by David Moody
We pull up outside his narrow terraced house and the kids start to get wound up and excited. They enjoy their time with Grandpa. Truth is they tolerate their time with Harry. They put up with it because they know they’ll get sweets or some other treat out of him before they go home.
“I don’t want any arguing today,” Liz says as we wait for him to answer the front door. I think she’s talking to the kids but I realize she’s looking at me.
“I never argue with your dad,” I tell her. “He argues with me. There’s a difference you know.”
“I’m not interested,” she says as the latch clicks open. “Just be nice.”
The door opens inward. Harry opens his arms to the kids and they run toward him, giving him a dutiful squeeze before disappearing deeper inside to trash his house.
“Hello, love,” he says to Lizzie as she hugs him.
“You okay, Dad?”
“Fine,” he smiles. “Better now. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you lot all day.”
Lizzie follows the children into the house. I go inside, wipe my feet, and shut the door behind me.
“Harry,” I say, acknowledging him. I don’t mean to sound abrupt but I unintentionally do.
“Daniel,” he replies, equally abruptly. He turns and walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
I step over the children (who are already sprawled out across the living room floor) and head for my usual spot—the armchair in the corner of the room near the back window. I grab the Sunday newspapers off the coffee table as I pass. Burying my head in Harry’s papers always helps me get through these long and monotonous visits.
A couple of minutes go by before Harry reappears with a tray of drinks. Vile, milky tea for Liz and me and equally weak, over-diluted fruit juice for the children. I take my tea from him.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He hardly even looks at me.
I sit down in the corner of the room and start to read. I’m not interested in the politics or the finance or the travel or the style and fashion sections. I head straight for the comics. That’s about the level I can cope with today.
We’ve been here for almost an hour and I’ve hardly said a word. Lizzie’s been dozing on the sofa on the other side of the room and Harry has been sitting on the floor with the kids. There’s no disputing the fact that they get on well together. He’s laughing and joking with them and they’re loving it. Makes me feel like a bad parent if I’m honest. I don’t enjoy being with the children like he does. Maybe it’s because he can walk away from them and we can’t. They drain me, and I know Lizzie feels the same too. Everything’s an effort when you have kids.
“Grandpa just made a coin disappear!” Ellis squeals, tugging at my pants leg. Harry fancies himself as something of an amateur magician. He’s always making things disappear and reappear. She squeals again as he “magically” finds the coin tucked behind her ear. It doesn’t take much to impress a four year old . . .
“Your Uncle Keith’s gone into the hospital again,” Harry says, turning around to speak to Lizzie who stirs and sits up.
“How’s Annie coping?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawns. I don’t bother listening to Harry’s answer. I’ve never met Liz’s Uncle Keith or Auntie Annie and I don’t suppose I ever will. I feel like I know them though, the number of times I’ve had to sit here and listen to endless trivial stories about their empty lives on the other side of the country. This happens most Sunday afternoons. Liz and Harry start talking about families and reminiscing and I just switch off. They’ll talk constantly now until we go home about people I’ve never heard of and places I’ve never been.
“Mind if I put the soccer game on?” I ask, noticing the time and stumbling on a way of keeping myself awake. Both Harry and Lizzie look up, surprised that I’ve spoken.
“Carry on,” grumbles Harry. He makes it sound as if watching the game will stop him from talking or prevent him from doing something more important. Truth is he likes soccer as much as I do. I switch on the TV and the room is suddenly filled with noise. I swear he’s going deaf. The volume’s almost at the maximum. I turn it down and I’m about to change channels when I stop.
“Bloody hell,” I say under my breath.
“What’s the matter?” asks Liz.
“Have you seen this?”
I point at the screen. It’s the same news channel I was watching last night. It’s the same story too. The violence I’d seen reported appears to have continued to spread. It looks like a wave of trouble has washed right across our town. Although it looks quieter now the screen shows pictures of damaged buildings and garbage-filled streets.
“I saw this earlier,” Harry says. “It’s a bloody disgrace if you ask me.”
“What’s happened?” asks Liz.
“Haven’t you seen any news yet today?”
“You know what it’s like in our house, Dad,” she replies as she shuffles around to get a better view of the screen. “We’re last on the list when it comes to choosing what we watch on TV.”
“You want to start putting your foot down,” he moans, looking directly at me, trying to get me to bite. “Show them you’re in charge. You should never let children rule the roost like that.”
I ignore him and answer Liz.
“There was some trouble last night,” I explain. “I saw it before I went to bed. There were a few incidents around town which got out of control.”
“What do you mean, got out of control?”
“You know what it’s like in town on a Saturday. If there’s a night when things will get out of hand it will always be Saturday. The streets are filled with idiots who are drunk and off their faces on drugs. The police can’t cope with them as it is. Apparently it all started with a fight in a bar that got out of hand. More and more people got involved and it turned into a riot.”
“Grandpa, we saw a fight yesterday,” Ellis says innocently, looking up from her coloring book. Harry looks at Liz who nods her head.
