Thief of Mind

by Ben Thomas

  “Erm, no. I was just checking it was off.”

  “Of course it’s off.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well I can see from here it is, and you haven’t cooked anything since you got back from the shops.” Reassurance crept up on me. “Unless it turned itself on.”

  It can turn itself on!

  I tried to ignore this complication. Of course I knew it couldn’t turn itself on.

  “Right, so it’s definitely off?”

  Bobby made a show of looking at his watch. “Yes. Come on, we are going, right now. I know what you’re doing, by the way.”

  He knows what you’re doing. He knows you’re mad.

  He transferred a bolt of panic to me.

  “You’re stalling for time because you’re worried about the reunion. Well, the oven’s off and there’s nothing to worry about. Come on, we’re going,” Bobby held his arm out to direct me towards the front door. I took one last look at the cooker and then followed Bobby’s direction.

  We stepped out into the crisp early evening air, the warmth of the daytime proving to have been an aberration. I turned to lock the front door. I would have to be efficient; Bobby was a patient guy but I could tell he was keen to get on. I pulled the door to and gave it three extra pulls, ‘Shut, shut, shut,’ then I turned the key in the lock three times hard, the handle of the key digging deep into my index finger – again the marks would be evidence that I had locked it. I always made sure to do it hard enough to cause a little indentation in my finger where it had pressed against the key. By seeing the indentation, it was a brief window of evidence that I had turned the key recently, and the door was locked. I then gave it the push test to make sure it couldn’t be pushed open, ‘Shut, shut, shut.’ Usually I would repeat this process ten times over, but I couldn’t risk acting weird in front of Bobby, so I settled for saying:

  “Right, that’s definitely locked.” I turned to look at Bobby, who was looking at me, half-smiling but shaking his head.

  “Man, you have got serious OCD or something.”

  “What do you mean?” I tried to disguise the alarm in my voice.

  “All that checking and stuff. I’ve seen a documentary on it. Mind you, your house is tidy but not freakishly tidy, so maybe you haven’t. Either way, let’s go.”

  I followed Bobby across the road to where his car was. Bobby was chatting away but I wasn’t listening because he was tugging me back:

  The cooker can turn itself on. It’s still switched on. Now when you come home the street won’t be standing. You will have caused it.

  I tried ignoring him. I knew the cooker was off. I knew that it couldn’t turn itself on.

  You can’t risk leaving it. Are you that selfish, would you put your neighbours at risk? Are you that selfish that you would put neighbours in danger? You need to check the gas. Protect your neighbours. Check the gas. Check the gas. CHECK THE GAS.

  I kept walking towards the car, trying my best to ignore him.

  Check the gas. It’s your responsibility. CHECK THE GAS.

  I reached the car door and froze.

  Bobby was already sat in the driver’s seat. He looked across and up at me. “What are you doing? Get in.”

  “Shit! I’ve forgotten something. I’ve got to go back. I’ll just be a second, promise.” I started running back to my house, leaving an exasperated Bobby in the car.

  I fervently unlocked the door and went into my kitchen to see the cooker minding its own business, completely inert. Of course I felt foolish coming back in to do this, but I had to be sure. The only problem is, you’re only sure for a brief moment that it is off. I started checking it again, but quickly this time because Bobby was waiting. I got my phone out of my pocket and used it to take a picture of the dials on the cooker as evidence that they were in the off position.

  BEEP BEEP.

  “Come on!” I said to myself. I had to go now.

  BEEP BEEP. I was clearly testing Bobby’s patience.

  I stared at the cooker one more time: yes, it was off; it must be. I started to make my way out and then quickly turned around for another look. “COME ON, TOBY!” I roared. I had the picture, I had the proof it was off. I simply had to go. I must go.

  Now I had to confront locking the front door again. I willed myself to do it.

  Come on, Toby. Just check it once.

  BEEP BEEP.

