Jason went over to Keith.
“Got the job, didja?” Keith had a nice smile, mixing sardonic amusement at the necessity of having a job with good humour.
“Yeah. My name's Jason. Could you show me what to do? ”
“Keith.” They shook hands. “Ok,” said Keith, “this is where we keep the . . .”
Jason didn't stop working till 2 am. He was dog-tired at the end of his shift. He'd had only a couple of hours sleep since he'd left home — when? Nearly 48 hours ago — but he'd kept going. Hard work stopped him thinking, stopped him worrying, stopped him remembering. Oh God! That was the most important. When he thought about what had happened, he felt quite sick. A hard knot would form in his stomach and his heart would start pounding. He was glad he'd been kept too busy to think. And now he was so tired he'd fall asleep straight away when he finally got back to his room at Majorca Flats.
While Keith was mopping down the counter and stacking chairs, Tom called him into his office. Jason wondered whether all the effort would be worth it. Was he going to get paid?
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