Dear Bel,
I have a terrible moral quandary. I’m a divorcee who has lived in a flat in a small, respectable estate since my adult children moved out. I know all of my neighbours well as we share a communal hallway and green — a tight-knit little community.
A year ago, a pleasant-seeming 60-something man moved in to one of the flats and quickly ingratiated himself as he tidied up some of the communal areas. He told us he had previously been a long-distance lorry driver, so had never really settled, and had got divorced hence moving in alone.
One night, I idly decided to look him up on social media (I know I shouldn’t have), but couldn’t find a trace. I tried a search engine, and because I found nothing tried a few longer versions of his name (He had told us he was called ‘Jim’, I tried ‘James’).
Depending on other factors, the decision to tell your neighbours may not be completely down to you, says Bel Mooney
I was shocked to find a news article, with picture, about him being convicted and jailed for having child pornography several years ago.
Some of my neighbours have young children and there’s a little playground on the green. I’m horrified to think this man lives in our midst, and none of my neighbours know what he’s capable of.
But on the other hand, I’ve read about vigilante mobs attacking paedophiles and he has served his time. Does he deserve a chance for a new life, even if I can never look him in the eye again? Should I tell my neighbours — or keep quiet?
PAM
Bel Mooney replies: This is very disturbing. You say you ‘shouldn’t’ have looked him up, but curiosity is natural.
Most of us like to know about other people. But I wonder if you thought there was something odd about him?
Back in the Seventies I wrote rather a lot about prisons and prisoners for a Left-wing political weekly and still hold some of those liberal views. As you say, if a person has served their time in jail then surely they are entitled to a new start? Should they be forever shunned by their fellow citizens? The pragmatic answer is, ‘It depends on the crime.’
I think I could tolerate a fraudster or a thief living over the road, thinking they should be able to rebuild their life with a clean slate. But I could not extend such mercy to anybody who had been cruel.
The most vulnerable members of our society are the ones in greatest need of protection, which is why crimes against children rightly set off the strongest feelings of revulsion — and rage.
Of course, the man’s offence might have been committed when he was ill or under incredible strain and was overtaken by a sort of madness which led to his behaviour. He may have changed and feel acute shame that his crime was serious enough for the custodial sentence which would have resulted in him being put on the Sex Offenders Register.
He may also be subject to a Sexual Harm Prevention Order. Like Megan’s Law in the U.S., Sarah’s Law is a disclosure scheme across England and Wales which allows people to formally ask the police about people they are concerned about, who have access to their child, and if they have any child sex offences.
So (depending on how long ago he was jailed) the issue may not be completely down to you. I must emphasise that I am not a lawyer, so suggest you take advice. The crucial point is surely that you would never forgive yourself if you did nothing, only to discover later that he’d been hanging around the playground — or worse.
You are right to be horrified at the thought of unleashing a vigilante mob to hound the man out of your community. You talk of ‘never looking him in the eye again’ yet my gut feeling is that somebody does need to speak to him.
Is there a male member of your community whom you trust? Somebody calm and authoritative? What if you were to confide in him and ask him to accompany you to the police to clarify the situation? He might also have a quiet word with the man who is worrying you so much. I think you need some help to achieve peace of mind.
I stayed with my wife after affair 25 years ago
Dear Bel,
I refer to the letter on May 11: ‘I still rage at my late husband’s affair’. I wanted to acknowledge your advice because I emailed you last year (too long, too emotional) on the same topic.
After 20 years of marriage and three teenage children, I discovered in 1999 (by accident, there were no signs) that my wife was in a long-term affair at work. Business trips, conferences, courses with overnight stays etc were all used to conduct the affair.
I had no inkling. I trusted and loved her and believed she felt the same. Their work colleagues all knew as we’d attend functions with her lover and his wife. The cruelty, humiliation and (I assumed) ridicule shattered my belief in all I thought I had.
My wife was utterly distraught and hysterical when I confronted her — as he was the man she wanted, not me.
She was inconsolable for ages, but we did stay together. I knew it was for our children, not for our marriage.
As in the case of ‘Kathleen’ our sex life essentially ended then. My wife had changed, there was no desire, passion or willingness on her part.
The tension, stress and anger turned into a complete rejection of physical contact. We’ve remained together and, in every other respect, have had a long and mostly very happy marriage.
Our children married lovely people then had grandchildren; we are retired, financially secure, enjoy each other’s company, go on holiday, spend time together and yes, we do love each other — but differently.
You may well ask what my problem is. I’ve now been in a platonic marriage since my late 40s, due solely to my wife’s decisions.
Heading for 70, I feel cheated in so many ways, not just by her betrayal, but also the permanent diminishment of our marriage.
We’ll be together for life — more lifelong friends than a couple.
Too often I think about the damage her affair has caused. My feelings vary: anger, grief, sadness at the marriage I’ve actually lost, but am still in, and the woman who caused that.
I often feel I could have coped with bereavement more easily. Your reply to Kathleen did give me some comfort in that I now know I’m far from alone in being unable to come to terms with what my wife did. For that I feel I must thank you.
PATRICK
Bel Mooney replies:Bel Mooney replies: Thank you for writing again, even though you have no specific question. I decided to print your letter to underline the fact that both sexes can fall passionately in love and do great damage to marriages/long relationships, which may not always survive.
Men hurt women and women hurt men, because passionate, illicit love can be a force as great as any earthquake, sweeping all before it.
The affair that devastated ‘Kathleen’ happened 34 years ago; your heart was broken 25 years ago and both of you prove that time isn’t always a healer.
I have no time for those whose grating optimism proclaim that those who have been terribly hurt can ‘get over it’ or ‘move on’.
Yes, they might well come, in time, to accommodate the hurt that has been inflicted on them, which means learning to live with it, albeit with difficulty. Yet it will always remain a scar.
Of course, some people can forgive — but they can never forget, and occasionally the memory of pain and rage will slice into that old scar and let loose fresh, scarlet blood. Those who escape such experiences are fortunate indeed.
Some of us (and yes, that includes me) have both inflicted great hurt and been on the receiving end of equally bad hurt, and remain sadder and wiser as a result.
Years and years pass, yet it takes a second’s flash of memory to make you guilty or anguished all over again.
Great literature has always provided insight for me. Tolstoy, George Eliot, Thackeray, Dickens and many more have, through their words, illuminated the plight of hapless, hopeless humans who weep, sin and ask for pity.
It’s all we can do, you know — understand how people behave and make allowances for them. Because who knows what we might have done ourselves were circumstances different? A chain of destruction can be started by the sight of a face across a room.
You still love the wife who hurt you. You still resent the years spent with no physical affection. You have found happiness in the shared love of children and grandchildren, and in all the small things which bring contentment to lives that have learned to accept compromise as a necessary means to survival.
There is a beautiful passage in one of Edith Wharton’s stories, when the heroine has discovered her husband’s lies: ‘She saw now, in this last wide flash of pity …that as a comely marble may be made out of worthless scraps of mortar, glass and pebbles, so out of mean mixed substances may be fashioned a love that will bear the stress of life.’
I hope you can try to live in the present and allow the good things you share with your wife to bring you peace.
- Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week.
- Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 9 Derry Street, London W8 5HY, or email [email protected].
- Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.
