Another bloody wasted day.
Today started slowly. I got out of bed late (which really annoyed Lizzie - she had to get up and see to the kids for once) and I made a conscious effort to do as little as possible. I'm back at work tomorrow and I need to relax. I tried hard to do nothing but it's impossible in this house. There's always something to do or someone who needs you. Liz has been nagging at me for weeks to fix the bolt on the bathroom door and, today, I finally did it. It was the last thing I wanted to do but I reached the point where I couldn't stand her complaining about it every single time she used the damn toilet. Christ, the rest of us managed without any problems. Why was it such a big deal for her?
I worked on the door as Lizzie cooked dinner. What should have been a ten minute job ended up taking over an hour and a half. I had the kids running round my feet the whole time asking questions and getting in the way, then I didn't have the right size bolt, then I bought one that was too big... I lost my temper and almost kicked the door in but I finally fixed it. Hope Lizzie's satisfied. She'll have to find something else to complain about now.
And now here we are approaching Harry's house and the weekend's almost over. I genuinely don't mind Harry but he seems to have a huge problem with me. He doesn't think I'm good enough for his little girl and although he never says it as blatantly as that it's implied in just about everything he says to me. I can usually just shrug it off but when the day has been as frustrating as today and Monday morning is looming on the horizon it's something I could well do without.
We pull up outside his narrow terraced house and the kids start to get wound up and excited. They enjoy their time with Grandpa. Truth is they tolerate their time with Harry. They put up with it because they know they'll get sweets or some other treat out of him before they go home.
'I don't want any arguing today,' Liz says as we wait for him to answer the front door. I think she's talking to the kids but I realise she's looking at me.
'I never argue with your dad,' I tell her. 'He argues with me. There's a difference you know.'
'I'm not interested,' she says as the latch clicks open. 'Just be nice.'
The door opens inwards. Harry opens his arms to the kids and they run towards him, giving him a dutiful squeeze before disappearing deeper inside to trash his house.
'Hello, love,' he says to Lizzie as she hugs him.
'You okay, Dad?'
'Fine,' he smiles. 'Better now. I've been looking forward to seeing you lot all day.'
Lizzie follows the children into the house. I go inside, wipe my feet and shut the door behind me.
'Harry,' I say, acknowledging him. I don't mean to sound abrupt but I unintentionally do.
'Daniel,' he replies, equally abruptly. He turns and walks towards the kitchen. 'I'll put the kettle on.'
I step over the children (who are already sprawled out across the living room floor) and head for my usual spot - the armchair in the corner of the room near the back window. I grab the Sunday newspapers off the coffee table as I pass. Burying my head in Harry's papers always helps me get through these long and monotonous visits.
A couple of minutes go by before Harry reappears with a tray of drinks. Vile, milky tea for Liz and me and equally weak, over-diluted fruit juice for the children. I take my tea from him.
'Thanks,' I say quietly. He doesn't acknowledge me. He hardly even looks at me.
I sit down in the corner of the room and start to read. I'm not interested in the politics or the finance or the travel or the style and fashion sections. I head straight for the cartoons. That's about the level I can cope with today.
We've been here for almost an hour and I've hardly said a word. Lizzie's been dozing on the sofa on the other side of the room and Harry has been sitting on the floor with the kids. There's no disputing the fact that they get on well together. He's laughing and joking with them and they're loving it. Makes me feel like a bad parent if I'm honest. I don't enjoy being with the children like he does. Maybe it's because he can walk away from them and we can't. They drain me, and I know Lizzie feels the same too. Everything's an effort when you have kids.
'Grandpa just made a coin disappear!' Ellis squeals, tugging at my trouser leg. Harry fancies himself as something of an amateur magician. He's always making things disappear and reappear. She squeals again as he 'magically' finds the coin tucked behind her ear. It doesn't take much to impress a four year old...
'Your Uncle Keith's gone into hospital again,' Harry says, turning around to speak to Lizzie who stirs and sits up.
