The Road to Glencoe

Hope you like the little clip of my visit to Scotland.

The Day the World Went Black.

Ben patted his pockets for the tenth time. Where the hell were his keys? He'd checked the bowl by the front door; the kitchen table, the pants he'd worn yesterday, his jacket, under the couch cushions and on top of the TV. He was going to be late for work. Where the hell could they be?

"Daisy! Daisy," he yelled up the stairs and heard something unintelligible being mumbled from under a duvet, so he shouted again. "Did you put my keys someplace?"

There was a heavy sigh followed by the soft padding of naked feet on the landing. "Where did you leave them?" she asked sleepily as she reached the top of the stairs.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be looking for them, now would I?" he snapped. She plodded down the stairs, her blond hair a messy cloud. She reached the bottom step, paused, and lifted his keys out of the bowl with the tip of her finger. He’d checked there; twice! She gave him a dirty look as he took the dangling bunch.

"They weren't there earlier," he said, embarrassed.

"Huff," she puffed, and turned her back on him before drifting back upstairs for her second sleep. He stormed from the house, late for work and he knew the traffic on the freeway would be terrible. That was a bad start to a day which got steadily worse. It was a day crowned by actually losing his car. He searched the multi-story car park for twenty minutes before finding the car five spaces from the exit. He never parked in that part of the building! How could he forget where he left his car?

When he got home, he vented his frustration at Daisy, not that she listened. She'd given up even pretend these days. It surprised him when she raised her head and asked, "Why don't you get Dave to check you over?"

"I'm not sick!" he snapped.

"I didn't say you were but it's not like you to lose things. Can’t do any harm to check," she said, then shrugged her shoulders and went back to eating. The rest of the meal passed in sulky silence but he was sure of one thing, he wasn't running to Dave about a set of lost keys.

Over the next few days, there were more...slips. He filled out the home insurance renewal, stuck it in an envelope for posting but when it arrived, they said it was blank. After that, his presentation went wrong. He'd spent hours working on a proposal for a new client but when he presented it, the slides were a mess. Full of misspellings and errors, it looked like a five-year-old had done them. There were other things but nothing as bad as the presentation. Normal stuff, like being sure you put something one place and finding it somewhere else. Small or big, these slips were starting to worry him and it was making him cranky. Daisy and himself were constantly at each other's throats. It all came to a head the day he arrived home to find Daisy and Dave waiting for him.

"What's she been telling you?" he demanded before they had a chance to say anything.

"Daisy is worried, and from what she told me, she has a right to be," said Dave, sitting forward on the couch, stabling his fingers like some dime-store headshrinker. God damn Daisy for dragging Dave into this. She had no right, no right at all.

"It's nothing. Have you never made a mistake?" he asked, his tone grumpy and defensive.

"Of course. Now and again, but Daisy told me these incidents are becoming more frequent and then there's your behaviour to..."

"What behaviour?"

"Aggressive, depressive, irrational," he listed coldly, each word like a slap to Ben's face.

"Jesus! You're making me out to be a looney!"

"Easy, Ben," he said, holding up his hands soothingly. Ben realised he had been shouting and in doing so he confirmed at least two of his friend's accusations.

"Sorry," he said, and let out a deeply held breath. He rubbed his hands through his thinning hair to steady himself. He knew his moods were swinging a bit but was it any wonder? He put his briefcase on the coffee table and flopped down into an armchair.

"All I...we're asking, is that you come in and let me check you over."

"And what will you be checking for?" Ben asked, sitting back in the chair.

"There could be hundreds of reasons for your symptoms."

"Such as?"

"Stress, depression, exhaustion, hormone imbalance, the list is a long one."

"Alzheimer's?"

"You would be abnormally young to develop Alzheimer's, but it's not impossible," said Dave, clearly reluctant to discuss the subject.

"What about brain tumours, or just going nuts?" said Ben angrily.

"Stop being ridiculous," he snapped.

"I'm not being ridiculous; I've been doing my own checking!"

"On Google, I bet?" Ben said, clearly annoyed at the suggestion a computer could know as much as he did. "Most often, the simple answer is the right one. Why don't you take some time off work? Relax, take time to unwind? It's not like you need the money." Dave was talking about Ben's inheritance. He wasn't rich but two million dollars from a maiden aunt he had barely known was better than a kick in the ass. The truth was he liked his work; it gives him a purpose for his days. Being stuck in the house day in and day out would drive him round the twist.