“It was horrible, Dad,” she explains. “We took Ed to a party at the Kings Head. It was full of football fans. We were having a meal and two of them started fighting.” She stops speaking and checks that the children aren’t listening. “One of them had a knife,” she says, her voice a little lower.
Harry shakes his head.
“It’s a sad state of affairs, it really is,” he sighs. “It’s almost as if people go out looking for trouble these days.”
The room falls quiet momentarily.
“Hang on,” Lizzie says suddenly, “did you say this trouble happened here?”
“Yes,” I answer, nodding my head, “why?”
“Because this is talking about somewhere else,” she says, nodding toward the TV. She’s right. This report is coming from another place farther north, and now they’ve cut to a third reporter on the east coast.
“It’s mob violence,” Harry chunters. “It spreads. People see something on TV and it makes them want to go out and do the same.”
He might be right but I doubt it very much. This doesn’t make sense. I can’t imagine that these people are all fighting just for the sake of it. There must be a reason.
“There must be more to it than that,” I say. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, do you really believe these people were just watching the trouble on TV one minute and then were out on the streets fighting the next? These riots are hundreds of miles apart. There must be more to it.”
For once he doesn’t answer.
Another twenty minutes and the children have reached and exceeded their boredom threshold. They’ve started acting up and it’s time to leave. I try to hide my relief as I bundle them into the back of the car. They bicker and fight constantly and I wonder if they’re as anxious about Monday morning as I am. I hate Sunday evenings. All that’s left now is the rush to get everything ready for school and work tomorrow.
This is the worst part of the weekend. Nothing to look forward to now
except Monday.
9
WE’RE STILL HALF A mile from home and I don’t know what the hell is going on. The traffic has suddenly slowed. It’s backed up as far as I can see both ahead of us and behind and we’re hardly moving. It’s Sunday evening, for Christ’s sake. The roads should be empty. It’s already getting dark. I don’t want to spend the whole night sitting here.
I can hear sirens. I look into the rearview mirror and I can see a mass of flashing blue lights coming up on us at speed. A convoy of police cars and fire engines are approaching from behind and there are more flashing lights coming the other way too. The drivers of the cars around us shuffle to the side and mount the pavement to get out of the way. I do the same.
“Wonder what’s happened,” Liz mumbles as we bump up onto the grass verge.
“Don’t know,” I answer. There’s a noise from the backseat and I look around to see Ed and Ellis fighting with each other across Josh who’s trapped in his baby seat. “Cut it out,” I snap angrily. They stop when I tell them but I know they’ll start again the second I look away.
The emergency vehicles rumble past us and I crane my neck to watch where they go. They take a left-hand turn a couple of hundred yards ahead. In the semidarkness I can see the blinking blue lights through the gaps between buildings and the branches of trees. They’ve stopped not far from here.
“Looks serious, doesn’t it?” Lizzie says, keeping her voice quiet so the children don’t hear.
The traffic is at a complete standstill now and it looks like people have turned off their engines. Some are starting to get out of their cars. I can’t stand sitting behind the wheel if I’m not going anywhere. I decide to go and have a look too. I’ll try and see how long we’re likely to be stuck here.
“Back in a second,” I say as I switch off the engine and undo my seat belt.
“What are you doing?”
“Just going to see what’s happening,” I answer quickly.
“Can I come?” Ed asks. I turn to face him as I climb out of the car.
“No, you wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”
He slouches back in his seat and scowls.
Lizzie’s not happy being left with the kids but I go anyway. I follow a group of three people from the car in front of us around the corner. There’s a large crowd gathering in the next street. As I get closer I can see that a dark blue station wagon has lost control and mounted the pavement. It’s hit a street lamp which has fallen onto the front drive of a house and destroyed a trailer which was parked there. The police are trying to cordon off the scene. They’re pushing people back but I manage to keep moving forward until I’m right at the front of the crowd. The car’s a total write-off. Its hood is smashed and crumpled and the driver is slumped against the steering wheel. He’s not moving. The firemen are setting up their cutting equipment to get him out but no one’s rushing. Looks like they’re already too late.
There are two paramedics and a police officer crouching down at the front of the car. Has someone else been injured too? One of the green-suited paramedics gets up to fetch something. Bloody hell, there’s a body under the car. I can’t see much, just a twisted, broken leg sticking out from under what’s left of the hood at an awkward angle. Poor sod. Whoever it was they didn’t stand a chance.
I stand and stare at the crash scene until the police decide to widen their cordon again and I’m pushed farther back. I realize I’ve left Lizzie on her own for too long and I quickly turn and start to walk back toward the car. I stumble into a man walking his dog when he stops suddenly as the dog veers off to the left toward the hedge.
“Sorry, mate,” I mumble quickly.
“That’s okay,” he replies as he tries to yank the dog back out of my way. The dog isn’t responding. “Come on, boy,” he snaps.
“Nasty accident, that,” I say.
He shakes his head.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“What?”
