An Unlocked Mind Read online

  “Rob?”

  Rob turned and gave Mr. Peterson his best smile. Not going to let him get to me. He’d done everything the manager had thrown at him, not complaining once. It hadn’t kept Mr. Peterson from riding him, though. Maybe with a better attitude, Rob could turn that around and get back to his regular work schedule. Right now, he wasn’t allowed to work the weekends, as Mr. Peterson thought he needed remedial training and didn’t want him in front with the customers. But one look at his schedule for the day had put a smile on Rob’s face. Working the tills, ringing up the purchases—this was something like normal.

  It might have been down to the remnants of his weekend, but Rob couldn’t get over the feeling that maybe things were finally getting better.

  “Good morning, Mr. Peterson. How are you?”

  When Mr. Peterson frowned, Rob knew his good mood was about to take a nosedive.

  “I’ve got you cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen today.”

  Rob froze. “But… I was scheduled to work on the tills,” he said, trying to control his frustration.

  Emptying and cleaning the grease traps was the nastiest job in the place, so nasty that the supermarket hired a company to come in and do it. Rob had been there once when the workmen had suctioned them out, and it had taken everything he’d had not to heave.

  Logic took over. “I don’t have anything to wear for that.”

  Mr. Peterson waved a hand. “Find something in the storage cupboard. Sorry, but we need to have them done before the inspector arrives, and our cleaning people canceled the appointment.”

  Anger surged through Rob. And of course it had to be me, right? He clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at the man.

  Mr. Peterson gave him a mild stare. “Well, get on with it, then.”

  Rob gave him a terse nod, then stomped to the back of the store where the cupboard was located. He scanned the racks, searching for anything that would be an effective barrier. Eventually he found a pair of overalls that fitted him like a clown suit—all big and floppy—and some tattered rubber gloves. Not the ideal gear for the job, but it was better than getting his uniform dirty. He lugged the clothes to the lockers and changed into them. As he walked through the store toward the kitchens, he ignored the snickers and chuckles from a few members of staff.

  Fuck ’em. Don’t lose your temper. It’s not worth it if you lose your job too.

  He went into the back area of the kitchen, where he grabbed a large ladle and a white plastic bucket. He lugged them to the employee-only area where the pit was located and opened the grate up. The smell wafted through the air, and Rob’s stomach clenched. Rancid grease from the roasted chickens and other meats—a thick, gelatinous gloopy mess—bubbled in the pit.

  Rob’s stomach gurgled as he pushed the ladle into the trap, the smell damn near overpowering. His eyes watered as he scooped the rendered fat into the bucket, moving as quickly as he could, wanting to be done with this job.

  Why is he doing this? Rob wondered, not for the first time. Yet again the idea of filing a complaint pushed to the surface of his mind, but considering his and Jamie’s history with the store, it was best not to pursue it. In the last few weeks, he’d scanned the Jobs pages of the local newspaper and applied for anything that he was suitably qualified for, not that there was a lot. Most places wanted someone younger than him—minimum wage was a bitch—and for some, having GCSEs and A-Levels meant he was overqualified, and thus far none of them had panned out. So, for the moment at least, he was stuck here if he wanted to pay his bills.

  As he pushed his arm down into the well, he felt the sticky, cold grease seeping into the glove and onto his hand. Rob shuddered. Truly, he’d never felt anything as disgusting as this. And knowing that the putrescence was going to cling to him too? Fuck.

  It took him almost three hours before the drains were clean enough that Rob thought they’d pass inspection. He got up off his knees, picked up the bucket, and carried it to the bin to the rear of the supermarket, where he dumped the mess. Then he went back into the shop, stripped off the overalls and gloves, and then tossed them into the dustbin. Once he was in the locker room, he pumped a mound of soap onto his hands and began to scrub at his arms. Slowly the yellow gloop came off, along with a layer of skin. The smell, however, lingered, although Rob couldn’t tell if it was from him or the sink.

  The door to the lockers opened, and Mr. Peterson stepped in. After sniffing, his nose wrinkled and he scowled. “Are you done?”