"I'll think about it," he said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

Dave stood up and gave him a steely look. "Think about it all you like but be in my office at ten tomorrow morning. I'm charging you for the session whether you show up or not."

"Alright, you bully. Are you leaving?" he asked seeing Dave getting out his car keys.

"You're not my only patient you know," he said with a wink as he bent down to kiss Daisy reassuringly on the cheek.

***

The following day, Dave gave him a full service, bloods and everything, before sending him back to work. Two days later Dave was on the phone at stupid O’clock in the morning. Ben wasn't even out of bed when he answered the call. "Your blood tests have come back. You need to come in to see me before work."

"That doesn't sound good."

"There’s nothing definite, but there are a few indicators...look, it would be better if you came in."

"Don't nanny me, just tell me what it is."

He heard Dave exhale loudly. Eventually, he began speaking. "You have unusually high levels of Adrenocorticotropic Hormone or ACTH." 

"And what's that in English?"

"It’s a hormone produced in the Pituitary Gland, part of the brain."

"Jesus," said Ben, sitting up in the bed. Daisy rolled over to watch him talk.

"I don't know what it is. It could be nothing but I’d feel better if you had a CT scan."

"I guess. If you think I should."

"I do and I've pulled a few strings to get you in early next week."

"Is it cancer?"

"It most likely nothing. I'll email you the time for the scan. And Ben..."

"Yea."

"Don't worry," he said, and was gone off the phone. Ben threw back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. How could he not worry after a call like that? The rest of the day was a blur. He couldn't help typing in, Pituitary Gland Problems, into Google and it made for terrifying reading.

***

Between that, and the day of the scan, he had a few more senior moments. People started to comment on it at work. His moods got worse, and he made Daisy cry a few times by being overly sharp.

When he arrived at the hospital for the scan, he found Dave waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?"

"What kind of a friend would I be if I wasn't," he said, giving him a hug. Ben felt a thousand times better having Dave by his side. The day was punctuated by periods of waiting, in between efficient bursts of testing. At the end of it all, Dave discussed the results with the consultant before coming to see Ben. 

"Good news; there's no tumour, or cancer, but the area is inflamed. You’ll need to take a course of medication to bring your hormones into balance and improve your mental state."

"Mental state?"

"You've been exhibiting signs of depression, which is likely down to your hormone imbalance. Antidepressants will help."

"I'm not depressed."

"Your brain is a complex system and it’s not running properly at the moment. You need to take the medication if you want to get better."

Ben didn't like the idea of being medicated, but he trusted Dave. "If you say it’s for the best, it’s for the best." Dave wrote a prescription before he went back to his practice. Ben left the hospital and filled the script on the way home.

Over the following weeks, Ben's condition got worse, not better. He felt strung out, more confused than ever, and his temper was all but uncontrollable. He went into melt-down-mode at the drop of a hat. In the end, he had no choice but to go see Dave again.

"These pills are doing nothing but making things worse," explained Ben after telling Dave he was going to stop taking the medication.

"You can't do that. You'll be taking a huge step back if you stop at this stage. It could be just a bad reaction to this drug. I'm going to move you onto something else. You should see a huge improvement."

Ben filled out the new prescription and like Dave had predicted, things improved, well they did up until the blackouts started. The first one was just a few lost hours on a Saturday afternoon. Daisy had gone out shopping when he started feeling funny. The next thing he remembered, he woke up on the couch and the house looked like a tornado had hit it. He tried to straighten up before Daisy got home but she knew something was wrong the minute she got back.

That night the dreams started, the most horrific and vivid dreams he'd ever had. He woke up crouched in the corner, beating himself around the head and screaming. Daisy was right in front of him, in floods of tears, as she tried to calm him down. There was a bruise on her cheek which was growing darker by the second. He was still panicking when the paramedics arrived. They treated him for a panic attack but made more than a few comments about Daisy’s injuries. They wanted her to come in and have an x-ray but she refused. In the end they left, but made them both promise to see a doctor in the morning.

***

Ben got to Dave's practice first thing but had to cool his heels in the waiting room until Dave's first patients had gone through. When a nurse finally showed him into the examination room, Ben was shaking and as pale as a ghost. His head was spinning and he could feel reality starting to slip.

"Crikey, you look like hell," said Dave, easing Ben into a chair. He took a tumbler from his desk and passed it to Ben. "Here, drink this."