He looks into my face and shakes his head again.
“I saw the whole thing happen,” he tells me. “Bloody idiot.”
“Who?”
“The guy driving the car. Absolute bloody idiot.”
“Why?”
“First thing I know is when some guy runs past me,” he explains. “Came out of nowhere, he did, nearly knocked me flying. Then the car comes past and drives onto the pavement just up from where I’m walking. The guy’s running as fast as he can but there’s nothing he can do. The driver puts his foot down and just accelerates and runs him over and drives straight into the wall. Stupid bastard. Looks like he’s killed himself too.”
The man finally moves his dog out of the way and I start to walk forward again, trying to make sense of what I’ve just heard. This weekend has been full of bizarre and horrific events. First the concert, then the attack in the pub yesterday, and now this. And there was the man in the street on Thursday morning too. I think back to the news report we were watching at Harry’s house. What the hell is going on?
MONDAY
v
TEN TIMES THE TROUBLE wouldn’t have kept some drinkers away. The club was emptier than usual but these were the hardened few—the regular drinkers and clubbers who wouldn’t miss a night out no matter what they’d seen on the news or read in the papers. For these people the rest of the week revolved around nights like this. Getting drunk, getting stoned, and getting laid was all that mattered.
“She’s fucking gorgeous, mate,” Shane White yelled into Newbury’s ear. “She keeps looking at you. Get in there, son!”
Newbury turned to White and grinned.
“Reckon I’m in with a chance then?”
“No fucking problem. She’s yours, mate, no question.”
“Serious?”
“Serious.”
“Right then. Watch this.”
Newbury pushed himself away from the bar, knocked back the last of his drink, and stood and watched her. He didn’t even know her name. He’d seen her here a few times before but she’d always been surrounded by guys and her friends and he’d never had the nerve to try anything with her. It felt different tonight. He felt confident and alive. Maybe he felt less intimidated because there were fewer people around? Maybe it was just because he was already half drunk. Whatever the reason it didn’t matter. Fucking hell, he thought as he watched her dance, Shane’s right, she’s fucking gorgeous. He slowly walked toward her and she began to dance toward him.
“How’s it going?” he shouted, fighting to make himself heard over the thumping music which filled the half-empty club. It seemed louder than ever in here tonight with fewer people around. She didn’t answer. Instead she just beckoned him closer, wrapped her arms around him, and shoved her tongue down his throat.
“You’re bloody beautiful, you are,” Newbury babbled breathlessly as they left the club and walked together toward an alley opposite the town hall. “Absolutely bloody beautiful.”
“Are you going to spend all night talking or what?” she asked as she led him into the shadows. He couldn’t answer. “I could have stayed at home if I wanted to talk. All I need from you is a good, hard fuck.”
Newbury struggled to believe what he was hearing. He’d never had this happen before. He’d fantasized about it enough times and he’d heard about it happening to other people, but it had never actually happened to him. And he’d never dreamed it might happen with a girl like this . . .
She stopped walking and turned toward him, pushing her body against his. She ripped open his shirt.
“Here?” he asked. “You dirty bitch . . . !”
“This is how I like it,” she hissed in his ear. He could smell the booze on her breath. Somehow that made it more sordid and more exciting.
Newbury was in danger of becoming too fired up and turned on to perform. Staying in control was getting more difficult every time she touched him or kissed him or . . . she pushed him back hard against the wall and kissed him again, chewing on his lips and forcing her
tongue deep into his mouth. He shoved his hand down the back of her skirt and pulled her even closer. In response she undid his pants zip, slid her hand inside, and slipped her fingers around his drunken erection. She held it firmly but gently and teased it out of his zipper and toward her.
“Get your panties off,” he gasped in a momentary pause between frantic bites and kisses.
“What panties?” she whispered in his ear as she hitched her tight skirt up around her waist. Still locked together they rolled to the side until she was the one with her back to the wall. “Come on,” she moaned, desperate for him, “give it to me.”
Newbury shuffled into position and tried to slide into her. It was awkward and rough. The booze had affected both of their coordinations. She gasped with sudden pleasure as his full length finally disappeared inside her.
“I’ll give it to you, you dirty slut,” he promised as he forced himself deeper still. She looked up to the sky and bit her lip, trying not to make any noise but at the same time desperate to scream out loud.
“Harder,” she hissed.
He began to thrust his body against hers, forcing her back against the wall again and again.
“Hard enough for you?” he asked, staring deep into her wide gray eyes.
“Just fuck me,” she gasped between thrusts.
“Hard enough?” he hissed again through clenched teeth.
Then she stopped.
She let go of him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you? What did I do?”
The expression on her face changed from pleasure to fear in an instant. She pushed him off and backed away from him, pulling her skirt down and tripping back across the alley.
“What’s going on?” he asked again. “What’s the matter with you?”
She didn’t answer. She kept moving away, shuffling deeper into the shadows. He continued to move toward her. She tried to speak but she couldn’t. “Don’t . . .” was all she could mumble.
