Дэвид Муди - Hater

‘What, he’s had his appointment?’

‘It was booked for three o’clock. It’s a good job you weren’t taking him.’

‘I know but…’

‘We’ve been waiting for you for the last twenty minutes. We were in and out in seconds. They rushed us through.’

‘I’m sorry, I…’

She shakes her head again and starts to push Josh up the hill back towards the main road.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she mumbles. Christ, she’s in a bad mood.

‘And is everything okay?’ I ask, having to shout after her as she storms away. ‘Is Josh all right?’

‘He’s fHe’s fine,’ she grunts back over her shoulder.

The afternoon goes from bad to worse. Lizzie’s talking to me again now but she’s still not happy. Neither am I. We’ve walked back across town to the station but there’s been a problem with the lines and our train has been cancelled. We can’t get Harry to collect us (there isn’t enough room in the car) so the only option left is a long journey home on three buses. Liz has just phoned Harry and told him we’ll be late back. By all accounts he’s not at all impressed.

The working day is drawing to a close. The light is fading and those office workers who finish at four o’clock are already starting to crowd onto the streets. We need to get out of town quickly or we’ll get caught up in the main rush hour crush.

‘Which bus?’ Lizzie asks, having to shout to make herself heard over the traffic.

‘The 220,’ I answer from just behind her. I’m pushing Josh now and we seem to be moving in the opposite direction to almost every other pedestrian. It’s hard to keep moving forward in a straight line. ‘The stop’s just up here.’

Our stop is halfway down a one-way street. Lizzie ducks into the shelter and I follow. Josh is moaning. He’s cold and hungry.

‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the hospital on time,’ I say. ‘Things are difficult at the moment. You know what it’s like when…’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she interrupts, obviously not interested in my explanations.

I peer down the street as a bus appears. I hopefully squint into the distance to make out the number but it’s not ours. I slump into the shelter again.

‘So what did the doctor say?’

‘Nothing much. We were in and out in five minutes. His head’s healed as it should have and there’s no lasting damage. He’ll have a small scar but it’ll be hidden by his hair.’

‘That’s good,’ I say, looking down at Josh who, somehow, now looks like he’s about to fall asleep. ‘It’s a relief. You can never be sure when they hurt themselves like that…’

I stop talking when a sudden stampede of footsteps thunders past the bus stop. A group of six men are chasing after a single shaven-headed figure who is desperately trying to get away. He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt which is covered in blood. Two of the men barge past us and almost knock Lizzie over.

‘Watch where you’re going you fucking idiots!’ I shout after them. I immediately regret opening my mouth. Lizzie glares at me. Thankfully both of the men keep running and neither of them reacts.

The man they’re all chasing sprints into the street and runs immediately into the path of a taxi which blasts its horn and flashes its lights at him. The driver swerves and skids to a halt and somehow manages to avoid a collision. The man pushes himself away off the bonnet of the taxi and turns and starts to run down the middle of the road. But the slight delay is his downfall and the group of men following are onto him like wild animals chasing down their prey. My heart is in my mouth. The rest of the world seems to have stopped still.

The nearest of the chasing pack reaches out and manages to grab hold of the man’s sleeve. With a single strong yank he pulls the desperate figure backwards. He trips over his own feet and falls in a crumpled heap on the dotted white line in the middle of the road.

‘Fucking scum,’ I hear one of the other men shout. ‘You fucking Hater scum.’

They encircle the lone runner and batter him. They kick and hit him relentlessly. I look at Lizzie and she stares back at me, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Does she expect me to do something? There’s no way I’m getting involved. I look around and see that no-one else is doing anything either. The traffic has ground to a halt and many of the pedestrians on either side of the road have stopped walking.

The beating lasts for less than a minute. They surround him and batter him from every side and every angle kicking his face, his kidneys, his chest and his bollocks and stamping on his head, his kneecaps and his outstretched hands. Once the frenzied attack is over the man’s breathless assailants step back, leaving the twitching body on the ground in full view. The wail of approaching sirens shatters the heavy and ominous silence. I look back down the road and see that a police motorbike is weaving through the stationary traffic. By the time the police officer reaches the body all but one of the attackers have disappeared into the crowds. The one who remains stands his ground and shouts and screams at the officer and points accusingly at the helpless, broken man on the road before turning and running after the others. With a bizarre lack of urgency, interest and care the police officer drags the body away from the middle of the road and leaves it in the gutter before signalling to the traffic to start moving again.

The world slowly starts to crank itself back into action.

Lizzie is holding onto my arm, gripping me so tight that it hurts. I can’t take my eyes off the dark mound at the side of the road. Who was it? What had he done? If he really was a Hater then he deserved everything he got.

It seems like every time we go out now something happens.

I think back to the television programme we watched last night, and then I think about the other attacks I’ve seen and those I’ve heard about. All that bullshit I came out with last night suddenly seems to count for nothing. There is something more to this. This isn’t just paranoia or people exploiting the situation.

I feel sick with nerves and fear.

Who is it going to happen to next? Me? Lizzie? Harry or one of the kids? Someone at work? It could be anyone.

13

It’s late by the time we finally get home. We’d expected to be back by five. There were more traffic delays on the way out of town. It’s now almost eight.

‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ one of the men from the flat upstairs says as we pass him on his way out of the apartment block. I think this is Gary. He has another man with him who I’ve never seen before.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble as I struggle to get through the entrance door with Josh’s pushchair.

‘You all right?’ he asks, appearing genuinely concerned.

‘We’re fine, thanks,’ I answer quickly, not interested in talking. I gently push Lizzie towards the flat. The two men leave.

‘Everything okay?’ Harry asks as I open our front door. He’s halfway down the hall as soon as he hears the key in the lock. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you. You could have phoned me again.’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ Lizzie says.

‘There was some trouble,’ I explain.

‘What kind of trouble?’

Liz takes off her coat and shakes her head. She wipes her eyes.

‘I don’t know what’s going on out there,’ she sighs, her voice quiet and emotional. ‘It feels like the whole world’s going mad.’

‘So what happened?’ he asks, looking from Lizzie to me and then back again for an answer. ‘Are you both all right? Did you…?’

‘We’re okay,’ she says wearily as she gently pushes him back down the corridor towards the living room. Josh is still asleep. I carefully unbuckle his straps, take off his coat and pick him up out of the pushchair.