"I don't feel well. There is something really wrong with me,” he said, once he finished glugging the water, not that water would help him. If anything, his panic was getting worse. His chest raced, gulping air into his lungs. Dave just looked at him, and Ben didn’t think he was taking him seriously. "You’ve got to help me, you've just got to!" yelled Ben, dropping the glass as he grabbed at Dave. He felt his feet go rubbery as his brain was hit by a vision so harsh, it was like being kicked in the head. He staggered and felt Dave's hands go under his armpits. That was when he blacked out.

As he came around, he felt someone tugging at him. It took a second or two before he recognised the tightness on his wrists as handcuffs.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled but whoever was at him persisted. “I said, get off me!” he snapped and tried to kick himself free, an act that earned him ten-thousand volts from a cops tazer. As he shuddered on the ground, he saw Dave come in. His face was bloody and he seemed dazed.

"Take it easy with him," he said through a split lip. "It's not his fault, he's a sick man, a very sick man." His friend's pleas fell on deaf ears as Ben was hauled roughly to his feet, and frog-marched to a waiting state cruiser.

What happened next was all so muddled, it felt like it was happening to someone else. The court appearance; being remanded to custody, then being sent to the state-lockup. Some court-appointed lawyer had represented him, but he was so out of it, he couldn't even remember the man’s name. When that same lawyer came to see him in prison, he broke the news they were charging him with, assault with intent.

"What intent?" demanded Ben, "I can't even remember doing anything!"

That started his, hand-me-down idiot, talking about a diminished responsibility defence. Ben's next court date was set, but Daisy still hadn’t been to see him. Perhaps the cops wouldn't let her come? A week after he’d been locked up, Daisy finally arrived.

Ben was shown into a visitor cubicle; Daisy was already seated on the other side of the glass. He smiled at her but she just glared back at him. He picked up the handset hanging to his left. Daisy paused for longer than he liked before doing the same.

"It's good to see you sweetie," he said.

"I never thought I'd see you in a place like this," she said coldly.

"Me either. I have no idea what happened, you got to believe me," he said, desperately needing to hear some comforting words. Instead, she asked a question.

"Are you still having the blackouts?"

"Not since that day. A few terrible dreams, or hallucinations, or whatever they are, but even they are going now. I’m actually feeling a lot better."

"Are you still taking your medication?"

"Yes. I must be getting used to it."

"That's good," she said, and looked down sadly.

"When are you getting me out of here?" he asked, leaning forward and placing his hand against the glass, as if he were trying to touch her face.

"That's why I've come," she said, but her voice held no joy. "I don't want you to come back to the house."

"I told you, I'm getting better. I'd never hurt you, you know that, right?" he said, trying to put every ounce of sincerity he possessed into his words.

"You don't get it. I don't want you coming home...ever. You're not the man I married; I don't know who you are."

"What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice rising enough to make the guard at the end of the room rise out of his chair.

"I want a divorce; I've already started the application. The papers will be served, any day," she said, and wiped away a tear.

"You bitch!"

She took the phone from her ear when he screamed it again, "Bitch!".

She dropped the handset and rushed away as Ben attacked the glass, screaming and hammering it with the heavy plastic handset. The truncheon blow caught him below the ear and sent him sprawling sideways. Back to black again.

***

The prison gate rattled back so slowly; Daisy felt they were doing it deliberately to extend her torture. She just wanted it all to be over and get as far away from this place as she could. She promised herself she wouldn't cry when she told Ben, but she’d failed. He’d been her partner for so long, it felt like he’d always been there; now that was over. 

Outside the gate, Dave was waiting to collect her in his sleek new Cadillac. He reached over and popped the passenger door for her. Once she was in, he pulled away.

"How did it go?"

"He went crazy, started screaming and smashing the glass," she said sadly.

"To be expected, I guess," Dave said matter-of-factly, as he maneuverer the car out of the prison car park. 

"I still feel guilty about it all."

"You shouldn't, it was the only way."

"To get the money?"

"And me!" said Dave, with a cheeky smile. "We won't have to sneak around anymore; I can have you as much as I want now."

She leaned across and kissed him deeply while he tried to keep one eye on the road. Having him all the time was the only reason she had done any of it. Even on the day of her wedding she knew she was marrying the wrong man. It always should have been Dave.

It had started by accident. A look, a touch, an unspoken desire, until the inevitable happened. An intertwining of two, paired by destiny. Ben was all that stood in their way. It was Dave that insisted she should have half the inheritance Ben refused to touch; it was he who masterminded the plot but it was she who had made it happen.

She was the one who’d hidden Ben's keys and then moved his car with the spare set. It was she who had replaced the insurance forms with blank ones, then sent them in. It was she who messed up his presentation in the middle of the night. She had done all that, but Dave had a hand in things as well.

