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  “Hello, mate, how you getting on?” he asked. “Mum said it was looking good.”

  “Almost done now,” Spencer replied, loading the last few bricks into the barrow and standing up straight. He stretched his back and looked across at the other man. “Couple of hours and I should be finished. Just got to get the rest of these bricks down and finish off the edges. I think it’s . . .”

  He stopped speaking and stared into Jackie’s son’s face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Spencer couldn’t answer. He couldn’t speak. He was filled with a sudden, indescribable sense of panic and fear. His heart thumping in his chest, he took a couple of nervous backward steps toward the house and tripped on the lip of the bricks he’d already laid, landing on his backside. The other man walked toward him and held out his hand to help him up.

  “You feeling okay, mate? Want me to get you a drink of water or something?”

  Spencer recoiled. He scrambled back to his feet, grabbing a heavy lump hammer as he got up. He launched himself at Jackie’s son and wrapped his left hand around his throat. Knocked off balance the two men fell awkwardly to the ground, Jackie’s son on his back with Spencer on top, pinning him down.

  Spencer lifted the lump hammer and brought over a kilogram of metal smashing down into the middle of the other man’s face, caving in his forehead and the bridge of his nose and killing him almost instantly. He lifted the gore-covered hammer and bludgeoned what was left of his face another five times, leaving his head virtually concave, hollowed out like a deflated football.

  Spencer got up and stood breathless over the corpse before being thrown off balance again. Jackie, wailing like a banshee, ran from the front of the house and shoved him away from the body of her son. She screamed and dropped to the ground when she saw the hole in his head and the mass of splintered bone and pulped flesh where his face used to be. She looked up at Spencer but all she saw was the bloodied edge of the lump hammer as he swung it toward her.

  6

  “WE’RE GOING TO BE late,” Lizzie grumbles. I know we are, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. If she’d given me more notice that we were supposed to be taking Edward to a friend’s birthday party then we would have been fine. Half an hour to get the kids ready and out isn’t enough. Part of me wishes she’d forgotten about it for another hour. I want Ed to have a good time and enjoy himself, of course I do, but I’m not looking forward to spending the next couple of hours sitting in a kid-friendly and adult-unfriendly “fun barn” attached to the side of a pub. It’s not how I’d planned to spend my Saturday afternoon.

  “We’ll get there when we get there,” I tell her. “Getting upset about it isn’t going to help.”

  “I’m not upset,” she snaps, proving that she is. “I just don’t like being late, that’s all.”

  “We won’t be late. We’ve got a few minutes yet. The pub’s only around the corner.”

  “I know but look at the traffic.”

  “There’s probably been an accident or something,” I tell her, sitting up in my seat and craning my neck to try and see farther down the road. “I think there’s something going on at the top of the hill. Once we get past that the traffic will clear.”

  I hear a muffled thump and a yelp from behind me. I glance over my shoulder and glare at the kids who are crammed shoulder to shoulder on the backseat. They hate being in the car nearly as much as I do. It’s too small for us all to fit in but what can I do? I can’t afford to change it so they’ll just have to put up with it for now. We all will. Lizzie looks at them and then leans closer to me.

  “We’re going to have to feed them,” she whispers, keeping her voice low so they don’t hear.

  “Ed will eat at the party, won’t he?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “We’ll get the other two a bag of chips or something,” I say quickly before she gets any ideas. I think I know where this is heading.

  “They’ll need more than that,” she says. “We’re going to be out for a couple of hours. Why don’t we just make it easy for ourselves and have a meal.”

  “Because we can’t afford it.”

  “Come on, Danny, we might as well. We’re going to be sitting in the pub anyway.”

  “We can’t afford it,” I say again. How much clearer do I need to make it? “Look, we’ll drop Ed off then go back home and have some dinner. I’ll come back and pick him up again after the party.”

  “Is it worth all the hassle and the extra gas? Let’s just stop and have a meal and we can . . .”

