A Change of Mind and Other Stories

A CHANGE OF MIND

AND OTHER STORIES

By Nick Wilford

Copyright © 2015 by Nick Wilford

Superstar Peanut Publishing

Cover Art © 2015 by Rebekah Romani

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is events, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book has had quite a long gestation. Four of the stories – Marissa, The Insomniac, Hole In One and The Loner – were originally published in Writer’s Muse magazine between late 2010 and mid-2011. Prior to this, I posted them on the community site ABC Tales, where I cut my online writing teeth. I would like to thank the members of that community for offering honest feedback that helped shape the stories, and Jim Palmer, the editor of Writer’s Muse, for his encouragement and for giving me a chance.

Since then, I have started a blog and made many valuable connections with other writers. Thanks to Kyra Lennon and Annalisa Crawford, who critiqued A Change of Mind and offered fantastic advice. It was Kyra’s idea to release my novella as part of a collection. Thanks also to C.M. Brown, from whom I won a cover design prize by none other than the exceptionally talented Rebekah Romani.

A very special thanks to my family, who indulge my writing whims and put up with my mood swings when things aren’t going so well.

This book is dedicated to Andrew McNaughton, who inspired me to follow my dreams.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Change of Mind

Marissa

The Dog God

The Insomniac

Hole In One

The Loner

A Change of Mind

Hey Reuben, my main man, pass me that stapler, will you?

The loud, abrasive voice of Guy Borderman jackknifed into me as I blew on my hot milky tea, causing me to spill some on my trousers. I cursed silently, not wanting to bring further attention to myself, and rested the mug on my desk before picking up the stapler and making the journey to Borderman’s desk as nonchalantly as I could.

As it was getting on towards five o’clock, I had hoped Borderman would give me a break today. No such luck. It wasn’t so much the humiliation, but the hit to my pocket that really grated.

I dropped the stapler on Borderman’s desk, not looking the hulking brute in the eyes, and quickly turned to leave, praying the next part would be left out.

Got any plans tonight, Rubes? barked that faux-jovial voice as I was halfway back to my desk. I turned, looked at Borderman’s self-satisfied grin, and raised my shoulders slightly in a shrug that felt more like a gesture of surrender. I wasn’t sure why Borderman still made the effort. Everyone already knew I was a massive loser, and most barely looked up from their work.

It was too late today, but tomorrow I would have to request a new stapler, essential for my work, at a cost of £4.99, consuming both my time and money. And at some point, this new item would be borrowed by Borderman before disappearing forever into a black hole. This had happened nearly every day I was at work for the past two years.

At five o’clock, I put on my jacket, checking the pockets to find that thankfully there was no glue or other unsavoury items today, and left the office to walk to the bus stop. It started to rain in a torrential downpour that felt like some sort of water-based apocalypse. The bus approached, headlights like hazy red suns glimpsed through the rain. Then I noticed the Full sign.

Rather than wait half an hour and take a chance on the next bus having a seat, I started to squelch in my sodden shoes towards home. On the way I passed the Rose and Crown, as I had many times before, always wondering what it was like inside. Rather than continue wading through what felt like a sea with holes in it, I decided this might be an appropriate time to find out.

After all, it was my birthday.

*

Although the pub was pretty dank and gloomy, it seemed like Disneyland compared to the outside world right now. I swallowed under the scrutiny of the few customers who looked up from nursing their pints – bone-dry, so they had clearly got here before the heavens ripped open – and shambled towards the bar, fighting the instinct to turn tail and escape. I dripped a wet trail in my wake.

I took my raincoat off and hung it over the back of a chair – it had only partially done its job – and sat down uncomfortably. To my surprise, the barman regarded me with an open and pleasant smile rather than a frown of faintly disgusted disdain.

What’ll it be, friend?

I looked at the row of beer taps in front of me. I’d never felt the need to drink, not being one to socialise, and I didn’t drink at home for fear of losing control. But on one occasion I had tried lager, and hadn’t minded it after the initial repulsion. Perhaps it was time to loosen up a little.

Pint of... Carling, please, I said, selecting one at random.

Not seen you in here before, said the barman, while dispensing the frothy liquid into a glass. Fascinated by the collection of grubby beer mats on the ceiling, I was jolted by the fact another person was apparently trying to start a friendly conversation with me.

Errm... I don’t get out much.

Well, there it was. I’d revealed himself as a loser already, as if this guy didn’t already know.

Why’s that, pal? The barman put the dripping glass onto a stained towel covering the bar. I gazed into the bubbly liquid as if it held all the answers to life’s dilemmas. The urge to simply walk out was overwhelming, but I steeled myself and took a deep draught of the beer. It settled in my stomach and then seemed to radiate outwards, imbuing a sense of calm.

Well, I don’t have any friends.

I expected the barman to walk away and find something else to do, although there were no other customers at the bar, but the man remained where he was, absentmindedly running a cloth over the discoloured bar top.

Seems to me, if you got out more, you might make some friends. Seems to me you’re in a bit of a vicious circle at the moment. What’s your name?

Reuben.

Reuben. I’m Dave. Now let me give you a bit of advice. When you came in just now like a drowned rat – I know, it’s not your fault it’s raining – you stood there like you owed the world an apology. Like you were sorry for using up air. And you looked like you were terrified of everyone. If you stood up straight, acted a bit more confident, you might get on better.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes and telling the guy he sounded like my dad. Somehow, I didn’t think that would help.

It’s just... everyone’s always picked on me. It’s always been that way. Even at work, I’m a laughing stock.

Dave folded his arms. Well, the only person who lets that happen is you. You can put a stop to it any time you like.

I took another slow sip of beer. It seemed to slow down time, and combined with the shadowiness of the pub seemed to reduce the world to just me and this bizarrely friendly bartender, but it didn’t make me feel any more confident.

So, how do I do that, then?

Dave was eyeing me critically through narrowed slits, and I couldn’t help squirming in my seat. Finally, Dave said, I reckon you need more help than I can give.

As I suspected. Hopefully that would spell the end of this strange conversation.

But I know someone else who can help you. Don’t tell anyone else about this. Just go round and have a chat with him – if you can manage that. Dave took a small card out of his pocket and placed it next to my half-drained pint. Ask for Roger.

Totnell Mechanics and MOT Services, read the card, giving an address. But I don’t have a car.

"You’re not going to get a car fixed. You’re going to get you fixed. My mind raced as to the implications of what this might mean, and Dave must have sensed this, adding, No, no, it’s nothing like that. Just go and see Roger. Trust me on this."

I nodded slowly. What did I have to lose? Of course, there was a good chance the whole thing was an elaborate prank, but one more humiliation at this point was hardly going to make a difference. I pocketed the card.

Do it soon, said Dave. It’s only round the corner.

I said nothing, shellshocked by someone offering to help me. I finished my pint and stood, nodding goodbye to my mysterious benefactor and daring to look him in the eyes for a second. He seemed perfectly open and sincere, but that was the image people like Borderman always projected. Thanks, I mumbled, struggling into my sodden raincoat.

Let me know how you get on. Don’t be a stranger!

But I was always the