He’d given her pills to exchange for Ben's prescription. He’d given her the liquid LSD to slip into his drinks, and told her how much to give. The time she gave Ben too much and he started fitting in their bedroom, she nearly called it all off. Instead, she rang Dave and he rushed over. He was terrified that Ben would OD, and the drugs in his system might be traced back to them. She pleaded with him to call an ambulance, demanded he come clean. He lashed out at her, catching her on the cheek with the back of his hand. He said it was an accident; the pressure just got to him. He gave Ben an injection of something, and soon, he stopped shaking. Only when it was clear that Ben would be ok would he allow her to ring for help. When she thought back on that night, she couldn’t help remembering the look in his eye after he’d hit her. There was cruelty there.  

She could have stopped it then, she should have stopped it, but she didn’t. She’d given Ben a half dose of LSD before he went to see Dave at his office, just enough to make him off balance for the final act. She was right there, hiding in the closet when Ben came in. She overheard them talking and knew Dave had given Ben another dose of LSD, a big one. When Ben was out, Dave called her out and said she had to hit him. She didn’t want to, but he said it had to look real. Before she swung, he stopped her and said, "Not the nose." She balled her fist and let one fly, barely touching him at all. Then she remembered the look in his eye when he’d slapped her and put a measure of intention behind her fist.

"Enough!" he said, after taking a couple of hits, and he pushed her away. He pinched his burst lip, drawing blood, which he smeared over Ben's hands and shirt. Daisy slipped out the back door as Dave got Ben to his feet, then he stumbled into the waiting area where a shocked receptionist called the police. After that, it was plain-sailing.

The divorce would go through and she stood to gain one point six million. Dave had his eye on a love-nest on the coast. He said he would put the deal in his name, it was much easier than joint ownership. Now that they had the money, they could live like they always wanted to.

Dave flashed her one of his devilish smiles. "Only we matter now," he said, and went back to watching the traffic. Daisy noticed the way one corner of his mouth curled up. Light danced in his eyes and she knew she’d seen that look before. It was the moment his hand connected with her face.

She felt a shiver run down her back, but she shook it off. Nothing was going to wreck this for her. Nothing.

The End

3am Fenit, its a bit noisy sorry.

Girl at the Window

It was a glorious day, the kind of day that reminds you how beautiful the world is. I was waiting for a bus and if I'm honest, I didn't care if it never arrived. I turned my face up to the sky and let the warm breeze play across my cheeks. The sun painted everything in the most wonderful colours. A stray ray bounced off a high window and dazzled me.

I moved my head out of the glare and saw her. A gorgeous girl was gazing wistfully out of the window. The sun was hitting her full in the face, turning her hair into a cloud of gold. I felt like a birdwatcher, gazing on a fragile creature from the dappled undergrowth. As the moments ticked away, she looked neither left nor right. Her gaze seemed focused on some spot a thousand miles away and she was the picture of beauty. I had a feeling she saw nothing of the world outside her window. Sadly, my bus arrived and life moved me on from that perfect moment.

A day or two later I found myself standing in the same exact spot which made me remember the girl so I looked up. There she sat, just as before, but today the sun was missing and clouds had turned the world grey. Seeing her made me smile but after a few moments that smile slipped away. I nearly believed she were a mannequin when she lifted a hand to smooth a stray wisp of hair.

I'm not sure what worried me so about this girl, but something did. She didn't look distressed, or sad or anything at all. Perhaps that was it, she looked vacant, as if someone had shaken all the emotions out of her. Perhaps that was what she was searching for? The more I watched, the more I became convinced the girl was steeped in melancholy. I wished she would look down and give me a smile, or a wave, some little indication that she was alright, but she didn't. My bus arrived and I got on with a heavy heart.

I found myself returning to the bus stop more often than I needed buses and every time she was there. Her clothes changed, her hairstyles changed but the lost look she wore never altered. I tried waving at her but she never saw me, and what would she think if she did? Some madman gesticulating at strangers I guess because that was what I was, a stranger, but each day I felt more like her stranger. I prayed for a sign and yesterday it arrived.

It was raining and tiny rivers of silver ran over the glass. She wore her hair in a braid, which curled over her shoulder to lie along the line of her arm. As always, she gazed into the distance, her far away eyes searching for something. At first I thought it was a breeze that moved the net curtain, but something changed in her face. Her eyes hardened and her lips pinched tighter. I watched with fascination as a hand rested on her slender shoulder. It was a big hand, a hairy one. She didn't look away from the window but I saw the muscles on her neck bunch under her skin. I watched the fingers tighten and dig into her flesh. A moment before she vanished I saw revulsion cross her face. The net curtain fell into place then my window of wonder was empty.