  I managed to force myself to lock it once with a deliberate action and I said quietly, “Yes, Mr Door, you are locked, locked, locked.” Then I turned and ran to Bobby’s car. Then I stopped as I felt the door like a giant magnet pulling me back.

  “Toby, it’s locked you bell-end!” bellowed Bobby.

  “Yeah,” I replied and dragged myself away from the door to Bobby’s car, tapping my chest as I went. We pulled off and finally headed to the reunion.

  As Bobby drove we sat in silence to begin with. I could understand Bobby being annoyed at me, but to be honest that was about the fastest I had been able to leave the house in a long, long time. Then, just as we pulled away from a set of traffic lights, Bobby looked at me with horror and said, “Oh no, Toby! I don’t think you locked your door.”

  What?!

  “What?” Panic and alarm made their icy way down my spine.

  “Crikey mate, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I could actually feel the colour draining from me. I had locked it, I must have. I had said, ‘Yes, Mr Door, you are locked, locked, locked.’

  “I did lock it, didn’t I?”

  A grin broke out on Bobby’s face, followed by a chuckle. “Yes, T, you did. I was just pulling your plonker. The Queen would be happy to have you as her head of security.”

  “So I did lock it, then? I did, didn’t I?” This was pathetic.

  “You did lock it, and then you locked it some more. What are you even bothered about?”

  “Well, what if someone broke in?”

  “Sheesh, T. I am beginning to feel my top banter is wasted on you.” Bobby was still smiling, but I could sense that the edges of his mouth were having latent downward pressure applied. “What have you got that’s worth pinching anyway? No offence, but your house doesn’t look like it’s stocked with high end quality goods. They could nick the cooker. That would be one less thing for you to check.”

  The cooker!

  Before he could get too worked up I brought up the picture of it on my phone, checking that it had today’s date on it, proving that it was taken today and was turned off today.

  “Anyway, that’s what insurance is for,” Bobby wittered on.

  I looked out of the window, battling the urge to ask Bobby to turn back so I could check. Maybe I could slip away unnoticed from the reunion to check. I was subtly tapping my chest again. I was not so subtle though for Bobby not to notice.

  “Blooming ’eck, T-bone, you look like a nervous wreck. I was only joking about the door. Relax, mate. Enjoy life. Instead of being a scaredy-pants and thinking about the door, concentrate on how good a time we’re going to have tonight. The ladies will be loving me and you. The old pulling machine team, back in action.”

  I laughed at this. Bobby wasn’t renowned for his pulling success back in the day, but I had to admit, he did have a certain way with him, a charisma and presence which I could easily understand some women being attracted to. It was that confidence thing again. Bobby was smiling that warm genuine smile of his and, for a moment, that smile melted away my anxiety and persuaded me to smile too.

  12

  The reunion was being held in the Empress Hotel, one of the best in Manchester. It crossed my mind that it was a particularly high-end venue for what I assumed would be a low-key reunion of school friends. I was feeling at once nervous and excited. It was a rare feeling, excitement, but I liked it. Thanks to me, we were running a bit late. It was
n’t unusual for me to be running late, but it might have been unusual for Bobby and it would be understandable for Bobby to be frustrated with me. If he was, he didn’t show it as he continued to laugh and joke his way to the venue and regale me with examples of his self-proclaimed awesomeness.

  When we entered the hotel reception, another clue to the classiness of the hotel was the plethora of people making their way into one of the hotel’s reception rooms with the men in dinner jackets and the ladies in elegant cocktail dresses. Bobby and I went to the reception desk to be greeted by a stern looking lady.

  “Good evening, we’re here for the Silverdale Foundation benefit event.”

  What benefit event? I thought as Bobby announced our arrival. The receptionist’s stern face showed traces of contempt as she looked us up and down and replied, “It’s a private event. Your name would need to be on the guest list.”

  “That’s right,” said Bobby without missing a beat, his huge smile contrasting with the receptionist’s frown. “You will see my name on said list: Robert Stacey, Bobby to my friends. You may call me Bobby.”

