Thief of Mind

by Ben Thomas

  “Crazy golf, Bobby!” I growled through clenched teeth. “Crazy golf? Are you taking the piss?” My shout was barely disguised as a whisper.

  See, he knows you’re mad

  “Not crazy golf. We don’t use that term any more. This is adventure golf.” Bobby was still smiling, but I could tell that for once this was a nervous smile.

  “We can’t play here looking like a pair of bell-ends.” I was frantically looking around at the smiles and giggles that crushed around us.

  They’re laughing at you. Humiliating you.

  “We look like golfers, not bell-ends, and people love it. We’re bringing enjoyment to their lives. Listen, I thought it would be a good idea to help you face up to your fears, but that was before you explained them to me. I gave you the opportunity to abort earlier. I didn’t actually tell you to bring real golf clubs and dress like a clown, did I?”

  “You gave me incomplete information to make a decision.”

  “You’ve done the hard bit, walking from the car to here and nothing bad has happened, has it?”

  “Nothing bad? This is bad. It’s bloody embarrassing,” I hissed.

  “Toby, even after all you’ve told me, I still see you the same, and I am going to treat you the same and say to you: get over it. Stop worrying about what other people think. Honestly, it really doesn’t matter what other people think of you, as long as you’re not causing harm. Some people might think we’re tossers, but that’s their issue. Most people are amused and probably think we are top guys enjoying life, which is the truth of the matter. You can either trudge back to the car feeling more self-conscious, or you can play an epic round of golf and have some fun and then walk back to the car with a spring in your step.”

  I was biting my bottom lip, feeling angry and embarrassed, and he was enjoying my discomfort, but I knew what I had to do: I had to keep on keeping on. He had shown me that he was very much alive and active, but Bobby, in a roundabout way, was trying to show me I could be alive and active. I could play him at his game, and lose…or I could play him at mine, and maybe, just maybe, win. Today, apparently, my game was adventure golf.

  “Come on, let’s have a little smile,” teased Bobby, “I think I can see one forming there and there.” Bobby touched the edges of my lips and I swatted his hand away, but not before a little smile broke through on my face.

  “Come on, you idiot, I’m going to enjoy kicking your butt.”

  And so having paid the teenage lad at the counter, and having agreed that I could leave my clubs minus my own putter behind the counter until we finished, we aptly played crazy, sorry, adventure golf. I would love to tell you that I let go and got into the spirit of things and actually enjoyed myself but the truth is I hated it. It was horrific. He was present with me, making me chant and check and repeat. Bobby was goofing around, playing the showman, engaging in banter with people who did, to be fair, appear to love how we were dressed. It took us ages to complete the round as it took ages for me to feel safe to take the shots and then I often had to retake shots to neutralise the forbidden words. Bobby even betrayed signs of being irritated with me, and afterwards he struggled to keep up with me as I marched out, head down, to get back to the car. Maybe today adventure golf wasn’t my game after all.

  We drove home in silence. I felt Bobby glance at me every so often. He probably thought I was angry at him, but I wasn’t. Any anger was reserved for myself. Why had I again been so stupid to think I could beat him. After the last few days I had felt hope. I even thought at times it was easy, too easy…and so it had proved.

  Bobby pulled up outside my house, and as if he had been reading my mind all this time, turned to me and said, “Don’t give up, Toby. You can win this.” I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement and thanks, and then this crazy man took his crazy golf clubs out of the boot and returned from his day release back to the asylum.

  23

  I dumped the golf clubs in the porch and made for the stairs to go straight to my room, only to be stopped in my tracks by Mum calling my name. I contemplated ignoring her but turned back and poked my head into the living room. Mum had been watching something on the TV but had paused it; Dad was sat next to her on the couch with his head buried in the newspaper. He looked up when he heard me enter the room.

  “Here he is, Jack Nicklaus.”

  “Who?” I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  “What do you mean, who? Only the greatest golfer ever to live.”

  “What, the greatest crazy golfer?”

  “Erm, what?”

  “That’s what I’ve just been playing.”

  “What? Crazy golf?”

  “Yes, Dad. Crazy golf.”

  “As in windmills and…”

  “Yes, Dad. As in windmills, Big Ben, tunnels, volcanoes, the whole crazy golf shebang.”

  “I thought you were going to play golf golf.” Was Dad being obtuse deliberately?

  “Well, my good friend Bobby had other ideas and so we played crazy golf.”

  Dad burst out laughing.

  “Oh, what’s Bobby like? He’s so funny,” said Mum with great glee, clearly not picking up on my mood.

  “Nice one, Bobby, ha ha,” howled Dad. “You must have looked a right prat with all your golf gear on.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Did you have a good time, love?”

  “No, Mum. It was embarrassing. Well, I’m glad you two find such joy in me making a fool of myself but, if you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood so I’m going up to my room.” With an impressive display of petulance, in homage to my teenage years, I stormed out of the living room and up the stairs to my room. The only thing I forgot to do was slam the living room door on the way out; I was a little out of practice.