  “We can’t afford it,” I snap for the third time as we reach the top of the hill and pass whatever it is that’s been slowing down the traffic. I look into the rearview mirror and see that the kids are pressing their faces against the glass, trying to see what’s going on. “Don’t stare,” I shout at them. I can’t help but look myself. Looks like the police have sealed off the entrance to one of the roads which leads off Maple Street.

  “Twenty pounds,” Lizzie continues. Bloody hell, she’s not going to give up. “Are you telling me you can’t find twenty pounds to feed your family?”

  “Yes,” I answer, trying hard not to get annoyed, “that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” I’m determined she’s not going to get the better of me today, no matter how hard she tries. “I haven’t got twenty pounds and even if I had, why should I spend it on a meal when we’ve got a freezer full of food at home? At home we can eat twice as much for half the cost.”

  “When was the last time we ate out?”

  “When was the last time I had enough money to take us out?”

  “Come on, Danny . . .”

  I’m not even going to answer. I’ll keep my mouth shut and concentrate on driving. She does this to me too often. She’s like a dog with a bone. She won’t let go. She just keeps nagging and piling on the pressure until I relent just to shut her up.

  Not today.

  I caved in. I’m disappointed with myself but it was inevitable. She just wouldn’t stop. She kept on and on at me all the way here. I figured I could either relent and take the hit to my wallet or I could stand my ground and risk a whole weekend of grief and her not talking to me. When I walked into the pub and smelled the food and looked at the menu my resistance crumbled. Pathetic really.

  We’ve been waiting for our dinner for almost half an hour now and I’m starting to think they might have forgotten our order. We’re tucked out of the way in a corner of the main dining area and the place is heaving. It’s Saturday lunchtime so I expected it to be busy but not like this. The long, horseshoe-shaped bar is surrounded by a crowd of bodies several drinkers deep. I should have seen it coming really. There’s a soccer game on this afternoon. It’s a local play-off between two teams at the bottom of the table and there’s a lot at stake for both sides. The field the game is being played on is only fifteen minutes walk from here. Most of the people crammed in here seem to be supporters enjoying their traditional pre-match drinking session. I bet the place will empty after kickoff but we’ll be long gone by then. The supporters from both sides seem to be tolerating each other but the noise in here is deafening and I feel uneasy. Maybe I’m just on edge after what happened at the concert last night. I’m worried that there’s going to be trouble. Lizzie’s thinking the same thing, I can see it in her face. She keeps looking around the crowd and frowning. She’s noticed that I’m looking at her now and her expression has suddenly changed.

  “Okay?” she asks, trying to sound relaxed and happy but failing to convince me.

  “Great,” I grunt. “No food yet and I can’t hear myself think.”

  Ellis reaches across the table and tugs at my sleeve.

  “Don’t do that,” I snap.

  “When’s dinner coming?”

  “When it’s ready.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just be patient,” Liz tells her. “As soon as they’ve cooked it someone will bring it over to
us.”

  “I want it now,” she states, not interested in any excuses or explanations. “I’m hungry.”

  “We’re all hungry, love. As soon as it’s ready they’ll bring it over to us and . . .”

  “Want it now,” she says again.

  “Did you hear what Mum just said?” I hiss at her, my patience rapidly wearing thin. “Just shut up and wait. Your dinner will be here when . . .”

  I stop talking. Smashing glass. There’s a sudden roar of noise from deep within the crowd around the bar. I stare into the mass of faded denim and football shirts looking for trouble. I can’t see anything. I’m relieved when I can hear laughs and jeers among the noise.

  “What’s up?” Lizzie asks me.

  “Nothing,” I answer. “Can’t see anything . . .”

  A very drunk, beer-soaked football fan staggers past our table on the way to the toilet. A member of the bar staff carrying a dustpan and brush passes them going the other way. Looks like it was a spilled drink, nothing more serious.