  The receptionist sighed, took out a list from under her desk and began studying the names.

  “I’ve got the invitation here and here’s my driving licence. Let me warn you though, the picture doesn’t do me justice…Sarah,” said Bobby, noting the receptionist’s name from her badge. Against all the odds, the hint of a smile cracked on Sarah’s face.

  “It’s okay, Mr Stacey, your name is here: Robert Stacey and guest.”

  “And this lucky man here is my guest.” Bobby proudly indicated me and then whispered to Sarah, “It’s our first date.”

  Sarah smiled a little bit more before saying, “The black tie event is in the Abbey suite, just over there, past the concierge desk. Have a good evening.”

  Something wasn’t adding up here. Sarah had directed us to the suite where the people we had first noticed were going, and I hadn’t recognised any of those people from school. Bobby had started walking purposefully towards the Abbey suite, leaving me standing mainly in confusion but with a little bit of panic trying to make itself heard.

  “Hold on, Bobby,” I said, “what’s this about a black tie event?”

  “Erm, yeah, I must have missed the bit where it said black tie.”

  “And what’s this about a charity event? I thought it was a low key reunion of some of our schoolmates.” I was trying to be controlled but my speech was flecked with anger and alarm.

  “It’s a reunion under the guise of a charity event. It’s both.” Bobby was looking at a sign which was clearly the seating plan for this ‘low key’ reunion where I counted over fifteen tables seating ten each. “See, here we are. The reunion’s on table seven. Hmm.” Bobby considered the names on our allotted table. “Yes, we’re all on here.”

  I went to look but Bobby cheekily covered up the names with his hand, “Ah, ah, ah, let’s keep the suspense going a bit longer. Right, let’s make our entrance.”

  “Bobby, we can’t go in looking like this.”

  “What do you mean? We’re looking pretty sexy.”

  “Bob, it’s a black tie event.”

  “Relax, they’re not going to chuck us out. No one will even notice. And if they do, they’ll just think we’re a couple of hot shots who walk to the beat of their own drum. Y’know, cool dudes.”

  “Cool dudes.” I was not impressed by Bobby’s argument.

  “Cool dudes, my friend. Just walk in like you own the place. Strut like you’re the man. Just pretend you’re Bobby Stacey. It’ll be great. Besides, we know the organiser.” With that Bobby strutted his way into the suite and I followed, minus the strut.

  We were greeted by a sea of people already seated at their tables with their attention on a young lady who was clearly giving the opening speech. I should say their attention was on the speechmaker until their attention was diverted by the two bumbling latecomers. There was no danger of me strutting now, even if I’d known how. I wanted to curl up in a ball, and my walk was more akin to a bear crawl as humiliation pushed my shoulders to the floor. This couldn’t have been any more embarrassing.

  “Sorry we’re late, everyone.” I was wrong. It just got more embarrassing. “Do you know where table seven is, please?” Bobby said out loud as if he was having a conversation with absolutely everybody in the room. I wanted the floor to swallow me up.

  An affronted speechmaker said, “Just over there,” and pointed to a table where, on the other side of the vast room, some arms were waving.

  “Excellent. Thank you. Yes, please carry on as you were,” a nonchalant Bobby said as we made our way to the table.

  You’re ruining this for everyone. You’re late. You couldn’t even be bothered to dress up properly. Don’t say anything offensive to anyone. Don’t make it worse. Don’t show yourself up. Don’t upset these people. What if you shout obscenities at them? Don’t do it. Don’t let those words come out of your mouth. You’re thinking it, you’ll say it.

  What could make this situation worse? Well, me shouting out obscenities to the people in here could. I adopted a safety technique I had used over the years to prevent myself insulting people or incriminating myself by saying out loud things I didn’t want to. I bit my tongue hard and kept the bite on. There was no way I could speak if my tongue was being restrained by my teeth. I had to bite hard, to make it sore enough for me to notice so I could be sure my tongue was impounded. If he tried telling me I had said something controversial out loud, I could counter that by proving otherwise, by virtue of the fact that my tongue was tightly bound.

