Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to on the subject,’ Granddad replied. ‘I just hope your confidence isn’t misplaced.’

  After that the conversation rather petered out. Trev was happy to let it. He had other things to do, and he needed to do them while his determination was still strong.

  It was nudging towards closing time when Trev entered the SmoothMove office. Barry looked up from his desk and sat back in surprise. His expression quickly shifted to one of smug satisfaction. He flicked his eyes in Helen’s direction and dragged his index finger across his throat while humming the first few bars of Chopin’s Funeral March.

  Trev didn’t give him the pleasure of a response. He’d come within an inch of dying the previous night; after that, ignoring some petty twat’s attempts to wind him up was easy enough. He said hello to Phil and approached Helen’s desk. She frowned at him.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you today,’ she said.

  ‘Could I have a word?’ Trev asked.

  She nodded. They went through into the back office, which had assumed a “Room 101” status in Trev’s mind recently. Every time he’d gone in there it was to get a bollocking… and the way Helen began the conversation, it appeared this visit was to be no different.

  ‘I know I keep asking this, but I haven’t had a reasonable answer yet,’ she said. ‘So here we go again. Trev, what are you doing?’

  ‘I came in to speak to you,’ Trev said, ‘about my future here.’

  ‘The way you’re going, you don’t have a future here,’ she snapped. ‘You told me this morning you were ill and then you stroll in here this afternoon looking fine. What sort of response were you expecting?’

  ‘This one, pretty much,’ Trev replied. ‘Look, Helen, I know I’ve been a crap employee these last few months and I’m sorry. Really I am. I’ve been trying to balance some personal stuff against my work life and I haven’t done it very well.’

  ‘Understatement,’ said Helen.

  Trev shrugged. ‘Fair. So yeah, I’ve been thinking about it, and the obvious thing is this: if I can’t balance the personal stuff with the work stuff, then one of them has to go.’

  ‘I’ve been telling you that for weeks,’ said Helen. ‘I’m glad you’ve finally sorted it out in your head. Perhaps now we can– ’

  ‘Hang on, I hadn’t finished,’ said Trev. ‘Like I said, one of them’s got to go. So,’ he pulled an envelope out of his pocket, ‘I’m here to hand in my notice.’

  Helen looked down at the envelope, nonplussed. ‘What? You can’t manage your work / life balance so you’re just… giving up work?’

  ‘Well, yes and no,’ said Trev. ‘Long story.’

  ‘Trev, is this some sort of breakdown?’ Helen asked. ‘You realise you still have bills to pay, right? How are you going to do that if you’re not working?’

  She’s spent the last few weeks threatening me with the sack, and now she’s trying to convince me to stay, Trev thought. It would’ve been easier if she’d just told me to piss off and not come back.

  ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t be working,’ Trev clarified. ‘I just won’t be working here. Sorry.’

  ‘You’re going to one of the other agents?’ Helen asked. ‘Who? Not Stepperton’s, surely?’

  ‘I wouldn’t work for Stepperton’s if the alternative was being fed feet-first into a meat grinder,’ said Trev. ‘But I’m not joining the competition. I’m getting out of the trade altogether.’

  ‘To do what?’ Helen folded her arms. ‘I’m trying to think of a line of work that’s cool with staff turning up late, injured, hungover or half asleep… assuming they turn up at all.’

  Trev scratched his chin. ‘Well, there’s Parliament, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re going to be an M.P.?’

  ‘No,’ Trev replied. ‘Unfortunately I told the truth once, so I’m permanently barred from applying.’

  Helen sighed. ‘Yeah, very funny. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,’ said Trev.

  ‘This is total bollocks, Trev.’ She threw her hands up in frustration. ‘Gavin’s going to be more pissed off than you can believe when he hears about this.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m sorry. I’ve enjoyed working here, honestly. But, you know, all good things have to come to an end.’

  As the clichéd words left his mouth Trev had to resist the urge to cringe so hard his head would end up lodged in his chest cavity. Helen’s expression of disgust was an eloquent counterpoint to his embarrassment.

  ‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘You realise if Gavin wanted to, he could make you work out your notice.’

  ‘I know that,’ Trev replied. ‘But would you really want me here?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘No. You haven’t just burned your bridges, you’ve nuked them from orbit.’

  ‘It’s the only way to be sure,’ Trev said with a weak smile. It wasn’t returned.

  ‘Just go, then.’ Helen looked weary. ‘I’ll pass this on to Gavin.’

