Дэвид Муди - Hater

The shop is small and the mood inside the hot and congested little building is tense. Shopping always seems to bring out the very worst in people. Today I can taste the animosity and nerves in the air but no-one’s reacting. Everybody keeps their head down and gets on with stripping the shelves. No-one speaks. No-one makes any intentional contact with anyone else whatsoever. An old guy accidentally elbows me in the ribs as we’re both reaching up for the same thing. Normally I’d have had a go at him and he’d probably have had a go back at me. We look at each other for the briefest of moments and then silently take what we can. I don’t dare start an argument.

The box is soon two-thirds full with junk. I turn the corner into the last aisle and see two empty check-outs ahead of me. People are just walking past them and there’s no sign, unsurprisingly, of any staff. Naively I expected the people I’ve seen leaving the shop to have paid for the food they were carrying. Should I just take what I’ve collected? In spite of everything that’s happening around me I still feel uneasy at the prospect of walking out with this stuff without paying for it. But I have to do what I have to do. Sod the consequences, I have to think about my family and forget everyone else. This is absolutely crazy. This is looting with manners. Fucking bizarre. I keep loading up the box and edging towards the exit.

There’s a scream. Christ, it’s a bloody horrible sound and it cuts right through me. People stop moving and look around for the source of the noise. I can see a woman on the ground just behind me. She’s lying in the middle of the aisle covering her face with her hands. I try not to stare but I can’t help myself. Someone shuffles out of the way and I can see that there’s a child attacking her. A girl of maybe eight or nine, no older, is virtually sitting on top of her, punching her and pulling her hair. Jesus, in one hand she’s got a tin of food and she’s using it to batter the woman. She lands the tin on her forehead and it immediately swells up in a bloody red welt. The woman is screaming and crying and… and bloody hell, she’s shouting out the girl’s name. Is she being beaten by her own daughter? For a fraction of a second I think that I should help her but I know that I can’t. None of us can risk getting involved. Everyone seems to have come to the same conclusion. Everyone is shocked by what they can see but no-one does anything to help. People cautiously edge forward and work their way around the fight to get out of the building as quickly as they can and I keep walking with them. The woman’s out cold now but the kid is still pummelling her face. She’s covered in her mother’s blood…

The speed and number of people leaving the building is increasing rapidly. I can feel panic bubbling up under the surface and I keep moving, desperate to get out before it explodes. I look at the empty check-outs as I run past them and feel another momentary pang of guilt before pushing and shoving my way back out into the open and running towards my car. I throw the supplies into the back and then get in and lock the door.

I start the engine and look back at O’Shea’s. Desperate people are flooding out of the ransacked shop now, tripping over each other to get away before the situation inside gets any worse. I stare at the building in disbelief, my head filled with images of my family and of what I’ve just witnessed. Could any of my children do what I’ve just seen to Lizzie or me? Worse than that, could we do it to any of them?

21

Lizzie asks me if I’m okay but I can’t answer. I need to get back inside first. I need to get the food inside then shut the door and lock the bloody thing behind me and never open it again.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks again. ‘Why were you so long?’

I run back to the car and grab the last few odds and ends that have fallen out of the rapidly disintegrating cardboard box. I push past her and throw the stuff into the kitchen.

‘Dad,’ Ed whines, ‘can we have something to eat now? I’m starving…’

I ignore all of them and concentrate on locking the door and making sure my home and my family are secure.

‘Move,’ I grunt angrily at Ellis who is standing right in the middle of the hallway, stopping me from getting through.

‘What’s wrong?’ Lizzie asks again from the other side of the kitchen table. When I don’t answer she starts to unpack some of the food. She looks at what I’ve brought home and screws up her face. ‘What did you get this for?’ she says, holding up a jar of honey. ‘None of us likes honey.’

All of the tension and fear that’s been building up inside me this morning suddenly comes rushing to the surface. It’s no-one’s fault, I just can’t help myself.

‘I know no-one likes it,’ I shout, ‘no-one likes any of this fucking stuff but it’s all I could get. You should go out there and see what it’s like. It’s madness out there. The whole bloody world is falling apart so don’t start having a go at me and telling me that no-one fucking well likes honey.’

Liz looks like I’ve punched her in the face. She’s gone white with shock. The kids are all in the kitchen with us now, staring at us both with wide, frightened eyes.

‘I just…’ she starts to say.

‘I’m doing the best I can for us here,’ I scream at her. ‘There are people fighting on the streets. I’ve just watched a kid beating some woman to death and no-one lifted a finger to help her, me included. It’s fucking madness and I don’t know what to do anymore. The last thing I need is for you to start complaining and picking holes in what I’ve done when I feel like I’ve just risked my damn neck for you lot. I don’t ask much, just some space and a little gratitude and understanding and…’

I stop shouting. Liz is trembling. She’s standing there, back pressed against the cooker, and she’s shaking with fear. What the hell is wrong with her? I take a single step around the table to get closer to her and she recoils. She slides further away from me, edging back towards the door. And then I realise what’s wrong. Jesus, she thinks I’ve changed. She thinks I’m one of them. She thinks I’m a Hater.

‘No, don’t…’ I start to say, trying to move closer again, ‘Please, Lizzie…’

She’s starting to sob. Her legs look like they’re about to give way. Don’t collapse on me, Liz, please don’t…

‘Stay back,’ she says, her voice barely audible. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

I try to speak but I can’t get the words out. Don’t do this to me. I shuffle nearer.

‘Stay back!’ she screams again, sliding further along the wall away from me. She reaches the door and starts to push the kids out of the kitchen. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.

‘No, Liz,’ I say, desperate to make her understand, ‘please. I haven’t changed. Please believe me. I’m sorry I shouted. I didn’t mean to…’

She stops moving away but she’s still unsure. I can see it in her eyes.

‘If you’re one of them I’ll…’

‘I’m not, Lizzie, I’m not. If I was one of them I’d have gone for you by now, wouldn’t I?’ I cry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m starting to panic but I don’t want her to see. ‘Please, I’m not sick. I’m not like them. I’m calm. I was angry but I’m calm now, aren’t I? Please…’

I can see that she’s thinking hard about what I’ve just said. The children are peering around the door, trying to see what’s happening. Inside I’m screaming but I force myself to stay level and not shout. My head is filled with all kinds of dark, terrifying thoughts. I just got angry, that’s all. I’m not a Hater, am I?

‘Okay,’ she eventually mumbles, ‘but if you shout at me like that again I’ll…’