The Hate Collective - James Powell (free ebook reader for android .txt) 📗

being some big shot solicitor making big shot money, it gave him a license to treat me like dirt. And because we lived in a house that he paid for, he felt like he owned me. I put up with it for a while because all marriages are difficult aren’t they?, but we just seemed to grow further and further apart. He worked long hours, coming home late every night, and when we did finally get some time to ourselves, there was nothing to say. We just stopped speaking. I wasn’t entirely surprised when he left me, just disappointed. I expected better. He didn’t even try to work things through with me, he just made his mind up to leave, and that was that. I got the last laugh though. He always had a very high opinion of himself intellectually, but even with his job, he wasn’t clever enough to get a pre-nup, so I got his money in the end. Not that I did it out of spite though. I could have taken him to the cleaners, as they say, but all I wanted was enough to be comfortable, free to raise Jack properly.’
‘No, I totally understand. You deserve it if you’re the one taking up the parental responsibilities.’
‘I do feel sorry for Jack though.’, she said ruefully. ‘Because there’s no father figure in his life. Not a consistent one anyway, which is what he really needs. When his dad does come for a visit, the boy seems so happy. Then for the next few days he constantly asks when daddy will be coming back, which means I have to try and explain the situation, which is not easy. In fact, it puts me in a horrible position, because I can’t tell the honest truth. I can’t say that his father would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his son, and that he chose her over his own family. So I end up making excuses, saying that daddy is a very busy man, who has a very important job which stops him coming round that often. It seems to work, but I hate lying. It’s such a shame, because Jack needs that family dynamic. Stability. And I know there’s always a chance I could meet someone, but there aren’t many men out there who are willing to take responsibility for somebody else’s child. Besides, I’d have to get to know someone really well before I could even contemplate bringing him home to meet Jack. I don’t want him having a succession of short term fathers if you know what I mean?’
Michael nodded sympathetically. A lot of men would be very uncomfortable if a woman spoke so openly like this, especially since they hardly knew each other, but because they were in therapy together, it seemed appropriate, almost necessary. Joan meanwhile, was happy to confide in Michael, finding him an excellent listener who genuinely seemed to understand her problems.
They were then interrupted by Tony. ‘Hi Joan, how are you this week?’
‘Fine thanks Tony’.
‘Alright Mike?’
Michael hated it when people shortened his name like this, but decided not to make a fuss about it. He was actually quite surprised that Tony had remembered who he was.
‘Not bad thanks. How about you?’
‘Yeah, keeping on mate, keeping on. Look. Me and Steve over there are going to the pub now if you want to come and join us. You too Joan’, he added, remembering to be polite. He didn’t really want her to come along, and knew she would say no, but he asked anyway, not wanting to appear rude. Joan however, had other ideas. She wanted to talk with Michael some more, and if it meant going to the pub with these guys, then so be it. Michael was unsure about the whole thing, but he didn’t really get invited anywhere that often and certainly not by relative strangers, so he happily agreed, prompting a ‘me too’ from Joan which annoyed Tony somewhat, although he managed to hide it pretty well. ‘Why the fuck does she want to come drinking with a bunch of guys she doesn’t know. She’s hardly ever spoken to me before, or Steve for that matter, so why the sudden interest?’
These thoughts translated out loud into ‘Great. Let’s go then. It’s only a ten minute walk from here.’
Joan regretted her decision to go along almost straight away, as she was massively overdressed for such a filthy boozer. In fact, she looked so smart it was almost suspicious.
The Stonemason’s seemed to be situated in the middle of a barren wasteland, even though it was just a few short minutes away from civilisation, and the college where the victim support group was held. There were no shops nearby, and the surrounding houses showed no signs of life. It was a dystopian nightmare, a deathly greyness which permeated the senses, instantly sapping any optimism, leaving you wondering how anyone could possibly live in a place like this.
As you would expect for a weeknight, the pub wasn’t particularly busy, but the punters that were there belonged to that special breed of people who will go drinking come rain or shine. The terminally lonely, the desperate, the alcoholics, the unemployed and those who simply had nothing better to do with their lives. These were the patrons. The hardcore drinkers. Professionals. This was the real world, away from the sanitised high street chains with their food menus and cocktails, smart wooden interiors and young fashionable clientele. This was a pub for the disaffected, a pub that, despite the smoking ban, still retained that familiar, welcoming smell of tobacco, something which set the Stonemason’s apart from the modern, clean drinking establishments.
Michael looked around and took in the atmosphere, which was far from happy. Being careful not to look anyone in the eye, he couldn’t help but notice the tragic nature of some of the customers. There was an overweight bald guy standing in the corner, furiously feeding pound coins into one of the fruit machines, unlikely to ever see a return on his investment, but compelled to carry on playing in the forlorn hope of one big payout.