  ‘Sorry things’ve ended on a sour note,’ said Trev. ‘It’s not what I wanted. But if you’d any idea how messed up my life has been over the last few months…’

  ‘You’ve never explained it, so how could I?’ said Helen. ‘See you around. Or not.’

  Trev hesitated, giving serious consideration to trying to explain the real reason for his poor performance and thus avoid parting on such bad terms. His common sense soon stepped in and quashed the idea. Helen wouldn’t have believed it, and he’d probably have left her with an even lower opinion of him than she already had. If that was even possible. Her facial expression suggested it wasn’t, but why take the risk?

  Trev returned to the front office. He told Phil he was leaving and they shook hands. He didn’t seem very surprised at the news; Trev had been circling the drain for a while, so his departure was somewhat expected. Phil had always been a good friend to Trev, even when he hadn’t deserved it (which was frequently). Trev knew he’d miss him.

  The same couldn’t be said for Barry, of course. Trev almost walked past him and out of the door without saying anything. In the event, he took a breath and offered his hand.

  ‘Barry, I know we haven’t been best mates,’ he said, ‘but I don’t want to–’

  ‘Oh, piss off Trev,’ said Barry, staring at the outstretched hand as if it were offering him a turd. ‘After all the crap you’ve sent my way over the years, you’re going to come over here and try the “being the better man” act?’

  ‘The crap’s flowed along a two-way street, as I remember it,’ said Trev. He kept a grip on his temper. ‘For what it’s worth I’m sorry for my part of that, all right? Just shake my hand and we’ll go our separate ways.’

  ‘Nah, bollocks to you,’ said Barry. His pasty face was purpling up as it always did when he was embarrassed or angry. ‘This is just your way of getting me one last time, isn’t it? Make yourself look like Mr. Reasonable and me look like a twat. No. Not falling for it. Sod off.’

  Trev stood with his hand out for a moment longer. Barry ignored it, so he shrugged and walked out of the SmoothMove office for the final time. He didn’t look back.

  Which was just as well, because otherwise he’d have seen Barry giving him the finger.

  Trev went to a nearby fast food place and got himself a burger. As he sat staring out of the window at the slushy street beyond the glass, the enormity of what he’d just done struck him and his burger slipped out of his hand, falling back into its cardboard tray with a splat. I’ve just left my job, he thought. I’m joining the Custodians. Holy shit.

  It was a huge step. He was surrendering a comfortable normality in exchange for a world of secrets, danger and uncertainty. He briefly wondered whether it was too late to go back and tell Helen he’d changed his mind. Strangely, though, the memory of that last chat with Barry steadied him. Looking at the bloke sitting there, purple in the face and refusing an olive branch for no other reason than spite, Trev had experienced
a vision of his possible future. That could’ve been me in a few years, he thought. Middle-aged, bitter, going nowhere but unable to change it because I’m in too deep a rut… maybe Granddad’s right, and being a Custodian will be good for me. Even if it isn’t, it’s got to be better than slowly turning into another Barry Clark, right?

  He realised he was muttering to himself, and the other occupants of the restaurant were slowly sliding along their tables to get away from him. He finished his food and left. That was two awkward exits in a row; he had one last appointment, and he didn’t want to make it a hat-trick.

  Webster’s Wine Bar was a half-timbered building on Potters Road. It was renowned around Brackenford for its relaxed ambience, attractive bar staff and eye-watering prices. The management also had an apparent policy of only hiring the surliest of doormen. The two tuxedo’d gorillas standing sentry outside barely glanced at Trev as he walked past. Obviously they didn’t think he looked like a troublemaker. They have no idea, Trev thought. They really don’t.

  The interior was a nice balance of period features and tasteful modern fittings. Although there was music playing it was at a suitable volume for conversation. All things considered Trev would have frequented Webster’s more often, were it not for the price of the drinks and the fact that Cled absolutely hated the place.

  ‘Full of pretentious wankers,’ he always said whenever the place was mentioned. ‘You find me in there, feel free to punch me.’

  Trev’s suspicion had always been that Cled’s actual objection to Webster’s was the price of a pint and the lack of a TV to watch the rugby. He wasn’t there to meet Cled, in any case.

  Sarah stood at the far end of the bar. The curly blonde hair was now straight and brown. She was also wearing some fashionable glasses. She smiled and waved when she saw Trev. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘So,’ she said when Trev had emptied his wallet to buy a pint, ‘what do you think of the new look?’

  ‘Suits you,’ said Trev. ‘Just fancied a change?’

