the final few before they both headed back to school together. Brad readily accepted, desperate to be with his friend again for every minute he could, but terrified of the unspeakable direction his feelings were taking him.

Throughout the five days they spent together, Brad felt an increasingly intense longing to get closer physically to Richard. Most of the time he just wanted to snuggle up to him on the sofa as they watched TV together or chatted away, or wrap an arm around him as they walked together. He felt that emotionally they were as close as they could be. But he wanted more, and was terrified of discussing the matter so he never raised it, allowing it instead to consume him.

Richard, for his part, had never been happier than when he was so physically close to Brad. He had accepted for some time that he could never have more than platonic friendship and was content to enjoy the physical closeness for as long as it lasted, regardless of the purpose. Although nervous hand-holding and the odd hug was about the limit to their intimacy, Richie was in seventh heaven. He did sense something wrong with Brad, but aside from general "I'm here for you" supportive noises he didn't push the issue further, not wanting to lose what he'd already gained.

On the second to last day of the holiday, as the two boys enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at Inglewood, Zelda announced that she had got rid of her Golf, and that a new car was ready for collection. Saunders had bought the old car off her some weeks previously so Brad and Richie accompanied her to the dealer to pick up the new one so that Brad could drive the spare car back to the house.

When they arrived at the Volkswagen dealer in Guildford they started to troop over to the salesman's desk but Brad and Richie stopped short and pretended to study the door handles on a Polo to keep a dignified distance while Zelda discussed such vulgarities as money and the like. Brad was just fantasising about owning his own car, knowing it wouldn't happen for a while, when the salesman appeared at his shoulder, coughing discreetly to attract his attention.

"Mr Johnson? If you'd just come over and sign a few papers at your convenience that will be everything taken care of."

Momentarily confused, the teenager looked at Zelda. "Is it for insurance or something?"

"No Sir," the salesman interrupted. "It's the delivery confirmation and the registration documentation."

Just as the words began to sink in, Richie appeared at his side with a huge -eating grin and wrapped his arms around him, while Zelda smiled tenderly as she wished Brad a happy birthday.

Brad was mortified. Turbodiesel Passat estate cars in metallic Sahara Gold were not cheap, but to refuse was impossible after all the work that had gone into surprising him, and to create a scene in the middle of Volkswagen Guildford on a Saturday morning was rather unbecoming. Richie surprised himself with his perception of his friend's discomfort as he inventively offered the get-out Brad sought: "It's your company car, dummy."

Once they got back to Inglewood Brad pinned Zelda in the lounge. "I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, but you really shouldn't have surprised me like that. What am I going to do with the thing?"

"Use it to drive back and forth from school for a start. You can take Richie with you."

"But what will I do with it at school? I can hardly park it in the bike shed."

"Already spoken with Mr Stephens. He knows someone in the village with a garage for rent: park it there and no-one will be any wiser. But he'd prefer it if you left the keys with him to avoid the temptation to go for a spin when you shouldn't."

"Well, it seems you've thought of everything and I really appreciate all you've done for me. You shouldn't have, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Brad, when Richard has been staying over with you, you have always made him feel part of your family, sharing everything with him. This is the same thing. I'll buy him a car at eighteen, so you get one too. I told you months ago I'd happily claim you as my own, and I'm doing that."

Brad wasn't sure, but let it drop. He knew he wasn't going to win this one.

The following day, after the usual Sunday roast, the boys loaded the Passat by themselves and set off back to Trinity in the late afternoon spring sunshine. Brad kept the engine down to under 55mph to help run it in, so the journey took a little longer than normal but they had set off with plenty of time to spare. After unloading Brad took the big Volkswagen down into the village and parked it in the lock-up garage near the parish church that his Housemaster had arranged, walking the four hundred yards back to school in a matter of minutes. As he approached Wordsworth House, his heart sank as he recognised the boy unloading things from a Jeep Wrangler. It was Bob Davis.

Livid, Brad stormed into Tom Stephens' cottage, directly across from the Wordsworth House building, without knocking. The older man, who in Brad's eyes had aged surprisingly over the previous few weeks, was already on his way to the front door after having seen his student approach like a bear with a bad head. "Brad, it was a complete surprise to me too. The Head just changed his mind and didn't tell me until today."

"Just like that?"

"His parents offered to donate a new science block." He seemed deflated.

"So in other words the School just let him buy his way back in?" Brad spat back with contempt.

"No, in exactly those words. It's half a million pounds which we otherwise don't have."

"How could they?"

"Brad. I know it stinks, but that's the way it works here. That's the way it's always worked."

"Not any more it doesn't," Brad declared. "This shit stops here. Don't you understand any of this? That person... oh why am bothering? You think it's right."

The teacher held up his hand authoritatively and shook his head. "No, I don't. Not this time, not after what he did to those boys. That's why I am preparing my resignation. I can no longer support the Headmaster as a matter of principle."

Brad was thunderstruck, first silent then seething. "But you can't go. You're the best thing this school has to offer, and you will only leave like this over my dead body."

"I appreciate your support Brad, really, but don't go over there. You're going to lose this one."

"Then I'll die trying and I'll see you in heaven." And with that he stormed out, stepping onto the sacrosanct lawn of the Headmaster's house as he made his way towards its front door. Vaguely aware he was fortified by teenage bravado and black-and-white sense of justice, but without having any real control over his rage, he was back with that walk where he looked as if he was trying to knock a door down with his forehead. This time, out of fear more than deference, he knocked - with his hand.

When the Headmaster beckoned him in, he immediately looked at Brad and knew what it was about. "I thought you might be over straight away. I know it's not ideal, but you don't know the whole story."