  I was keeping my head down as we moved towards the table. I could still sense everyone’s eyes on us and could make out the odd whisper calling attention to our singular interpretation of the dress code. My head was still bowed, too embarrassed to look up as we took our seats, until Bobby nudged me. I lifted my head to see his smile beaming even brighter than usual, as with a great sweep of his arm he directed me to the other guests on our table. I looked up to see seven smiles as bright as Bobby’s, and those smiles were owned by seven familiar faces: Al, Pete, Louise, Dave, Ryan, Darren and Helen.

  I’m not often the centre of attention or the catalyst for excitement, but since my arrival our table was like one of the bottles of pop that we at the table used to buy from the swimming baths’ tuck shop while we should have been attending Science, a bottle shook up with the screw cap on, ready to explode. And as soon as the opening speech was over, the bottle top was unscrewed:

  “Toby! Toby Brammall, is it really you?” Al was the first to speak.

  “Yes, it’s really him. Touch him,” said Bobby, squeezing one of my biceps. “He’s real and feels good. Even got a glance of him in the shower before, and he’s looking good, ladies.” Bobby inclined his head in turn to Lou and Helen. “I told you I had a surprise for you.” Bobby was looking particularly pleased with himself.

  “Hi, everyone.” I meekly offered up a wave. There followed a quick-fire question round.

  “How long has it been?” came Dave.

  “Fifteen long years,” answered Bobby on my behalf.

  “So, are you married or got a missus?” quizzed Ryan.

  “He’s still single and ready to mingle and subsequently will be joining me on the pull later on.” Bobby again.

  “Bloody hell, Bobby, you’re not his agent. Let the man speak,” ordered Al.

  To be honest, I was grateful for Bobby acting as my unofficial spokesman as it bought me a bit of time to get over my bewilderment and to adapt to the reality of being face to face with some of my best friends for the first time in over a decade. They had barely changed from how I remembered them. Al’s hair was still cropped and still threatening to recede, but the threat had clearly not yet been carried out. Darren always liked working out and he had clearly continued pumping iron as his muscular frame took up the equival
ent of two seats. That was probably why there were only nine at our table when there was meant to be ten. Pete was looking good, his blonde indie band hairstyle replaced by a short back and sides, slightly-ruffled-on-top look. We used to take the mickey out of him for a mole he had on his chin, but unless my madness was taking another turn, it appeared the mole had gone. Lou’s long brown hair was now a blonde bob, which suited her. Sat next to Lou was Ryan, who had probably changed the most by virtue of the fact that he no longer had hair but he still had his elephantine ears. His follicle challenge did nothing to draw attention away from them. On the other side of Lou with his arm proprietorially wrapped around her was Dave. He was always a handsome one and I was slightly disappointed to see that he still was, albeit his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep and a few lines had been introduced on his forehead.

  Then there was Helen, and she still looked, well, stunning. She had shoulder length brown hair, thick lips and piercing brown eyes. Where was her smile though? It was what had first attracted me to her. There was an attempt at a smile, but I discerned it was not as generous as that of the others. Of course everyone looked resplendent in their classic evening wear.

  “Are you a dad yet, Toby?” asked Lou.

  “He just said he was single,” chirped Ryan.

  “Well, Bobby said. And he could still be a father from a previous relationship.”

  “No, I don’t think I’m ready to be a parent. How about you?” I quickly deflected attention away from me.

  “We’re not ready either, but we have a five, three and two-year-old. Jo, Matilda and Grace,” Dave said, revealing the reason for his tired eyes and also that he and Lou were together, and judging by the rings on their respective relevant fingers, married.

  “So, Toby, where’re you working these days?” Ryan again.

  “I was working in an accountant’s office but I’m taking some time out for now.”

  “Chartered accountant, very nice,” Ryan looked so impressed I didn’t bother to correct him. Admin officer didn’t have the same ring to it.