Hater 1: Hater (3 page)

    Patronising bitch. I stand and stare at her, feeling myself getting angrier and angrier. But there's nothing I can do…

    'Well?' she snaps.

    'Just give me a minute, madam,' I stammer. I turn and storm back into the office and walk straight into Tina coming the other way.

    'What are you doing in here, Danny?' she asks, her tone of voice as patronising as the woman outside. 'If you're in here, who's manning Reception?'

    She knows full well there's no-one out there. I try and explain but I know it's pointless.

    'I've got a lady out in Reception who…'

    'You should have telephoned through if you needed help,' she interrupts. 'You know the rules, you've been here long enough now. There should always be someone at the Reception desk and you should always telephone through if you have a problem.'

    'There is someone at the Reception desk,' I sigh, 'and she's having a real go at me so can I tell you what her problem is please?'

    She looks up at the clock. Damn, it's gone five. I'll probably be stuck at the station until six now.

    'Make it quick,' she sneers, making it sound as if she's doing me a favour.

    'This lady has been clamped because she parked at Leftbank Place…'

    'Tough! You can't park at Leftbank Place. There are bloody big signs up everywhere telling you not to park at Leftbank Place.'

    This isn't getting any easier.

    'I know that, you know that and she knows that. That's not the issue.'

    'What do you mean, that's not the issue?'

    I pause before speaking again. I know I'm going to have a battle convincing Tina that this lady has a genuine case. For a moment I consider giving up and taking my chances outside in Reception again.

    'This lady tells me she parked at Leftbank Place because she needed to take her son to the toilet.'

    'What kind of an excuse is that?'

    'She needed to take him to the toilet because he has a medical condition and because the public toilets in Millennium Square have been vandalised.'

    'That's not our problem…'

    'No, but her argument is that it is the council's problem. She's demanding we get the clamp removed. Won't go anywhere until it's done.'

    'She can't go anywhere,' Tina laughs to herself. 'We'll get the clamp removed when she pays the fine.'

    I'm not surprised by her response, just disappointed. I want to go home. I don't want to go out there and get yelled at again. What annoys me most of all it that we both know the longer this lady stands her ground and makes a noise in Reception, the more chance there is that the clamp will be removed. I can't stand all this bullshit and pretence. I can't help but say something.

    'Come on, Tina, give me a break. You know as well as I do that if she shouts long enough we'll let her off.'

    She looks at me, chews her gum and shrugs her shoulders.

    'That's as maybe, but we have to try and take the fee from the client first. You know the procedure. We have to…'

    There's no point listening to any more of this rubbish. I can't be bothered.

    'I know the bloody procedure,' I sigh as I turn my back on her and trudge back towards Reception. I wonder whether I should just keep going? Should I walk straight past the woman and her kids and just leave the building and the job behind?

    I open the door and she turns round to glare at me. The expression on her face is pure evil.

    'Well?'

    I take a deep breath.

    'I've had a word with my supervisor,' I begin dejectedly, knowing what's coming next. 'We can get the clamp removed, but we must insist on payment of the charge indicated on the signs displayed at Leftbank Place. We can't…'

    And she's off. She explodes again, shouting and yelling at me. The force, velocity and ferocity of her outburst is remarkable. It's an incredible (but not at all unexpected) rant and I have no defence. I can't argue because I happen to think she has a valid case. If she'd just shut up for a second I might be able to… oh, what's the use? I don't know why I bother. The more she shouts at me the less I'm inclined to listen. I've given up trying to follow what she's saying now. Her words have just become a constant stream of noise. I'll wait for her to take a breath.

    'Madam,' I interrupt quickly as she pauses to inhale. I hold my hand up in front of me to make it clear that it's my turn to speak. 'I'll go and get my supervisor.'

    I walk away, ignoring the muttered comments I can hear about 'speaking to the organ grinder, not the monkey.' I'm long past caring. As I reach for the office door Tina pulls it open from the other side and barges past me. She stops just long enough to hiss a few venomous words in my direction.

    'Well handled,' she sneers sarcastically. 'You're bloody useless, you are. I could hear her shouting from my desk. Now what's her name?'

    'Don't know,' I admit, cringing at the fact that I haven't even managed to establish the most basic of details.

    'Bloody useless,' she sneers again before fixing a false smile on her foul face and marching over to the bedraggled woman and her children. 'My name's Tina Murray,' she says, 'how can I help you?'

    I lean against the office door and watch the predictable charade being played out. Tina listens to the complaint, points out to the lady that she really shouldn't have been parked at Leftbank Place, then makes a phone call to 'see what she can do.' Ten minutes later and the clamp is removed. Tina looks fantastic and I look like an idiot. I knew it would happen like that.

    Five thirty-two.

    I run to the station and reach the platform just in time to see the next train leave.

    The one slight advantage of leaving the office late tonight was that, for once, I was able to get a seat on the train home. It's usually packed and I'm left standing in-between carriages, surrounded by other equally pissed-off travellers. I needed the space to help me relax and calm down tonight. While I was waiting on the platform I decided I should spend the journey home trying to work out what it is I actually want to do with my life and how I'm going to go about making it happen. I have similar useless discussions with myself on the way home at least once or twice every week. I was too tired to concentrate tonight. There were two girls sitting opposite me and their conversation about clothes, soap operas and who'd done what with whose boyfriend was far more interesting than anything I was thinking about.