  I had only been lying on my bed having a pity party for ten minutes or so when there was a knock on my door. I still recognised the distinct noises that the house made and so I was forewarned of Mum’s arrival via her personalised creaking of the stairs. No matter how stealthy she tried to be when I was younger, I had always been aware of her approach.

  “Yes?” I grunted.

  “Toby, can I come in love?

  “If you want. It’s your house.”

  She came over and sat on the edge of my bed. I rolled onto my side so that I was facing the wall. “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy your golf. I’m sure Bobby meant well.”

  “I know.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Yes…well no. I did feel like a prat, as Dad so eloquently put it, but I’m not even that bothered about the golf.”

  “What is it then? Is it the, you know...?”

  “Yes, Mum. It is the ‘you know’, and…”

  “What?”

  I turned around so I was lying on my back and put my arms behind my head. “Why me, Mum? Why do I have to have this thing in my head? What have I done to deserve it?”

  “You’ve done nothing to deserve it, Toby. Different people have different things that they battle with. You know that lots of people struggle with similar things to you. You are not alone and you’re going to get help. You’re going to get better.”

  “You reckon? What, with me being such a loser? When I saw all my mates it just put into perspective what a big waste of space I am. They’ve all achieved so much. They’ve got families, successful careers, gone to the Olympics. As for Kev, well apparently he’s Manchester’s answer to Warren Buffet.”

  “I thought Kev was into finance not catering.”

  “Mum, Kev is into finance. Warren Buffet is the world’s greatest investor, not a person who puts on a nice spread at weddings.”

  “Oh, I know Toby. I read the papers. It was just my little joke.”

  I tried suppressing my smile. “Mum, I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but leave the jokes to Dad. See, I’m such a loser I c
an’t even tell when my mum’s telling a joke.”

  “Toby, you are not a loser. Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

  “I am, Mum. To think people used to say that Kev was jealous of me at school. Was always the same: I’d beat him in grades, was captain of all the teams, even went out with Helen Reynolds before him.”

  “Helen Reynolds? I never knew that.”

  “Well, there was lots you didn’t know about. I mean, did you not notice that I was mental?”

  “You’re not mental.”

  “I am. Anyway. The other day when I confessed to it, you kept saying you should have done more, that you thought it was a phase. What did you mean? Did you know there was something going on with me?”

  Mum took hold of my hand. “There were times when I would notice you checking things a lot. And, you know, you’d come in and out of the room a few times. And yes, I was a bit concerned. But you were a teenager, and that’s a confusing time for most people. I did assume it would just pass. You were always doing so well at school. You had your rugby, you had lots of friends, girlfriends – as you’ve just revealed to me – and you seemed happy. Your Dad and I just didn’t think there was anything seriously the matter.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Yes, Toby, I understand now that we got that wrong.”

  “You also said that they said I’d grow out of it. Who were they?”

  “Well, after your Grandma passed away I went for counselling. I found it hard to cope at first and the counselling helped. I realised you were struggling to understand what had happened to Grandma, so I asked my counsellor about it. I also went to see another counsellor round about the time Jess was born. It was probably about that time that I noticed you doing your checking and things. I mentioned it to the person I was seeing and he said that it was a phase that lots of teenagers go through, that it was nothing to worry about and you’d grow out of it. After a while, your idiosyncrasies – I suppose we can call them – became your normal behaviour to us; and as I said, you seemed so happy. We regrettably just let you get on with it.”

  “So I started going mental when Jess was born?”

  “Oh Toby, please. You are not mental. I just said I seem to recall noticing some things around about that time and I remember asking my then counsellor about you. I may be getting mixed up. It was such a long time ago and so much was going on.”

  “So why did you need to speak to the other counsellor about me, you know, when Granny passed away?”

  Mum took a deep intake of breath and looked deep in thought. She looked over at the door and then back at me.

  “What, Mum?”

  “You were so young when it happened. I hadn’t realised at first quite how confusing it was for you, but then I became aware that you were struggling to come to terms with it all.”

  “What do you mean, you became aware?”

  “One of my ideas for helping you to cope was to encourage you to write down your memories of Grandma, and this led to you writing letters to her which you asked me to deliver to her. You didn’t want to go to her grave. I got a bit concerned by what you were writing, but we had a chat and then you stopped writing the letters, and I assumed you were feeling okay about things.”

  Letters to Granny? Now she mentioned it, a memory started stirring.

  “So, what was in these letters?”

  “Okay, I don’t know if this will help at all, but would you like to read them?”

  “What, you kept them?”

  “Of course I did. What was I supposed to do with them?”

  “Give them to Granny.”

  “Come on, Toby. I wasn’t going to leave your personal, intimate, letters on her gravestone – but I did give them to her. I would go to her grave and read them to her. That’s how I knew what you’d been writing. So, do you want to read them?”

  I shrugged. She tried holding my gaze, but I looked away. She sighed and then stood up and left the room. Two minutes later she was back with a small pile of envelopes. She placed them on my bedside cabinet.

  “I’ll leave them with you. You decide if you want to read them. Remember, you can and must talk to me and your Dad whenever you need to.” She leant over and kissed me on the head, then left me alone with the letters.