  Rob’s stomach plummeted. Would it kill him to smile, just once? “Yes, sir. I’ve emptied the bucket into the bin out back. Now I’m just trying to get this stuff off my hands. There were holes in the gloves and—”

  Mr. Peterson gave an impatient wave. “It doesn’t matter. Punch out and go home.”

  Rob blinked. “What? But why?”

  There was that wrinkled nose again. “There’s no way you can be out around our customers smelling like that.”

  Rob wanted to rage. He’d been told to clean, and that was what he did. He made a supreme effort to keep his cool. “But… I can’t afford to lose the hours. I need them to pay my bills.”

  “Come back tomorrow. Just make sure you’ve showered.” Without another word, Mr. Peterson turned and pushed the door as he exited.

  Rob couldn’t believe it. He was numb as he went to his locker and pulled out his clothes. If he expected to pay his bills now, he was going to have to dip into his computer money again. He’d been saving up for almost two years to buy a new one, all whistles and bells, and now he’d have to wait even longer. He dressed quickly, got up, and exited the building.

  The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is have a shower. He could smell the vile odor that clung to his hair, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers through it, as was his habit. But as he neared the bus stop, a sign caught his attention—the swirling red, white, and blue stripes of a barber’s pole.

  Vic’s words were there, at the forefront of his mind. So my hair’s too long, is it? Rob pulled his wallet from his pocket and peered inside. A lonely ten-pound note sat there.

  Enough for a haircut. He could always walk home. His mind made up, Rob walked up to the barber’s shop, but when he placed his hand upon the glass door, he paused. I can’t go in like this. I stink. He turned to walk away, but halted yet again. And if not now, when? Strike while the iron is hot. You know if you leave it, you’ll only make excuses.

  His heart pounding, Rob pushed open the door to the shop and went inside.

  The barber turned out to be an older man with a lot more understanding and tact than a younger one might have shown. He washed Rob’s hair thoroughly, until all Rob could smell was the pleasant scent of the shampoo. And when the electric razor buzzed against his skull, Rob took a deep breath and told his stroppy inner voice what it could do with itself.

  One thing about having less hair? His head felt the cold more quickly, especially during the long walk home. It also gave him way too much time to think about his finances. By the time he got into the flat, the shower was forgotten. He sat down with a notepad and pen, and figured out all his bills for the month. Reluctantly he took the envelope that contained all the bank notes he’d put aside for the laptop from his drawer. He counted out the amount he’d need to cover the bills, shoved them into a bank envelope with a paying-in slip, and then left his flat to walk to the bank. Once he’d deposited the envelope in the slot of the ATM machine, he trudged back to his flat at a brisk pace, trying not to think about the sum he had left. Four hundred pounds. Enough for a crappy computer, not even close to the one he’d been hoping to buy. He’d put aside everything he could afford, and for a time, the computer had been tantalizingly close. Now? He sighed. Maybe some dreams aren’t meant to be.

  Then he shook himself. Okay, so he was weary to his bones, but he knew he’d get through this. He had to. One thing was certain: it wasn’t in him to give up. Rob Daniels never gave up.

  HOLY SHIT, they weren’t
kidding when they said Thank God for Fridays.

  Rob had come to the conclusion long ago that when he wanted a week to fly by, somehow it knew and decided to be bloody-minded and crawl…. This week had proved to be no exception. He couldn’t remember ever thinking of his tiny flat as a home, but right now he was happy to be heading toward it. He got off the bus and walked along the narrow streets, feeling so fucking good to be off for a weekend.

  Why did Mr. Peterson have to turn into a right bastard, just like every other manager I’ve worked with before? Because if there was a way to fuck with someone, Mr. Peterson found it. The grease traps on Monday had only been the start. Tuesday, it was stripping the floor overnight, waxing it, and having everything put back together before the store opened, then coming in eight hours later to work a shift. The only saving grace was Wednesday when Cassidy, one of the stock boys, called off and they needed someone to cover. Rob was grateful for the extra hours, so he jumped at the chance to work a double shift. Thursday, he’d had to rearrange the stockroom, dusting the shelves, washing the floors, and doing stock checks as he worked. But Friday…. Fuck, Mr. Peterson had him doing three jobs at once. He was expected to bag groceries, while simultaneously getting shopping trolleys from the car park.

