After that day he vowed that he was never attending anotherfamily wedding again, at least not until his own kids got married. At leastthen he’d have a say in the seating plan and could make sure Ian was as far awayfrom him as possible, or preferably not there at all.
Thankfully, Ian was yet to make his odious presence felt in1984 so that meant he could spend some quality time with his sister before she’dbeen ruined by his greed and money.
When she spoke, it was to set in motion the chain of eventshe was expecting. He had chosen to come back to this particular day for a specificreason, one that Annie was about to make possible.
“I’m going to go into town this morning. Do you want to comewith me?”
“Will it be OK for me to come without Mum there?” asked Kent.His memory of the day in question was more than a little hazy. Had it just beenthe two of them? Children of their age were not generally allowed out on theirown, were they?
“I don’t see why not,” replied Annie. “She doesn’t mind usgoing to the park.”
Of course she wouldn’t, mused Kent. It was just one of themany ways that the world had changed during his lifetime. In 2018, it would be unusualfor a ten- and a seven-year-old to be allowed out without a parent, especially intotown, but in 1984 it was nothing unusual. Parents at that time were far lessprotective of their kids than those same kids would grow up to be of theirs. A numberof high-profile child abduction cases in the intervening years had created theperception that the world had become a more dangerous place.
That was the belief, but if anything, it was probably safer.The paedophiles that had preyed on children had always been around, it was justthat people had been less aware of them. People were far more clued-up now and therewere far more protective and preventative measures in place to protect childrenthan there had been in Kent’s day. What she was about to say was to make thatabundantly clear.
“What time do you want to go?” he asked.
“In about half an hour,” she replied. “I just want to finishwriting this letter to Jimmy Savile first.”
Kent’s first reaction was one of horror. “I really don’tthink that’s a good idea,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked. “I thought you liked Jim’ll Fix It.Last week you said you wanted to be on it.
What could he say? He could hardly tell her the sordid truthabout the host of the show. As a seven-year-old he wouldn’t even be expected toknow about such things. All he could do was offer a fairly lame response.
“I did, but I’ve sort of gone off it recently. What are youasking him?”
“I’m asking if I can dress up like a popstar and sing with Bananarama,”replied Annie.
My God, thought Kent, she couldn’t have asked for anythingworse. But then he stopped to consider it more closely for a moment andrelaxed. He didn’t remember Annie writing to the show, but he knew for certain shehad never appeared on it. He would definitely have remembered that. He doubtedthat she would even have received a reply to her letter. Thousands of kids probablywrote in every week. None of them could have had any inkling at the time thatthe host would turn out to be one of the worst child abusers in history.
He wished there was something he could do to protect the supposedlylucky kids who did get on the show, but in his seven-year-old form, what couldhe possibly achieve? His adult colleagues in the force hadn’t managed to bringcharges against Savile when he was alive, despite numerous allegations, so whatcould he do at the age of seven? He may as well let her get on with it, posther letter, and have it consigned to the bin at the BBC along with all theother failed applications.
“Have you still got your pocket money saved up?” asked Annie.“You haven’t spent it all on sweets, have you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll go and check,” he replied.
Kent went back upstairs, which gave him a chance to have aproper look around his bedroom, packed full of memories.
“My Mr. Men books!” he exclaimed, as he examined thewhite wooden bookshelf beneath the window, only three shelves high, but significantlytaller than his seven-year-old self. What had happened to these books? He couldn’tremember getting rid of them, but he must have done at some point.
He recalled a vague memory from his early teens of his bestfriend, Glen, ridiculing some of his childish stuff. Later that day he hadchucked it all out in an attempt to look cool. Maybe that was when the Mr.Men books had gone. How he regretted that now. He could have kept them forhis own kids. Peer pressure had made him do some bloody stupid things in hisyouth.
He picked up his favourite, Mr. Nosey and flickedthrough it, laughing again at the scrapes that the character got into. How hehad loved these books and had forgotten all about them. He may have chucked outhis copies, but he should have remembered them and bought them again for hisown kids.
Why hadn’t he? Too busy with police work, that’s why, andwhere had it got him? Nowhere, and now they were teenagers and he’d missed outon their younger years. There was no point trying to get involved in theirlives now, it was too late. They wouldn’t be interested, even if he tried.
Remembering that he was supposedly allowed to go back intime six times, he made a mental note to make sure he used one of those days togo back and spend it with his kids when they were little and still hero-worshippedhim.
He put the book back on the shelf and looked around the restof the room. Scattered about on the floor