    February. I hate this time of year. It's cold, wet and depressing. It's dark when I leave the house in the morning and it's dark when I get home at night. This time tomorrow, I keep reminding myself, it will be the weekend. Two days without work. I can't wait.

    I drag myself up the hill and around the corner into Calder Grove and I can finally see our home at the end of the road. It's not much but it's all we've got at the moment and it will have to do for now. We're on the council waiting list to get a bigger place but it'll probably be years before they move us. Now that Lizzie is working again we might finally be able to start saving so that we can put a deposit on a house of our own and get out of this apartment block. We'd planned to move a couple of years ago but she fell pregnant with Josh and everything got put on hold again. I love my kids but we didn't plan any of them. We were just starting to get back on our feet after having Edward and Ellis but then Josh came along and we found it hard to put food on the table, never mind money in the bank. We claim all the benefits we're entitled to and Harry, Lizzie's dad, helps us out now and again, but it's a constant struggle. It shouldn't have to be like this. Still, we get more help from Liz's dad than we do from my family. Mum's in Spain with her new boyfriend, my brother's in Australia and no-one's heard anything from Dad for three years now. The only time we hear from any of them is on the children's birthdays and at Christmas.

    There's a gang of kids under a broken street lamp in the alleyway which runs between two of the houses on my right. I see them there most nights, smoking and drinking and driving beat-up cars around the estate. I don't like them. They're trouble. I put my head down and walk a little faster. I worry about my children growing up round here. Calder Grove itself isn't that bad but some parts of this estate are rough and things are getting worse. The council is trying to run apartment blocks like ours down so they can flatten them and build new houses. There are six flats in our block - two on each floor - and only ours and one other is left occupied now. We try not to have anything to do with the people upstairs. I don't trust them. Gary and Chris, I think they're called. Two middle-aged men who live together on the top floor. They don't seem short of cash but neither of them ever seem to go out to work either. And there's a constant stream of visitors ringing their doorbell at all hours of the day and night. I'm sure they're selling something up there, but I don't think I want to know what it is.

    I finally reach the communal front door and let myself into the apartment block. The door sticks and then opens with a loud, ear-piercing creak which can probably be heard from halfway down the street. I've been trying to get the council to come and sort it out for months but they don't want to know, even though I work for them. Inside the building the entrance hall is dark and cold and my footsteps echo all around me. The kids hate this lobby and I understand why. They get scared out here. I wouldn't want to spend too long out here on my own either. I unlock the flat, go inside and shut, lock and bolt the door behind me. Home. Thank God for that. I take off my coat and shoes and, for almost half a second, I relax.

    'Where've you been?' Lizzie scowls. She appears from Edward and Josh's room and crosses the hallway diagonally to the kitchen. Her arms are piled high with dirty washing.

    'Work,' I reply. The answer's so obvious I wonder whether it's a trick question. 'Why?'

    'You should have been back ages ago.'

    'Sorry, I got delayed. Got stuck with some woman having a go at me. I missed my train.'

    'You could have called.'

    'I've run out of credit on my mobile and I didn't have any cash on me to top it up. Sorry, Liz, I didn't think I'd be this late.'

    No response. I can't even see her now. The fact she's gone quiet on me is ominous. Something's wrong and I know that whatever it is, any problems that I might have had today will now have to take second place. All my worries will pale into insignificance alongside whatever it is that's bothering her. This seems to happen almost every day and it's really beginning to piss me off. I know Lizzie works hard and the kids play her up, but she wants to think herself lucky. She wants to try dealing with some of the shit that I have to put up with each day. I take a deep breath and follow her into the kitchen.

    'Your dinner's in the oven,' she grunts.

    'Thanks,' I mumble as I open the oven door and recoil from the sudden blast of red-hot air which comes from it. I pick up a tea towel and use it to grip the edge of a dried-out and overcooked plate of pie, chips and peas. 'Are you okay?'

    'Not really,' she replies, her voice barely audible. She's on her knees shoving washing into the machine.

    'What's the matter?'

    'Nothing.'

    I crunch into a burnt chip and then quickly smother the rest of my food in sauce to take away some of the charcoal taste. Don't want to risk Lizzie thinking I don't like it. I hate playing these games. It's obvious something's wrong, so why won't she just tell me what it is? Why do we have to go through this stupid routine every time she has something on her mind? I decide to try again.

    'I can tell something's wrong.'

    'Very perceptive of you,' she mumbles. 'It doesn't matter.'

    'Obviously it does.'

    'Look,' she sighs, switching on the washing machine and standing up and stretching her back, 'if you really want to know what's wrong why don't you ask the kids? Maybe they'll tell you why I…'

    Right on cue two of the children push their way into the kitchen, jostling with each other for position. Edward digs his elbow into his little sister's ribs. Ellis shoves him back out of the way and then slams against the table, spilling Liz's coffee.

    'Dad, will you tell her?' Ed spits, pointing accusingly.

    'Tell her what?' I ask, distracted by the pile of bills I've just found on the table.