I jogged across the street to the door of the house and looked at the row of bells. Which one would call her, which one would save her from those fingers? Should I pick one or press them all? What would I say if anyone opened the door? I've been watching this girl in a window and I think she is in trouble! I would end up being called a noseyparker or worse. No, it was a stupid idea. I had let my imagination run away with me. I walked away from the house not waiting for a bus to arrive.

Today, my window is empty. In my heart I know something terrible has happened and I could have, should have, done something, but I didn't. As I gaze upward the rain falls into my eyes and washes my tears of shame away.

Customer Review for Thirty Pieces of Silver

Terena4u

5.0 out of 5 starsGreat Book

February 3, 2018

Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

I loved this book. I lived on the edge of my seat the entire book. A gangster story full of crime, betrayal, family ties, evil and compassion. The way each character is presented inflates them with character and depth they become real within a couple of pages, drawing the reader in so much they we are vested in each one and their outcomes.

Dropping a clanger

The alarm dragged Toby out of his dream, and it had been one he was really enjoying. He groggily threw back the covers and plodded toward the freezing bathroom. He washed and dressed in silence, before going to the tiny kitchen to boil the kettle. He turned on the radio to chase the emptiness from the apartment and wondered how he had called this place home for two years.

At ten to eight, he entered his drab office-block and waited for the elevator. A second after the doors closed, he got the lingering stink of a fart and tried to hold his breath for the five-floor ride. He failed on floor three and choked on the fumes. When the door opened, a woman was waiting to get on. Toby hurried away knowing she’d think he was responsible for the horrible stench. It was a typical start to another day as an intern.

The offices of Phoenix International were an open-plan sea of desks. Despite the grandeur of the company name, it was nothing more than a telemarketing company. He and the rest of the minions spent all day, every day, calling unsuspecting people, trying to get them to upgrade, switch, or invest, in whatever rubbish they had been hired to sell. Toby paused at the clock-in machine and rested his finger on the pad. The thing beeped and his soul was owned for another nine hours.

Even though it was early, over half the desks were already occupied. In his glass-fronted office, Mr Jefferies lounged in his leather executive chair. Toby started his computer and today’s list of victims appeared. He sighed and pulled out his script to refresh his spiel. Upgrade to bill pay and get one-hundred free international minutes, it said.

Ten past nine and the bell rang for the first time. That God-damn bell. It was one of Mr Jefferies motivational additions, but in Toby's opinion, it hell incarnate. Every time someone made a sale, they had to go ring that thing and endure the forced joy of their co-workers. Toby stood and joined the muted applause, as a grinning redhead smiled bashfully beside the bell. In his office, Mr Jefferies looked like a demented seal as he pounded his hands together. Here it comes, thought Toby. Any second now. On cue, Mr Jefferies mimed high-fiving the blushing woman. What ridiculous shite.

At that moment, Suzie scuttled into the cubicle across from Toby's. She powered up her computer, plopped her headset on, and was already introducing herself to her first potential victim before she had her coat off. Toby liked Suzie, but she always seemed to be in a wiz; she had a thousand balls in the air and was terrified of dropping even one. She was a mom you see, and one without a partner to help her. The poor girl was constantly exhausted.

Throughout the morning, the bell clanged occasionally and everyone jumped to their feet like Pavlov’s dogs. Most people Toby called told him to go f**k himself, or some more polite version of that sentiment. That was tough, particularly when his wage was linked to the number of calls he made, and the number of sales he achieved. In contrast to Mr Jefferies' celebration of sales, Philippa from accounts seemed to resent every cent that went into a pay-packet. The penny-pinching administrator paused as she passed Suzie desk and said, “Fifteen minutes late, again, Miss Granger.”

“I know, it was my son’s…”

“Excuses won’t cut any mustard with me, Miss Granger. A note will be added to your file,” she said shrilly and began to walk away. As an afterthought, she added, “And the loss of your first hour, of course.”

Toby bristled. He knew the note meant nothing; all Philippa cared about was getting forty-five free minutes of work from an employee. It all transferred to the bottom line; pure profit. If Suzie was late every single day, they would keep employing her and keep sucking her hours away. It was just another scam.