"I know enough! Is there anything here that isn't for sale? Standards seem to be. Maybe I can buy up some old lab equipment on the cheap after the refurb. Or should I save my money for the weapons sale round the back of the armoury at next Saturday's coffee morning fundraiser?"

"Mr Johnson, it's not that simple. In the real world we always need money for new developments to keep us competitive and providing the best for the pupils. We can't raise it from fees because of price competition. Short of colluding on fees, which we obviously can't do, we have very few options to us, so we rely on donations from parents and former pupils. Bob Davis' father is both."

"Well in the real world Bob Davis would be in jail for what he did."

"Don't be melodramatic."

Brad was hopping mad by this stage. "Excuse me?"

"I said, don't be so melodramatic. What goes on within the school gates has nothing to do with the outside." For the second time in ten minutes, Brad was dumbstruck. The Headmaster continued: "Brad, the governors would expect me to take the money. They appointed me to-"

"I'll tell you what you were appointed to do, Sir," Brad interrupted. "Your job is to provide a quality education to the pupils here, and to provide a safe environment for them in loco parentis. When you allow back into the school a boy who sexually assaults another forcibly against his will, and then physically assaults two others who intervene on the victim's behalf you have failed. And there are plenty of credible witnesses."

"Don't threaten me."

"Unlike some people in apparent positions of responsibility, I will protect the people in my charge until my last breath. If you doubt that, you're going to be in for a big surprise." Brad was on a roll now. "And if you doubt the loyalty of my witnesses, then you are going to be in for an even bigger surprise."

"Brad, this is silly. The school needs the money."

"You just don't get it, do you? The school needs to know where it stands more than it needs the money. What kind of signal are you sending people? Telling the victims that they are less important than money? The criminals, and I mean criminals, that they are above the law if they're rich? This stinks!" Brad screamed. "I'll tell you what. Either Davis goes within 24 hours or I do. If he goes, no more will be said, and I will encourage Marcus Carter's family to not make a complaint to the police. And if I go, my first port of call will be Thames Valley Police with signed statements from all three of his victims. After I've done that, my next call will be to the media - the tabloids, the broadsheets, Sky News, whoever will listen. Then we'll see who's being silly."

"Brad, you are a scholar here. Over the last nine years you have had privileged access to some of the best education you can get anywhere in the world, paid for by us. After all we've done for you, would you really do that?"

"The best education, ironically the best that money can buy, taught me one thing above all others: to do the right thing. And yes, I will. Twenty four hours. Understand?"

Brad walked out of the door without being dismissed. The first thing he did was to go straight to the Third Form dorm which Marcus, Bob Gillson, Allesandro Correlli, and Richie shared with a few others to explain that Davis was apparently back and he, Brad, was 'working closely with the school to try and reach a satisfactory resolution'.

Richie knew his friend better than that and didn't buy it for one second, appearing at Brad's door minutes after the older boy had left. "Come on, spill."

Brad invited his young friend to sit on the bed next to him and wrapped a warm arm around him as he spoke, pulling Richie close to him. He covered everything that had happened earlier that evening with the two teachers, concluding with "I'm only telling you this because I trust you with any of my secrets."

Well, there was one he didn't want to share right now Brad mused, but he continued. "Don't tell anyone, cuz the last thing I want to do is orchestrate unrest amongst the pupils. But if the others are worried, why don't you and the others take a few minutes tonight to write down your recollections of that night, just in case?"

Richard smiled at him. "Brad, with all this trouble you're making I don't know whether you're really a rebel or still an anti-rebel."

"Your typical teenage rebel will do it just for the sake of it and to piss adults off. If I wanted to be a public schoolboy rebel I'd smoke, even though I know it's lethal. Or I'd play loud music at 4am, even though I hate it myself. I will never do those things, because it ultimately achieves nothing but upset, and we have enough of that already in the world. This is different. I am doing the right thing, I know I am, and it's just what grown ups raise their kids to do. Now maybe there is some massive conspiracy to raise kids to be perfect when all adults are scheming Machiavellian bastards themselves, but as long as I'm still naive enough to believe that doing the right thing is best then I am nailing my colours to the mast right here. As of now, I am a decent people activist!"

Richard hugged his friend closer, laughing into his shoulder. "You always were, Brad, you always were!"

In the event, Bob Davis didn't even stay long enough to unpack, his father's own courtesy visit to the Headmaster being enough to persuade them that the end of the road had been reached. As Brad and Richie watched him reloading his car from Brad's bedroom window, Richie turned to Brad and said "Wow, you must have pushed the right buttons in the Head man's office."

"I don't like to lose," Brad replied.

Just as Davis was leaving. Brad appeared at the front door next to his very relieved Housemaster. The big bully spoke first. "You know Johnson, you jumped up little shit, I would have got your boyfriend to suck me off, but Carter's so much prettier than that ugly little turd Young. Besides, I don't know what I might catch; there's no telling what you've passed on to him from the animals. I hope you're happy right now. The funny thing is, in a few years I'll still have everything I want, but you'll still be daddy's favourite muck-spreader saving every penny you slog your guts out for to buy spare parts for your twenty year old tractor and frilly knickers for your boyfriend."

Brad smiled back philosophically, a calm exterior hiding the emotional turmoil within. "Maybe, maybe not," he began, smiling. "But I'll be happy, so will he, and we'll have achieved that by ourselves. And we'll have our pride and dignity. You, however... you'll still be a spoilt, pathetic, and miserable little twat. Thanks for coming today. I didn't get a chance last time, but I really enjoyed putting you where you belong."

And Brad stood at the front door with Mr Stephens, waving and grinning with barely concealed glee at the condemned boy as he climbed into the Jeep beside his father and they drove off.

As they watched the Jeep disappear down the drive, the teacher turned to Brad and smiled. "Jeez you've got some balls" was the best he could muster.