'How's Annie coping?' she asks, covering her hand with her mouth as she yawns. I don't bother listening to Harry's answer. I've never met Liz's Uncle Keith or Auntie Annie and I don't suppose I ever will. I feel like I know them though, the number of times I've had to sit here and listen to endless trivial stories about their empty lives on the other side of the country. This happens most Sunday afternoons. Liz and Harry start talking about families and reminiscing and I just switch off. They'll talk constantly now until we go home about people I've never heard of and places I've never been.
'Mind if I put the football on?' I ask, noticing the time and stumbling on a way of keeping myself awake. Both Harry and Lizzie look up, surprised that I've spoken.
'Carry on,' grumbles Harry. He makes it sound as if watching the match will stop him talking or prevent him from doing something more important. Truth is he likes football as much as I do. I switch on the TV and the room is suddenly filled with noise. I swear he's going deaf. The volume's almost at maximum. I turn it down and I'm about to change channels when I stop.
'Bloody hell,' I say under my breath.
'What's the matter?' asks Liz.
'Have you seen this?'
I point at the screen. It's the same news channel I was watching last night. It's the same story too. The violence I'd seen reported appears to have continued to spread. It looks like a wave of trouble has washed right across our town. Although it looks quieter now the screen shows pictures of damaged buildings and rubbish-filled streets.
'I saw this earlier,' Harry says. 'It's a bloody disgrace if you ask me.'
'What's happened?' asks Liz.
'Haven't you seen any news yet today?'
'You know what it's like in our house, Dad,' she replies as she shuffles around to get a better view of the screen. 'We're last on the list when it comes to choosing what we watch on TV.'
'You want to start putting your foot down,' he moans, looking directly at me, trying to get me to bite. 'Show them you're in charge. You should never let children rule the roost like that.'
I ignore him and answer Liz.
'There was some trouble last night,' I explain. 'I saw it before I went to bed. There were a few incidents around town which got out of control.'
'What do you mean, got out of control?'
'You know what it's like in town on a Saturday. If there's a night when things will kick off it will always be Saturday. The streets are filled with idiots who are pissed-up and off their faces on drugs. The police can't cope with them as it is. Apparently it all started with a fight in a bar that got out of hand. More and more people got involved and it turned into a riot.'
'Grandpa, we saw a fight yesterday,' Ellis says innocently, looking up from her colouring book. Harry looks at Liz who nods her head.
'It was horrible, Dad,' she explains. 'We took Ed to a party at the Kings Head. It was full of football fans. We were having a meal and two of them started fighting.' She stops speaking and checks that the children aren't listening. 'One of them had a knife,' she says, her voice a little lower.
Harry shakes his head.
'It's a sad state of affairs, it really is,' he sighs. 'It's almost as if people go out looking for trouble these days.
The room falls quiet momentarily.
'Hang on,' Lizzie says suddenly, 'did you say this trouble happened here?'
'Yes,' I answer, nodding my head, 'why?'
'Because this is talking about somewhere else,' she says, nodding towards the TV. She's right. This report is coming from another place further north, and now they've cut to a third reporter on the east coast.
'It's mob violence,' Harry chunters. 'It spreads. People see something on TV and it makes them want to go out and do the same.'
He might be right but I doubt it very much. This doesn't make sense. I can't imagine that these people are all fighting just for the sake of it. There must be a reason.
'There must be more to it than that,' I say. 'For Christ's sake, Harry, do you really believe these people were just sat watching the trouble on TV one minute and then were out on the streets fighting the next? These riots are hundreds of miles apart. There must be more to it.'
For once he doesn't answer.
Another twenty minutes and the children have reached and exceeded their boredom threshold. They've started playing up and it's time to leave. I try to hide my relief as I bundle them into the back of the car. They bicker and fight constantly and I wonder if they're as wound up about Monday morning as I am. I hate Sunday evenings. All that's left now is the rush to get everything ready for school and work tomorrow.
This is the worst part of the weekend. Nothing to look forward to now except Monday.