In another corner, there was a lot of noise being made by an intimidating group of men who at first glance looked like brothers in a grotesque sort of way. They were clearly arguing, and it threatened to get out of control. Physical even. Michael looked away quickly and made his way to the bar with the others.
‘So what’s everyone drinking?’, Tony asked. ‘The usual’, said Steve. Unsure of the most appropriate thing to order in a place like this, Michael said he would have whatever Tony was having. Joan asked for a vodka and coke. The barman broke off his conversation with one of the regulars, a downtrodden old man in a worn out suit, and came over to the group. ‘Three pints of Stella and a vodka coke please John’.
‘No worries Tone.’ ‘Alright Steve’, he said flatly, with a slight nod of acknowledgement. It became obvious that these two came here fairly often, and were pretty friendly with the landlord, who carried on the conversation.
‘It’s good to see you’, he said, the four day stubble and bloodshot eyes betraying a chronic lack of sleep. ‘How’s things?’
‘My car was stolen last week. Joyriders they reckon. Total write off.’
The landlord shook his head slowly and sighed. ‘There’s some cunts in the world’, was all he said. ‘That’s nine pounds twenty please.’ Tony promptly handed him a tenner. ‘Cheers. Keep the change.’
‘Thanks Tony’, said the landlord gratefully, clearly unused to receiving tips. Having completed this transaction, they went and found a table near a small TV which was showing one of the midweek matches.
Joan felt uneasy, especially since a couple of people had just stared at her inappropriately. She was angry at herself for not realising that this was exactly the sort of dive Steve and Tony would frequent, and wished she was in the car driving home instead of being stuck in a dump like this. Leaving now just wasn‘t an option, because it would then be obvious what she thought of the venue, and by implication, what she thought of the company she was in. Still, they had been kind enough to invite her along, so it would be rude and ungrateful to take off now, and Joan was neither of these things.
So, she decided to stay for the shortest amount of time common courtesy required, before making her excuses and leaving. Michael also felt quite uncomfortable in this environment, but being at the same table as two of the regulars meant that he was able to relax just a little bit, but still not very much though, as nerves meant that he downed his pint very quickly, immediately feeling the effects. He had never really been a big drinker, and now understood why, feeling pretty rough almost straight away, wishing he had drunk a bit more slowly.
The conversation was almost non existent, as Steve and Tony had one eye on the football, leaving Joan feeling isolated, and Michael feeling tipsy, but still alert enough to realise the potential awkwardness of the situation.
‘You guys united fans?’, he asked weakly, desperate to break the silence.
‘Fuck no’, laughed Steve. ‘We’re blues mate. City’s the only team in Manchester worth supporting. What about you?’
Michael paused for a second. He liked football, and watched the highlights on TV every week, but he didn’t follow a particular team, which meant that he probably wasn’t a true fan, something he wasn’t very keen to admit in present company.
‘I’m more of a rugby fan to be honest. My dad was never really into football, but he used to take me to the rugby every couple of weeks, so that’s my game.’
This was true, although he hadn’t paid attention to the sport for nearly twenty years. He didn’t want to lose face though.
‘Fair enough’, said Tony. ‘How about you?’, he asked, noticing that Joan hadn’t said a word since their arrival. She was surprised to be included, but didn’t like football and the culture surrounding it.
‘I’m not really a football fan, I’m afraid. They all get paid too much, and I can’t stand it when I open the paper to find another sex scandal, or nightclub fight, or some other incident that has nothing to do with actual football.’
This damning verdict, brought the conversation to an abrupt end, leaving Tony struggling for something else to talk about, but Steve finished his pint, and broke the silence. ‘Same again?, he asked, getting up to go to the bar.
‘No, let me get these’, said Michael, his confidence sky high after just one glass of strong lager.
‘Cheers mate’, said Steve, slowly starting to warm to Michael. He still thought he was a bit of a pussy though, a man who needed a good kick up the arse rather than victim support.
He was the one who had really suffered, forced to watch his family being torn apart and his daughter’s future disappear before his eyes.
Michael arrived back at the table with two pints, then went back to the bar for the other drinks. Joan was driving though, so only ordered a coke. She drank it all in almost one go, before telling the guys that the babysitter would be waiting for her to get home. This wasn’t true of course, and she could have easily stayed another hour, but the evening had been a bit of a disaster. She just wanted to get out of this place. Tony was glad to see her go, but pretended otherwise. Michael however, realised that she hadn’t enjoyed herself and offered to walk with her to the car. She politely declined, but was glad to be asked.