Stuff like that got right on Toby's wick. Anyone could see that she was doing her best, and achieving a hell of a lot more than most. Philippa should be thanking her, not looking for every opportunity to turn the screw a bit tighter. Not that that would never happen. Philippa and Mr Jefferies knew when they had someone by the short and currlies, and they loved twisting those bad-boys.

At twelve forty, Mr Jefferies appeared over Toby’s shoulder and said, “Brain-drain. My office. In five,” before sauntering away. Brain-drain? The man was so steeped in management lingo he’d lost the ability to use the English language. Toby looked at his watch and cursed. That was his lunch break gone, and more importantly, he’d miss Joan.

He gathered a pen and jotter then followed the boss. The brain-drain turned out to be a long-winded rant by Mr Jefferies, bemoaning the new targets set by head office. Philippa chipped in with bolstering comments from time to time but Toby didn't speak even once. After a while, there was a knock at the door and Joan’s smiling face appeared.

                “Would anyone like to order something?” she asked, nodding toward the basket of sandwiches and buns slung over her arm. Toby felt his heart race and a blush sprang to his cheeks but Mr Jefferies beat him to the punch.

“We’re all good here,” he said, and continued with his commentary. Joan slipped out and the only light in Toby’s life vanished for another day. The meeting ended at two and Toby knew he’d never make his call quota today. That ment he would only take-home sixty percent of his wage. He’d be better off on the dole. Despite the pointlessness of it, he picked up his phone and dialled the next number on his list.

At five-forty-five, he putting on his jacket but then the phone rang. He picked it.

“Glad I caught you, Toby. I need you to do a little job for me,” he said. Toby could hear road noise in the background and he knew the boss was already on the way home.

Inside he winced, but heard himself say, “Sure.”

“There is a guy coming over to upgrade the computers. Can you hang on a few minutes till he’s done?”

“I was just on my way out,” he said.

“The road to the top is a tough one, Toby. If you can’t put the needs of the company …”

“No. It’s fine. I can wait,” he said. This job was a shitty one but it was the only one he had.

“I knew I could count on you. See you in the morning. Oh, and one more thing. You better clock out to keep the rosters straight.” he said and hung up.

“Shit,” said Toby, and slammed the handset into the cradle. His stomach growled and he knew it was going to be empty for a while. He went to the fingerprint pad and pressed his digit to it. The machine beeped and he was off the clock, but still trapped. The office was completely empty by the time the computer guy turned up.

“Sorry I’m late,” said the guy, struggling under a tonne of cases.

“It’s fine. Let me take some of those,” said Toby.

“Cheers,” said the guy handing over a bag filled with tools then extended his hand saying, “I'm Moggs, nice to meet you.”

“Toby,” he replied and shook the man’s hand. Toby liked him already, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

“Right. Point me in the direction of the server and let’s get this over and done with.” Moggs turned out to be as good as his word and worked like lightning. Soon he had the new programme loading and they had time to chat. It turned out they had a hell of a lot in common. They were both interns, they were both underpaid, underappreciated and overworked.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” said Moggs.

“I’m all ears.”

“None of them really know what's going on.”

“None of who?”

“The bosses.”

“Really?”

“Yea. This little baby is the real power behind the wizard,” he said, patting his laptop.

“How do you mean?”

“Every day, this thing spits out a report and they all take it for gospel. Not one of them knows enough about the business, or the way the programme works, to know if the numbers are real or not. They blindly following along behind this digital Pied Piper.”

“So, if the computer gets it wrong, they’d never know.”

“Not unless it goes completely insane. They never see the small things, which is why we have to do updates. To catch the glitches, you know.”

“It must be complicated.”

“Na, not at all. Do you want me to show you?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sure, but keep it to yourself, fair enough?”

“You can count on it.” For the next hour, Moggs showed him the ins and outs of the programme. The backdoor log-in, how a few little tweaks here and there could change the reports, making fantasy become reality. When Toby eventually left the office, he had an empty stomach and a full brain. He decided it was time to stick it to Mr Jefferies and his snivelling sidekick Philippa.

The next morning, when the alarm went off he sprang from the bed, eager to get to work for the first time in ages. His head buzzed with all the stuff he could do to show up his boss for the drooling idiot he was. He logged into the administrator section of the programme, as Moggs had shown him, but there he stalled. He couldn’t make himself do it. He didn't want to lower himself to the level of pettiness that Philippa enjoyed. Instead, he opened his call list and started working.

Suzie arrived in a panic, as always, and hurriedly began getting her workstation up and running. “Tough morning?” he asked.

