Hater 1: Hater (12 page)
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.
'What happened?' Harry asks again as I follow him and Liz into the living room. I stop and quickly look into the children's bedrooms. Ed's lying on his bed reading. Ellis' room is empty.
'We walked down to Pedmore Row to catch the bus,' I tell him. 'Group of blokes came out of nowhere and started kicking hell out of this guy. He was a Hater. Where's Ellis?'
Harry nods towards the living room. I peer over the back of the sofa and I'm relieved to see her curled up in a ball asleep with her grandad's jumper draped over her shoulders. She looks peaceful and relaxed. The room is quiet and dark and the only light comes from the flickering TV in the corner.
'She wouldn't go to bed,' he explains, standing and watching her with me. 'Kept asking where you two were. I let her stay with me for a while. I knew she'd fall asleep eventually.'
Liz crouches down in front of Ellis and brushes a strand of hair away from her face.
'I'll take her back to bed,' she whispers as she carefully slides her arms underneath her and lifts her up. Ellis mumbles and shuffles but she doesn't wake up. Harry and I watch as she carries her away. Harry then walks around and sits down in the middle of the sofa where he's probably been sitting all evening. I lay Josh down on my lap.
'So tell me again,' he says quietly, 'what exactly did happen?'
I sit down next to him and kick off my shoes.
'I don't know any more than what I've already told you. A group of blokes lynched a Hater, that's all. Evil bastard probably deserved everything he got. Then the bus was late and a road was closed and…'
Harry nods his head, sighs and rubs his eyes. He looks tired.
'I don't know what's going on out there,' he says quietly. 'Anyway, I'm glad you're back. I had a feeling you might have some trouble tonight.' I'm about to ask him what he means when he grabs the remote control and turns up the volume on the TV. 'Been watching the news since the children's programmes finished,' he explained. 'Things are getting out of control.'
I turn my attention from Harry to the TV. There's been no let up in the level of trouble across the country. On the news they're talking about an 'exponential increase in incidents'. Mathematics was never my strongest subject at school but I know what they mean. One incident becomes two, two becomes four, four becomes eight and it goes on and on until… Jesus, where's this going to end?
There's a definite change in the way the reporters on TV are talking about what's happening tonight. They're concentrating on the people - the so-called Haters - who seem to be at the root of all the troubles. They're stressing that it's only a very small minority who have been affected but they're warning the public to stay away from anyone who appears to be behaving erratically. Bloody hell, that's half the population of this town on a good day.
'It's like a disease,' Harry says. 'Crazy, isn't it? It's spreading just like a disease.'
'Someone better hurry up and find a cure then,' I mutter under my breath, still staring at the screen.
'They keep saying that all of this is down to just a few people, you know,' he continues, repeating what I've already heard. 'When it gets them, whatever it is, it drives them mad. They had some doctor on talking about it earlier. It's the first few minutes you have to watch out for.'
'What?' I mumble, only half-listening.
'When it gets them they lose control, like that chap you saw tonight I expect. They just lash out at whoever or whatever's around them. Then they say they start to calm down. They're still capable of doing these things, but they're not quite so volatile.'
What is he talking about?
'What do you mean, not quite so volatile?' I ask him. 'Are you saying they'll only do enough to hospitalise you and not kill you?'
'I'm only telling you what I've heard,' he sighs. 'I won't bother if you're going to be like that.'
I shake my head and look back at the TV. The screen is filled with images of convoys of troops driving into a city centre somewhere. Not sure where it is but it's nowhere I recognise. The reporters are talking about the police and armed forces being used to full capacity and I think back to the TV debate we watched last night. Have we reached the saturation point they were talking about yet? The voices on the TV are taking great pains to stress that, although stretched, the authorities are still coping. Just. Christ, imagine what will happen if this thing gets any bigger and they can't cope. Bloody hell, it doesn't bare thinking about.
The screen shows a stream of government statistics and I lose interest. I don't believe statistics. They're all made up. They can make statistics say whatever they want.
'Problem is,' Harry says, 'they've let it get out of control. This is too little, too late.'
'It?' I say. 'What's 'it' supposed to be?'
He points at the screen.
'The trouble,' he answers, 'the violence… the people.'
The statistics have gone and we're left watching footage of a row of burning houses. Desperate, screaming people are being held back by a police blockade. All they can do is watch as their lives go up in flames.
'What's happening,' he whispers secretively, 'is people are panicking and overreacting to the slightest thing because of what they're seeing and what they're being told. The whole situation has been allowed to get out of proportion. People are seeing the death and the destruction on the television and it's making them want to become a part of it too. It's like those bloody awful horror films that you and Lizzie watch. They make you want to do things. They put ideas in your head and they make you think it's all right to do things. They're even giving these people a label now. Calling them 'Haters' for God's sake. They're glamorising it. Almost makes it sound like a club you'd want to join, doesn't it?'
He's saying the same kind of things I was saying just yesterday. But I've already begun to accept that I was wrong, and when I look at the TV screen tonight I'm even more sure that I'd misjudged the situation badly when I was rambling last night. The sheer scale of what's happening is really beginning to scare me now. They keep talking about small minorities but thousands, possibly even tens of thousands of people are involved in this violence. Hundreds of lives are affected by every incident in some way. Young, old, male, female… people from every section of society are involved. This is far more than just paranoia. This is more than the media stirring things up.
'I don't want to join any club,' I tell him, 'and no-one's put any ideas in my head. I haven't started any fights. I'm no more going to go out and attack anyone than you or Lizzie are.'
'I know that. We've got maturity and common-sense on our side though, haven't we? We know the difference between right and wrong. We know what's acceptable and what isn't.'
'Are you trying to say that everyone who's been affected by this is just immature? Come on, Harry, do you really think…'
'There are plenty of people out there who couldn't give a damn about right or wrong,' he continues, ignoring me. 'There are people who get a kick out of causing trouble, and putting it on the television like this has just made things worse. By showing it they're saying it's all right, that it's acceptable.'
'Bullshit! They're not saying that at all…'
'They're implying that because so many people are involved now, anyone left might as well join in.'
'Bullshit!' I say again.
'There's no need to swear at me,' he snaps.
'You're so wrong,' I try to explain. 'It's got nothing to do with…'
'And that's just the kind of thing I'm talking about,' he continues, raising his voice and still not listening to any of what I'm trying to say. 'Thirty years ago you'd never have used that kind of language in everyday conversation. Now every other word you hear is a curse. Standards have slipped and that is what's happening out there on the streets.'
For a moment I can't answer. The old man has suddenly become very agitated. His face is flushed red with anger and a terrifying thought flashes into my mind. Is he a Hater? Is he about to change? Is he going to become like those people we've seen on TV? Is he about to attack me? Should I attack him first before he has chance to get me? Is this how it begins…?
'No-one has any respect for anything or anyone else anymore,' he continues. 'It's a bloody disgrace. It's been coming for years. Before you know it we'll have total anarchy and you'll see…'
'I know what you're trying to say, Dad,' Lizzie interrupts, returning to the room, 'but I don't agree. Danny and I had this conversation last night, didn't we? I've never seen anything like the things I've seen over the last few days. I've seen plenty of trouble before, but never anything like this.'
I relax. Liz's sudden arrival seems to have calmed the situation. The anger in Harry's face has gone.
'What do you mean? What's different?' he asks. Liz stands in the doorway and thinks for a few seconds.
'Out there tonight, after they'd beaten that man, you could almost taste it in the air.'
