Never Look Back Read Online Free PDF Page B

particularly him, it seemed. She turned and gave him a curt nod. He had the feeling that she thought he didn’t spend enough time here, wasn’t as involved with his brother as he should be. He waited for her to finish the call.
    ‘Morning, Amber. You look very nice today. How’s it going?’ he asked, giving her his best smile. He was hoping a bit of flattery would save him from her wrath. He had brushed his dark curls until they no longer resembled a Brillo pad, he was clean shaven and all of his clothes were clean, though the iron had eluded him. There wasn’t a grey hair on his head, as yet, and Clara had always said that when he smiled his fleshy pink lips and Bushbaby eyes were his most disarming features. However, judging by Amber’s withering expression, his efforts had fallen short of the mark.
    ‘Mike. Bobby isn’t expecting you. I assume you didn’t call,’ she said, turning and heading away from him towards the kitchen.
    He raised his eyes and walked into the large communal lounge to his left. The four permanent staff kept the place immaculate but no amount of cleaning products could get rid of the smell that permeated the carpets, chairs and curtains. It was stale urine, antibacterial soap and something that he could almost taste; dry, sticking to the back of his throat. There was a disturbing similarity to the acrid, lingering smell of the mortuary suite. As he walked towards the double doors at the end of the lounge he looked out at the garden. It was too damp to sit outside. They would have to play cards in Bobby’s room.
    Lockyer had moved his brother here five years ago when he discovered he had a brother, and when he saw the shithole Bobby had been living in on the outskirts of Manchester. He thought back to the day he had found out about him; he’d been sifting through his father’s effects and discovered numerous letters and bank statements, all relating to Robert Lockyer. He walked back through to the hall and up the stairs. The door leading to the rooms of Bobby and the other male resident, Ian, was wedged open with an ancient-looking fire extinguisher. He glanced into Ian’s room as he passed.
    ‘Hey, Ian,’ he said, slowing his pace just enough for Ian to get his hand up and wave back at him. There was no such thing as a quick chat with Ian, so he knew better than to stop. Lockyer had attempted a couple of the house outings in the past but he hadn’t coped very well. The excitement of a trip meant the staff spent most of their time keeping everyone calm: that had included him.
    He stopped outside his brother’s room and waited, staring at the pine door. It had been the right decision to move Bobby down here but every time he visited a pang of guilt tugged at his conscience. Bobby wasn’t physically disabled – far from it – but he needed care, he needed the kind of help that Lockyer simply couldn’t provide. Their own parents had washed their hands of Bobby and packed him off to Aunt Nancy’s when he was seven. Lockyer had been four, but despite hours looking through family albums he couldn’t stir even the slightest memory of his older brother from when they were children. Bobby’s autism was too severe for his parents to handle. That was what his father’s letters had said and, of course, that’s what Aunt Nancy had eventually said, too. Other people had made Bobby’s decisions for him his entire life. Anger and resentment for the life he and Bobby had been denied never failed to surface when he thought about what their parents had done.
    ‘Hey, there.’
    He turned to see Alice, another carer and possibly the happiest woman he had ever met, walking towards him. ‘You here to see the Bobster? He’ll be chuffed. And I see you’ve even shaved for the occasion,’ she said, giving him a friendly punch on the arm.
    ‘Hey, Alice. How are you?’ he asked, doffing an invisible hat.
    ‘Perfect,’ she said, smiling.
    ‘Good to hear. Any changes in the last few days I