  Why didn’t he have me shove a broom up my arse and sweep the floor while I was at it? It would have been funny, but for the fact that Rob had then been given the task of sweeping up the debris that had gotten strewn everywhere by careless shoppers.

  What pleased Rob was the way he’d handled it with aplomb. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t refuse, and said yes sir and no sir when needed. He was the model employee, and it seemed to annoy his boss, not what Rob had set out to do, but by then he was taking a certain satisfaction from it. At long last the weekend had arrived, he’d worked his arse off, and tonight he deserved a break. He checked his wallet, hoping that there would be some money in there, but all he found were a few pieces of lint. The thought of his envelope of computer cash rose in his mind, and he shoved it aside.

  Bad idea. Just get home, put on the TV, and don’t even think about going out.

  “Hey, Rob!”

  He came to a halt at the end of his street and turned to see….

  Fuck. Jamie.

  Rob had lost track of how long it had been since he’d seen his former best mate, but it had clearly been a while. Jamie appeared to have lost a lot of weight. His hair was longer, looking decidedly greasy and unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot.

  Christ, he used to look really good. He—

  Dammit, he was walking toward Rob and there was no place to go, nothing to do except stand there and wait for him to catch up.

  “I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Jamie came to a halt in front of him, slightly breathless.

  “Hey. How are you?” Rob asked, though he didn’t really care to hear the answer. At one time, he and Jamie had been closer than Rob and his own brother. Except all that changed, didn’t it? Rob wouldn’t have been heartbroken if he never saw Jamie again. Just the sight of him brought it all back.

  Jamie grinned widely. “Aw, mate, I’m grand. Been shagging this older bird, y’know? She’s got two kids and a husband, but she likes the young stuff.” Jamie cupped his crotch, thrust into his hand, and leered. “She’s always like, ‘No, no, we shouldn’t,’” he said, his voice rising in pitch, “but then ten minutes later she’s got her legs in the air, begging me to go harder.” He shook his head, still grinning. “For someone her age, she’s got a fucking awesome sex drive.”

  Time might have passed, but it seemed nothing had changed. Conversations like this had been the norm. They’d get together and trade sex stories, each one bigger than the last. For Rob’s part, most of them were true. He’d done it with a lot of girls. He and Jamie had even picked up two sisters once, taken them back to Jamie’s house, and that had been—

  Rob’s stomach clenched. God, get me out of here. Talking with Jamie was the last thing he wanted to be doing right then. Just looking at him brought too many memories floating up to the surface, memories he’d done his best to push down, ignore, but no, they kept right on bobbing up to where he could see them, experience them all over again. And Rob did not want to be that person, no sir.

  Since the night he’d spent at Vic’s house, Rob had been forced to take a hard look at himself. It certainly wasn’t anything the guy had said to him. No, that had nothing to do with it. Their conversations had simply forced him to reevaluate his life and what he wanted out of it.

  And what he didn’t.

  “Like the haircut.” The sneer Jamie wore implied the exact opposite of his words. “Never thought you’d go for a buzz cut.”

  Rob reached up to slide his fingers over his scalp. Though it had been almost a week, the bristly cut still felt strange. “Yeah, wanted something different,” he said. “My boss wants us to look presentable.”

  Jamie’s eyes gleamed. “You’re working? Where?”

  The sudden interest made Rob’s pulse quicken. When they’d been friends, he and Jamie had shoplifted more than a few things from the supermarket where Rob now worked. Nothing big—a few cans of beer, a couple of packs of cigarettes, in the days before they’d changed everything and it had been as simple as leaning over the counter to grab them. Occasionally they’d managed to steal a bottle of vodka. Once Rob had left home, he’d needed a job, not that jobs were so easy to come by in this economy. When he’d applied to the supermarket, memories of the things he and Jamie had done came rushing back to him. He’d felt certain when he met the manager that he was blushing with embarrassment.