  24

  A sense of nostalgia came over me as I saw Optimus Prime on the envelopes, part of a stationery pack I had got one Christmas or birthday. I remembered the Transformers stationery, but I didn’t specifically remember writing the letters. Mum had written the date on each of the envelopes and had them sorted in date order. I opened the first one: it was dated 23rd July 1995.

  Oh, that’s just great, I thought as I held the letter. My handwriting hasn’t improved much since I was ten. Another sign of my awesomeness. Putting that disappointment aside I started to read:

  Dear Granny

  Mum said I should rite to you to tell you all the things I love about you.

  I love it wen you cook me ginger bread men and rock buns.

  I love it wen you take me to the park and sit on the see saw with me even when mum says you shudnt because she says its hard for you because of arthur eye tis.

  I love it that you read me stories wen mum and dad dont want to.

  I love that you play goaly and I can score lots of goals. Im sorry for wen I blasted you with the ball and your glasses fell off. But it was funny.

  I love it wen you hug me and say bless you wen I am scared or sad and you tell me you will keep me safe.

  I love it wen you trump and blame it on dad. I know its you realy.

  I love it that you listen to my storys. Mum and dad are always too busy. They always say tell me later. You never say that.

  I miss you granny. Love from Toby.

  I smiled and moved onto the next envelope dated 27th July 1995:

  Dear Granny

  How are you? I miss you. I wish you would rite back to me. Mum says its becos you are busy having fun in your new house. She says that she gave you my letter and you red it and said to say thank you and that you were happy but I didnt want mum to tel me that, I wanted you to tel me. You always said treet people the way you want to be treeted yourself. Well I rote you a letter so you should rite back when I rote a letter to you? I know why you didn’t rite back. I think you are cross with me.

  Love from Toby

  29th July 1995:

  Dear Granny

  Mum tryd to make ginger bred men today. They were okay. Not as nice as yours. Are you okay?

  Love from Toby

  30th July 1995:

  Dear Granny

  I know you said its rude to answer back well I think it is rude not to answer back wen I rite to you. Please let me know you are ok.

  PS I scored a hattrick today. Kev got two. Dad says im a hero.

  Love from Toby

  03rd August 1995:

  Dear Granny

  Dad took me to rugbee training today. You throw a giant egg around. Dad said I was awesome.

  Love from Toby

  05th August 1995:

  Dear Granny

  Please please please can you let me know were you are? Mum and Dad say you are in heaven which they said is paradice. They said it’s a nice place and you are happy. But Kevs cuson was at his house today and he said you are in hell which I don’t like. He says the devil is punishing you and stabbing you with a big fork. I said he was lying but he said that wen we said goodbye to you at church they put you in the fire and that means you are in hell because there is fire in hell. Mum said you were cream ated and dad said it was to make you smaller to make it easyer to post you to heaven. Kevs cuson said if you went into the fire you are in hell and thats were bad people go. I told him you werent bad and I hit him. He cried. Am I bad? Will I go to hell now too? I wanted you here to make me feel better to hug me and say bless you so I kn
wo its ok. Im sorry granny please don’t be cross.

  Love from Toby

  06th August 1995:

  Dear Granny

  Is it my folt? I didnt mean it. Im sorry. Please tell me it wasnt my folt. Please dont be in hell. Please let me kno you are in heaven.

  Love from Toby

  07th August 1995:

  Dear Granny

  You always said wen you have done somthing wrong you should say sorry. I think it was my folt you died. Im sorry that I made you die. Will you forgive me now? Please dont be in hell. I dont want to go to hell. I don’t want the devil to punish me. I told God it was my folt and asked him to let you go to heaven now. Will you rite back now granny please. I love you and miss you.

  Love from Toby

  08th August 1995:

  Dear Granny

  Mum says that it wasnt my folt you died. I dont believe her. She is just saying that to make me feel better. If it wasnt my folt why did you only die wen I came to see you. I want you to know that I keep praying to God and telling him you are good and it was my folt. I keep asking him to let you go to heaven. Hopefully he will let you into heaven soon then you will be happy

  Love from Toby

  10th August 1995

  Dear Granny

  Mum spoke to me today to say that you liked my letters and that you are safe and you are happy. She promised me that you are in heaven with God. Mum said it wasn’t my folt that you died and she said you love me. She said you are very busy in heaven at the moment (Dad said bossing all the angels around) so maybe I should just write on your birthday. I feel happy that you are happy. Mum and Dad took me took me to the cinema and then we had pizza becos I am a good boy and you wanted me to be happy. They said you are watching me from heaven to make sure I am safe. Thank you Granny.

  Love from Toby.

  Wow, that felt a bit weird. The memories were so hazy. I barely remembered sitting down to write those letters. I vaguely remembered punching Kev’s cousin (he continued to be an idiot when he got older), but I didn’t remember the conversation that led to it. Granny was great. Just as I described her. It was pneumonia that got her. I didn’t understand at the time how ill she was. I had assumed Granny was indestructible.