“Terrible. The bus was late and I had to run all the way from dropping my little fella at the child-minder and I still didn’t make it on time. I know that witch is going to dock me another hour, and I can’t afford that. I have to make my quota this week or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Toby nodded and dialled his next number. Later, he opened up the programme and accessed the payroll section. He selected Suzie timecard and changed her nine-twelve clock in to eight-fifty-nine. It wasn’t stealing, if anything it was stopping the company from robbing her. Deep inside he felt a glow of contentment as he went back to work.

Lunchtime rolled around and Joan appeared with her basket of goodies. She stopped at desks, asking people if they wanted to buy something, and Toby's eyes tracked her like a fox watching a chicken. When she reached his desk, she gave him a magical smile and asked, "Would you like anything?"

"A ham roll and a muffin, if you have one," he said with a hitch in his voice. It must have been his heart clogging up his throat.

"Sure, Honey," she said, and popped them on his desk. She took his money and moved on.

"She called me, Honey," he said to himself and felt a flutter in his chest. She might call everyone honey, but he didn't care. He never enjoyed a meal so much.

The rest of the day passed without incident and it was the first time in ages he felt motivated. Even the clanging of the bell and the pantomime they had to perform with each ring, failed to annoy him. Before leaving, he logged back into the administrator programme and looked at Suzie’s calls for the day. She'd nearly made it, only twenty short and she had skipped her lunch. In Toby’s mind, she’d worked hard enough to deserve her full day's wage, so with a click of his mouse, he added thirty-five calls to her total. Toby walked home on cloud nine.

Over the following weeks, he continued to make little adjustments here and there as people deserved them. He helped Suzie keep on track of her attendance, so long as she wasn’t too late. He added a sale here and there to people who worked hard but rarely got the credit. He adjusted a few customer feed-back forms to mention particular people who needed to be recognised for work they did. They were only tiny little things, and not one of them were done to damage the company. Actually, he began to notice something unusual. People started getting happier. The bell rang more often and people started believing that the impossible targets were possible after all. They all started to approach their customers with a genuine warmth, and it showed. Mr Jefferies even eased up on them. After all, he believed this new upward trend in sales was all down to him. But all that ended the day the email arrived.

Mr Jefferies came out of his office like a raging bull and stormed up to accounts in search of Philippa. He reappeared with a trail of worried looking managers in tow and then the shouting began. The words, E-mail, and, Head Office, were repeated often and loudly. Deep in Toby's gut he knew this was something to do with him, so he logged into the server and opened up Mr Jefferies E mails. In glaring black and white, all his nightmares became reality. There was an inspection team on their way from the US to investigate, unexplainable irregularities. Toby knew that meant one thing; they were coming to find him.

He kept his head down until five thirty then left the office. His stomach churned with worry, and no matter what way he looked at things, trouble lay ahead. That night he didn't sleep a wink and when he turned up the following day, a cloud of gloom hung over the office. He kept his head down as manager after manager filed in and out of Mr Jefferies' sanctum. There were two strangers looming about the place, clearly the American henchmen, and their stony glares did nothing to dispel that notion. Around eleven, a girl from accounts fled Mr Jefferies' office in tears. Toby left his cubicle to follow as unobtrusively as possible. He caught up with her at the lift and stood beside her, pretending to wait on the doors to open.

  

"Are you, OK?" he asked, the girl was trying her best to rub away rivers of watery mascara.

"No, I'm not. They're saying someone interfered with the accounts, and they're trying to pin it on me."

"That's crazy!"

"I know! But they don't care. They said I had access codes and they wouldn't believe that I've never used them."

"Don't worry too much. I'm sure it will work itself out," he said, earning himself a stony glare from the girl.

"And how would you know?" she snapped, before storming away toward the stairs, giving up on the elevator.

Toby turned back to the office and knew he had to face the music. He never imagined that someone else could get in trouble for what he'd done. He went straight to Mr Jefferies door, knocked, and went in. His boss looked up and barked, "Can't you see I'm busy, Toby. I'm sure whatever it is can wait."

"I don't think it can, Sir."

"Well, spit it out then," snapped his boss, as the two American's talked among themselves.

"I know who interfered with the computer." That got the attention of the strangers, and shocked Mr Jefferies into silence.

"I think you better take a seat," said one of the Americans.

Once he was seated, Mr Jefferies said, "Well, who was it then?"

"Me."