  Our food finally arrives. My mouth starts watering and my stomach is growling but I can’t eat yet. Another one of the joys of parenthood. Josh is sitting next to me and I now have to go through the well-rehearsed routine of cutting up his dinner and smothering it in tomato sauce before I can start mine. Both Liz and Ellis are well into their meals by the time I finally manage to pick up my knife and fork.

  “Is it all right?” she asks me before I’ve finished my first mouthful. Christ, give me a second to taste it first.

  “Fine,” I answer. “Yours?”

  She nods and chews.

  For a blissful minute or two the table is quiet. The rest of the pub is still filled with noise but with everyone temporarily distracted by their food there’s a welcome pause in our conversation. It doesn’t last long.

  “I want to go and see Dad tomorrow,” Lizzie says. “That all right with you?” I nod my head as I eat. I’m not surprised. We seem to end up over at Harry’s house most Sunday afternoons. We see him virtually every day now since he agreed to look after Josh so that Liz can go to work. She’s a classroom assistant at the school Ed and Ellis go to. Harry’s not happy about it but he does it because he knows how much we need the money.

  “Okay,” I answer, finally swallowing my food, “we’ll go over in the afternoon.”

  “He’s been really good to us recently,” she continues. “I don’t want him to think that we’re just going to keep taking.”

  “Like your sister does?”

  “Leave Dawn alone. She’s been struggling since Mark left.”

  “Best move that guy ever made,” I say, perhaps unfairly. “She struggled when they were together. She’ll struggle whatever happens.”

  “Come on, don’t be unkind. It’s not easy for her being on her own with the kids. I don’t know how I’d cope.”

  “You’d just get on with it. You’d find a way of getting by, we both would. The problem is your sister is too quick to look for the easy option all the time. What she needs is someone to . . .”

  A sudden, unexpected, and very loud clattering noise interrupts me. It’s Josh. He’s dropped his fork on the floor. I bend down and pick it up before cleaning it on a paper napkin and passing it back to him.

  “What she needs,” Lizzie continues, taking over where I left off, “is some space and more time to try and come to terms with what happened and what he did. She didn’t deserve any of it. You can’t do that to someone and then just expect them to . . .”

  “I’m not saying she deserved anything, I just think that . . .”

  Another clatter of metal on floor tile. I pick up Josh’s fork for the second time, clean it, and pass it back. He grins at me.

  “All I’m saying is that . . .”

  Josh drops his fork again. Now I’m really starting to lose my patience. I pick it up, clean it, and slam it down on the table next to his plate. He squeals with laughter. Irritating little sod.

  “Do that again and we’re going home,” I threaten.

  “Just ignore him,” Lizzie says, still managing to eat her food. I’ve hardly touched mine. “He’s only doing it because he’s getting a reaction from you. The more you react, the more he’ll do it.”

  I know she’s right but it’s hard to keep calm. I try and concentrate on my dinner but I can feel Josh staring at me, desperate to make eye contact. I cringe as the fork hits the ground again. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t stop myself from reacting. I grab the fork off the floor and hold it in front of him, just out of his reach.

  “Fork . . .” he whines.

  “Danny . . .” Lizzie warns.

  “Do you want to go home?” I hiss at him through clenched teeth. “Or do you want to finish your dinner first? If you do that again we’re going.”

  “Daddy might buy you an ice cream if you finish your dinner,” Liz says.

  “I might not,” I add quickly. “Bloody hell, I’ve spent enough already. I can’t afford to keep . . .”

  There’s another interruption from the crowd of football supporters. I wish they’d shut up, selfish bastards. More noise. Nervous, uncertain noise. This doesn’t sound good. No one’s laughing this time. I turn around just in time to see a section of the crowd part as a squat, bald-headed, and tattoo-covered man is charged across the room by another fan who seems to be about twice his height but half his weight. They’ve smashed into a table where another family was eating. People are up off their chairs and are scattering in all directions.

