Дэвид Муди - Hater

There’s no point just lying here. Lizzie and the kids are asleep. It’s still dark outside but I get up and shuffle through to the living room. I peer out of the window. The car belonging to the people upstairs still hasn’t returned. What happened up there? My mind starts to wander and play tricks. Was there a Hater upstairs? It scares me to think that my kids could have been so close to one of them. I force myself to remember Lizzie’s words when we were awake earlier. I have to ignore what’s going on everywhere else and concentrate on keeping the people on this side of the front door safe.

The flat feels colder than ever this morning and the low temperature makes me feel old beyond my years. I fetch some breakfast and then sit in front of the TV. I watch cartoons. I can’t cope with anything more serious. Not yet.

I’m halfway through a bowl of dry cereal and I can’t eat any more. I don’t have much of an appetite. I feel uneasy all the time and I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening out there. What the hell is going on? I think about all the unconnected events I’ve witnessed and the hundreds — probably thousands — of other incidents which have happened elsewhere. No-one can see any connection and yet how can all of these things not be connected? That, I decide, is the most frightening aspect of all. How can so many people from so many different walks of life begin to behave so irrationally and erratically in such a short period of time?

I look over at the clock and realise that I should be getting ready for work now. My stomach starts to turn somersaults when I think about having to phone in and speak to Tina. Christ knows what she’s going to say or what I’m going to tell her. Maybe I just won’t phone at all.

My curiosity and apprehension gets the better of me. I finally relent and switch on the news. Half of me wants to know what’s happening today, the other half wants to go back to bed, put my head under the pillow and not get up again until it’s all over. And that causes me to ask myself yet another unanswerable question — how will this end? Will this wave of violence and destruction just fade and die out, or will it keep building and building?

The TV news channel looks different this morning, and for a while I can’t put my finger on why. The set is the same and the female presenter is familiar. I don’t recognise the man who’s sitting next to her. Must be a stand-in. I guess the usual newsreader didn’t turn up for work today. Half the staff didn’t turn up at my office yesterday. There’s no reason why things should be any different for the people on TV, is there? Except, perhaps, the fact that they get paid a hell of a lot more than me for doing a hell of a lot less.

The news is running on a loop again. It seems to be just the headlines on repeat, introduced by these two presenters. There’s no sport or entertainment or business news anymore, and the reports I’m watching are all similar to those we’ve seen before. No explanations, just basic information. Occasionally the cycle is interrupted when one of the newsreaders interviews someone in authority. I’ve seen politicians, religious leaders and others being interviewed over the last few days. They can all talk the talk and most of them know how to play up to the camera, but none of them can disguise the fact that they seem to know as little about what’s happening as the rest of us. And there are other people who I would have expected to see interviewed who have been conspicuous by their absence. What about the Prime Minister and other top-level politicians? Why aren’t they showing their faces? Are they too busy trying to personally deal with the crisis (I doubt it) or could it be that they’re no longer in office? Could the head of government or the chief of police be Haters?

The male newsreader is talking about schools and businesses remaining closed when a sudden flurry of movement in front of the camera interrupts him. He looks up as a scruffy figure carrying a clipboard and wearing headphones stumbles into view. It’s a tall, willowy woman who walks back until she’s almost standing right against the newsreaders’ desk. Is she a producer or director or something like that? She crouches down slightly to make sure the camera is properly focussed on her.

‘Don’t listen to any more of this rubbish,’ she says, her weary face desperate and tear-streaked. ‘You’re only being told half the story. Don’t listen to anything they tell you…’

And then she’s gone. There’s more movement all around her before the pictures disappear and the screen goes black. After a wait of a few more long and uncomfortable seconds the broadcast returns. It’s a report about personal safety and security that I’ve seen at least five times before.

What is it that we’re not being told? That woman looked desperate, like she’d been trying to get an opportunity to speak out for days.

I phoned the office a few minutes ago but there was no answer. I was relieved when I didn’t have to speak to anyone but then I started to panic again when I thought about how bad things must have got if no-one’s turned up for work.

There’s nothing else to do now except sit back on the sofa in front of the TV and watch the world fall apart.

20

We need food. The last thing I wanted to do was go outside again but I didn’t have any choice. The kids and Lizzie have been trapped at home for the last couple of days and the cupboards are almost empty. We should have thought of it sooner. I need to get some supplies before things get any more uncertain out there.

I have as much cash as I could find in my pocket and I’ll see what it will get me. I’ve always been bad with money. I don’t have any credit since I got into a mess with my bank a year or so ago and they cancelled everything on my account. I’ve got a ‘last chance’ loan now. Once the payment’s gone out on pay day and I’ve paid the bills I cash the balance and that’s what we live on until the next time I get paid. It’s two weeks until pay day so I haven’t got much left.

I didn’t think about where I was going to go until I’d left the flat. Instinctively I drove towards the supermarket we usually use for our weekly shop but I turned back before I got there. Even though it was early there was already a huge queue just to get into the car park. It’s a bad-tempered and busy place at the best of times and setting foot in there today would have just been asking for trouble. Two cars collided in the queue just ahead of me. Someone shunted into the back of someone else. Both drivers got out and started screaming and shouting at each other and I got the feeling that the trouble was about to spread. I didn’t want to take any chances. I turned around and drove back towards home along roads which were surprisingly quiet. There’s still a fair amount of traffic about, but nothing like the number of vehicles you usually get at this time of day.

I’m outside O’Shea’s convenience store now. It’s only a couple of minutes away from the flat. It’s tucked away in a side-street just off the main Rushall Road. It gets most of its trade from the workers at a steel factory just around the corner. It stands to reason that if people aren’t going to work today the factory will be closed and the convenience store should be empty. They have a fraction of the stock of the supermarket and they charge double the prices but I don’t have any choice. My family needs food and I have to get it from somewhere. I park up (further away than usual) and cross the street.

Bloody hell, as I get nearer to the shop I start to think about turning back again. The building looks like it’s in the process of being looted. It’s rammed with people and the floor is covered in litter and debris. I force myself to go inside, reminding myself that my family have to eat. Half the displays and freezers are already empty and there’s more rubbish and packaging left on the shelves than food. I grab a cardboard box (it’s the biggest thing I can find) and start getting what I can. Looks like everyone’s had the same idea as me today and they’re out panic-buying. I take whatever I can find — cans and packets of food, bottles of sauce, crisps, sweets, spreads — pretty much anything that’s salvageable and edible. There’s nothing fresh here, no milk or bread or fruit or vegetables.