  ‘Kind of.’ She shrugged. ‘A change of appearance seemed like a good idea after everything that’s happened this week.’

  ‘I’ve got some good news on that front,’ said Trev. ‘The Eyes aren’t after you any more.’

  Sarah beamed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Spoke to Nona herself.’

  ‘But how did you… wait. You gave her the Key?’

  ‘I told them where it was and they came and took it.’ Trev touched his bruised stomach. ‘With enthusiasm.’

  ‘What about the Custodians?’

  ‘Deacon’s absolutely fuming about losing the Key. Unsurprisingly. But he doesn’t know who took it, or how they knew where to find it.’

  ‘And you’re sure he won’t find out?’

  ‘I’m not sure about anything,’ Trev admitted. ‘That said, I don’t see how he can pin it on me.’

  ‘Right, good,’ said Sarah, although her expression was a little troubled. ‘I hope he doesn’t. Thanks for doing that for me, you didn’t have to put yourself at risk like that.’

  She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Trev had been pretty confident about the way he’d covered his tracks, but the conversations with Granddad and now Sarah had filled his mind with doubts. Was there something he’d missed? He couldn’t think of anything. Granddad was right, though: Deacon wasn’t stupid.

  ‘What happened with Barker?’ he asked, keen to change the subject.

  Sarah frowned. ‘He’s angry about losing the Key,’ she said. ‘He thinks you betrayed him. I tried to explain to him it wasn’t your fault, but he wasn’t having it.’

  ‘You think he’ll come after me?’ said Trev, adding another worry to the pile.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah replied. ‘Though if you were to run into each other, he wouldn’t be too happy to see you.’

  ‘Fingers crossed we don’t, then,’ said Trev.

  ‘He’ll cool down after a while,’ Sarah went on. ‘He isn’t a bad guy, Trev, whatever you might think of him.’

  ‘He has killed quite a lot of people,’ Trev pointed out.

  Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, he has. He doesn’t hide from it, and I know how much he regrets it. But he was manipulated into doing those things. You know that.’

  Trev shrugged. ‘I was there when he found out.’

  ‘He’s… lost,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s tired, and sad, and alone. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘So are you going to stick with him? For, you know, protection?’

  ‘Do you think the Custodians will want to bring me in?’

  ‘Now they know you don’t have the Key, I doubt it,’ said Trev. ‘But keeping a low profile for the time being probably isn’t the worst idea.’

  ‘And what about you?’ Sarah asked. ‘What’s your relationship with the Custodians now?’

  ‘I made a decision today,’ Trev replied. ‘I quit my job at SmoothMove. I’m joining the Custodians full time, and I’m going to find that bloody traitor if it kills me.’

  Sarah looked startled. ‘That’s a big change.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Trev took a sip of his over-priced beer. ‘So, you and Barker?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘He’s leaving the area to stay ahead of the Custodians. I’m not going with him. I’ve been running for a while now, and I’m tired of it. If the Eyes and the Custodians are going to leave me alone, then I’m free to go my own way.’

  ‘Oh right,’ said Trev. ‘So you’re flying solo? Going it alone? Ploughing a lone furrow?’

  Sarah rolled her eyes and opened her arms.

  ‘Come here, you dickhead,’ she said.

  Trev did as he was told.

  Trev Irwin will return in Book Five of The Brackenford Cycle:

  LYSANDER’S REVENGE

  Thanks for reading! Why not share your thoughts about the book with a review on Amazon or Goodreads?

  If you missed the beginning of Trev’s story, then check out the previous Brackenford Cycle books:

  LOCATION, LOCATION, DAMNATION

  HANGMAN’S POND

  and

  SPECTRE’S REST

  All available NOW on Amazon!

  Look out for Book Five of The Brackenford Cycle:

  LYSANDER’S REVENGE

  Coming soon!

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © 2019 Nick Moseley

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design © 2019 Nick Moseley

  Cover photograph © 2019 Nick Moseley, David Moseley and Susan Moseley

  The characters, events and locations depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  About The Author

  Nick Moseley has held a number of jobs, including salesman, estate agent, forklift truck driver and warehouse manager, and has proven himself fairly incompetent at all of them. Writing has been an invaluable aid to preserving his sanity.

  In his spare time Nick enjoys ten-pin bowling (badly), playing golf (badly) and eating pizza (Grandmaster level).

  Nick lives in Worcester and has no exotic or interestingly-named pets.

  Follow Nick on Twitter: @NMoseley_Writer