  “What are they doing?” Ellis asks innocently. “Are they playing or fighting?”

  The two men stand up again now and I’m praying they don’t come any nearer. The thinner man holds the tattooed man by his jacket and he’s swinging him around. He tries to grab hold of something to steady himself but the thin man’s not giving him a chance. He lets him go and then runs at him and shoves him in the chest, sending him tripping backward. Another hard shove and this time the tattooed man is pushed so far that he ends up flat on his back on another table not far from where we’re sitting. Half-empty plates, silverware, and glasses are sent flying. I grab hold of Josh and I look around and see that Lizzie has done the same with Ellis. The clattering, crashing, and smashing noise quickly fades away and is replaced by a heavy and uncomfortable silence. Everyone is watching the fight but it’s so sudden and so violent that no one dares to get involved. Everyone knows they should do something but no one’s moving.

  “Don’t, mate . . .” the man lying on his back on the table cries nervously. “Please don’t . . .”

  The thin man looks around. Holding his victim down with one hand he searches through the debris on the table and picks something up. It’s only when he holds it up above his head that I see he’s got a steak knife. The next few seconds seem to last forever. I don’t want to watch but I can’t look away. He brings the knife thumping down on the tattooed man’s chest and sinks it into his flesh. But that’s not enough. His fist already covered in blood he yanks the blade out then stabs it down again and again and again . . .

  Fucking hell.

  Christ, we have to get out of here. We have to move. This guy’s out of his mind. What if he turns on the rest of us? The hundreds of people crammed into this overcrowded pub have started to panic and are heading for the exits, running from the two men in the middle of the room. The thin man is still shredding the other man’s chest with the sharp, serrated blade. The tattooed man’s arms and legs are thrashing and even from this distance I can see that the table and both men are covered in blood.

  I drag Josh out of his chair and then push Lizzie toward the nearest door. I’m trying hard to stay calm but I’m fucking terrified. Come on, get a fucking move on . . . There’s a crowd of drinkers all trying to push their way out through a narrow doorway at the same time and, for the second time in less than a day, I’m stuck at the back of a load of people trying to get away from trouble. I hold Josh close to my chest and look over my shoulder to see where the lunatic with th
e knife is. If he’s finished with the man on the table who knows who he’s going to come after next. I don’t want to be his next victim. I just want to . . .

  “Danny!” I hear Liz scream. I look up again. She’s been pulled farther along with the crowd and there are a couple of meters between us now. She’s almost through the door. She’s looking back and shouting something at me. I can’t make it out.

  “What?”

  “Ed,” she yells, “get Ed!”

  Jesus Christ. There’s no time to think. I hold on to Josh tightly and make a sudden change in direction back toward the fun barn. The way through is clear. The people in there can’t have heard what’s happening yet. I push through the swinging double doors and look around for Ed but I can’t see him. The lighting is low at this end of the room and there are kids and their parents everywhere.

  “Edward!” I shout over thumping party music. People turn and look at me like I’ve gone mad. “Ed!”

  “Dad!” I hear him shout back. I can see him now, down by one of the climbing frames at the far end of the room with a friend. I run toward him.

  “Get your shoes and your coat,” I tell him, “we’ve got to go.”

  “But Dad,” he starts to protest.

  “Get your shoes and your coat,” I tell him again.

  “What’s going on?” someone asks. I turn around and see that it’s Wendy Parish, the mother of one of Ed’s friends.

  “There’s some trouble in the pub,” I tell her, watching anxiously as Ed disappears to find his stuff. “I’d get out of here if I was you. I’d get everyone out of here.”

  I look up and see that staff from the pub have reached the staff of the fun barn and they look about to make a public-address system announcement to clear the building. Ed’s back with his coat on. He sits down and starts putting on his shoes.

  “Come on, son,” I yell over the noise. “Do that outside.”