  “Watts,” Rob replied softly.

  Jamie howled with laughter, only it didn’t ring of amusement. It was mean and ugly—an unfortunate reflection of Rob’s former friend.

  Was he always like this? How come I never saw it?

  Rob had to move, had to get out of there. “Yeah, well, it was good seeing you, but I have to go. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got a load of stuff to do at home.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jamie replied absently. “So, listen, we should get together some time. Maybe this weekend? Willie’s having a party. Lots of girls, alcohol, and he says he’s scored some really good shit.”

  Oh, hell no. Rob wanted nothing more to do with Jamie. It was bad enough that even though they were adults, Jamie seemed as immature as he’d been back in his teens. Rob, at least, had wanted to make something better for himself. Well, he’d been trying, with the idea of going to night school. And from the sound of it, Jamie’s friends had gotten him involved with harder drugs.

  There was no way Rob was going anywhere near that shit.

  “We’ll see,” Rob said noncommittally, praying Jamie would pick up the hint.

  No such luck.

  “Oh, I see. You’re too good for us now?” Jamie spat on the ground. “After your brother turned out to be a fag, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to be any different.”

  Rob froze. “Fuck you,” he snapped, annoyed to hear the quaver in his own voice. “Alex has nothing to do with it. Leave him out of this. And if I don’t want to go to some fucking lame party, then that’s my decision, isn’t it?” He paused, his hands clenched into fists. “Have you looked at yourself lately? I mean, really looked? You’re still talking about shagging, getting rat-arsed, and getting high. Don’t you think it’s about fucking time you grew up?” Rob was shaking. There was no doubt he was overreacting, but then he knew what lay at the heart of it. Jamie embodied everything about Rob that he hated about himself—the secrets, the lies, the way Jamie had made him feel that night, the one Rob strove so hard to forget. The mention of Alex drove home one point more than any other—just how much Rob had lost.

  He wasn’t about to let Jamie get a word in. One look at his face, the open mouth, the wide eyes, told Rob that Jamie was winding up to blast him. “You—”

  Rob held up his hand. “Save it. We’re not friends anymore. We haven’t been for a while, and to be hones
t, I can’t understand why we ever were. I’m not remotely interested in anything else you have to say to me.” He strode away, not waiting for the fallout, not looking back.

  By the time he reached his front door, there was nothing behind him but silence. He fumbled with the key, got inside, and pushed the door shut, locking out the world. His body trembled and his heartbeat raced.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  Gone was the idea of a quiet night in. He needed a break, because there was no way in hell he wanted to be staring at his four walls, with nothing for company but his own thoughts. He raked his nails over his scalp, and Vic was suddenly there in his mind. Rob gave an inward snort. What would he say if he saw my hair now?

  Mere seconds later, he had another thought. I need a break, right? So why not go find out what he thinks? Fuck the voice that told him to stay the hell away, that it was a really bad idea. That voice knew bugger all. It took less than a minute to get his hands on his cash envelope, and a matter of seconds before he’d counted out enough for the train, plus a bit extra.

  Screw the computer. I need this.

  Chapter Seven

  NINETY MINUTES later Rob found himself on the train bound for London. He stared out through the window at the landscape that swept by, berating himself for this impetuous behavior. Now his computer fund didn’t even have enough for a cheap piece of crap laptop. Why am I doing this? He had no clue.

  He got out his phone, and after a minute spent cursing the intermittent signal, searched for Champneys Close, the road sign he’d caught sight of when Vic had driven him to Euston. Rob did a mental reckoning. The trip had taken maybe an hour, maybe longer. Now all he had to do was work backward to figure out how to get there.

  His stomach churned. And what is Vic going to say when I show up out of the blue? Will he even be there? And if he is, is he going to be happy to see me? Probably not, considering Rob’s behavior the last time. But he wanted to see Vic, to show him that he was capable of making a change. To surprise him with the change in his appearance.