"Don't talk rubbish. You couldn't possibly have done that." Toby sighed and began telling his story. He told them everything, but left out Moggs’ part in willingly giving him the ins and outs of the computer system. Instead, he said he saw the password written down on the paperwork and figured out the rest himself. When he came to the end of his story, Mr Jefferies jumped to his feet and roared, "You're finished here! You'll never work in this town again! I'm calling the police!" His boss looked at the strangers for agreement but their faces gave nothing away.

"What's your name again?" asked one of the men.

"Toby."

"This is a very serious situation," the man said, severely. "You're suspended pending investigation. I must ask you to leave the office and not return until you’re contacted. Is that clear?"

"I'll get my coat," said Toby, his words felt crushed under the wreck he’d managed to make of his life. What was he going to do now?

"I'll walk you to the door," said the American. Toby felt like a criminal, and for the first time, he worried that he might have actually broken the law. Could he end up behind bars for this? As Toby was escorted from the office, every eye was on him, including Joan's, who was in the middle of her lunch round.

All that night, and most of the next day, he expected a knock on his door and the feel of handcuffs on his wrists, but neither arrived. What did arrive was a text saying, Please attend the office for a meeting in the morning. Eleven am. After reading it, Toby wondered should he pack a bag? He might not see his flat again for six to twelve months.

When he arrived at work, he was shown into Mr Jefferies' office where a full welcoming committee waited. Thankfully, none of them were policemen. Present were; Mr Jefferies, Philippa, the two Americans, and an empty chair for him.

"Have a seat," said the American who had done all the talking on the first day. Toby was feeling a bit faint so he was glad to comply. "I want to start by saying that we have spoken with all the members of staff who you...assisted, and they all confirm they were completely in the dark about what you had done."

Toby looked around and noted the glare Philippa was sending his way, and Mr Jefferies' smug look. Whatever was coming was very very bad. The American continued talking. "We’ve made a full assessment of the changes you made and found you didn't improve your own sales calls; time card, or any other aspect of your personal record. Can you tell us why?"

"I just wanted people to be treated a bit more fairly. I never intended to hurt the company…or make any money that I hadn’t earned."

"That is completely out..." shouted Mr Jefferies, but the American held up his hand and silenced him.

"Are you referring to yourself, or is it people in general, that were being treated unfairly?" asked the American.

"Well, unfairly might be overly strong," he said, not wishing to sound like a snitch. Mr Jefferies looked like he was about to explode.

"Strangely, it seems that even after reversing your influence, this office has showed a marked improvement in productivity over the last few weeks. Record-breaking even," said the American, as if Mr Jefferies were invisible.

"Purely coincidental," snipped Philippa.

"I beg to differ," said the American who’d not yet spoken. Toby noticed the first man sit back; this was clearly the big boss speaking. "This young man has done something very stupid, but in doing so he has unearthed an even more glaring mistake on our behalf," said the man, glowering at Philippa and Mr Jefferies.

"Mistake," snorted Mr Jefferies.

"We, and by extension, you, forgot that we’re an industry dependent on people. Our company is run by people, and all of them deserve to be treated with dignity. Having said that... Toby's actions cannot go unanswered. What I'm suggesting is a period away from the office for this young man."

"Please don't send me to prison," sobbed Toby and he failed to hold back his tears.

"I'm suggesting nothing of the sort," said the American, his tone softening.

"Then what are you suggesting," snorted Mr Jefferies, pushing his chair back from the desk and stapling his hands behind his head.

"I'm suggesting he comes to the States and works with us in head office for three months. Then he returns here as office controller."

Toby couldn't believe his ears.

"You're rewarding criminality!" yelled Mr Jefferies.

"I'm rewarding ingenuity, and he didn't steal anything from us, he made our company stronger!" yelled the American, slamming his fist on the table. The sound was still reverberating off the walls when Mr Jefferies snapped his mouth closed. The American turned to Toby and asked with a smile, "You ready to go back to work?"

"Am I ever!" said Toby, standing to shake the man's hand, delighted he was not going to jail.

As Toby opened the door of Mr Jefferies' office, he could see eyes peering at him from everywhere. Slowly, Suzie stood up and smiled. Then she began applauding. One by one, every one of his workmates joined in until the noise was thunderous. That was when the cheering started. Toby couldn't help himself; he snatched a scissors from a desk and walked to the bell in the middle of the room. With one snip the clanger fell into his hand and he held it aloft like a victorious warrior.

In the midst of the hoots and hollers, he saw Joan walking away from his desk. When he got there, he found a muffin and a ham roll waiting for him. On the blotter was a note. It said, "I love a rebel. Call me." Beside it was her number, and for Toby, this great day became legendary.