'No-one's managed to work it out yet,' she interrupts before I've had chance to finish my sentence.
18
It's dark. The house is silent. I'm tired but I can't sleep. It's almost two in the morning.
'You awake?' I ask quietly.
'Wide awake,' Lizzie answers.
I roll over onto my side and gently put my arm around her. She does the same and I pull her closer. It feels good to have her next to me like this. It's been too long.
'What are you going to do in the morning?' she asks. The side of her face is touching mine. I can feel her breath on my skin.
'Don't know,' I answer quickly. I want to stay at home but there's a part of me that still thinks I should go back to work. The longer I've laid here awake, the more I've slowly managed to convince myself that it will be safe to go back to the office tomorrow. Stupid bloody idiot. I watched people being shot in the middle of town today. There's no way I can go back there.
'Stay here,' she says quietly. 'Stay here with us. You should be here with me and the children.'
'I know, but…' I start to mumble.
'But nothing. We need you here. I need you here. I'm scared.'
I know she's right. I wrap my arms further around her and run my hand down the ridge of her spine. She's wearing a short nightdress. I put my hand underneath it and feel her back again. Her skin is soft and warm. I expect her to grumble and pull away from me like she usually does but she stays where she is. I can feel her hands on my skin now.
'Stay here with me,' she whispers again, slowly moving her hand across my backside and down before sliding it between my legs. She starts to stroke me and despite all the fear, confusion and uncertainty we're both feeling I'm hard in seconds. I can't remember the last time we were intimate. There always seems to be a reason why we can't be close. Something or someone always gets in the way.
'How long's it been?' I ask, keeping my voice low.
'Too long,' she answers.
Lizzie rolls over onto her back and I climb on top of her. I carefully slide inside her and she grips me tightly. I can feel her nails digging into my skin. She wants me as much as I want her. We both need each other tonight. Neither of us says a word. No talking. There's nothing to say.
It's four-thirty. I don't remember what happened. I must have fallen asleep. It's still dark in here and the bed's empty. I look round and see Lizzie standing by the door.
'What's wrong?'
'Listen,' she whispers.
I rub sleep from my eyes and sit up. I can hear noises coming from above us. The sounds are quiet and muffled. Something's happening in the other occupied flat upstairs. There are voices - raised voices - and then the sound of breaking glass.
'What's going on?' I ask, still drugged with sleep.
'This started about five minutes ago,' she explains as the voices above us get louder. 'I couldn't sleep. I thought…'
A sudden thump from the flat above interrupts her. Now the whole building is silent. It's a long, uncomfortable and ominous silence which makes me catch my breath. The bedroom is cold and I start to shiver through a combination of the low temperature and nerves. Lizzie turns round to face me and is about to speak when another noise makes her stop. It's the sound of a door slamming upstairs. Seconds later and we hear hurried, uneven footsteps in the lobby outside, then the familiar creak of the front entrance door being pulled open. I start to get out of bed.
'Where are you going?' she asks.
'I just want to see…' I start to say although I'm not really sure what I'm doing.
'Don't,' she pleads, 'please don't. Just stay here. Our door's locked and the windows are shut. We're both safe and so are the kids. It doesn't matter about anybody else. Don't get involved. Whatever's going on out there, don't get involved…'
I have no intention of going outside, I just want to see what's happening. I go into the living room. I hear a car's engine start and I peer through the curtains, making sure I can't be seen. One of the men from upstairs - I can't see which one - drives away at an incredible speed. I couldn't make out much detail, but I did see that there was only one person in the car and that immediately starts me thinking about who, or what, is left upstairs. I turn around and see that Lizzie is in the living room with me now.
'Maybe I should go up and check…?'
'You're not going anywhere,' she hisses. 'Like I said, our door's locked and the windows are shut. We're safe here and you're not going anywhere.'
'But what if something's happened up there? What if someone's hurt?'
'Then that's someone else's problem. I don't care. All we need to think about is the children and each other. You're not going anywhere.'
I know she's right. Out of duty I pick up the telephone and try to dial the emergency services. Christ, I can't even get an answer.
Lizzie goes back to bed. I'll follow her in a couple of minutes but I already know I won't sleep again tonight. I'm scared. I'm scared because whatever it is that we've seen happening to the rest of the world now suddenly feels a whole lot closer.
THURSDAY
19
I wake up before the alarm goes off and lie still and stare up at the ceiling as I try again to make sense of everything that's happened over the last few days. It all seems implausible and impossible. Has anything actually happened at all? I still can't help wondering if this is all just the result of peoples' fucked-up and overenthusiastic imaginations or whether there really is something more sinister and bizarre going on? In the cold light of morning it's difficult to try and comprehend all that I've seen and heard. I start trying to convince myself to get a grip, get up and get ready for work. But then I remember what I saw in Millennium Square yesterday and I'm overcome with nerves and uncertainty as the reality of it all hits me again.
There's no point just lying here. Lizzie and the kids are asleep. It's still dark outside but I get up and shuffle through to the living room. I peer out of the window. The car belonging to the people upstairs still hasn't returned. What happened up there? My mind starts to wander and play tricks. Was there a Hater upstairs? It scares me to think that my kids could have been so close to one of them. I force myself to remember Lizzie's words when we were awake earlier. I have to ignore what's going on everywhere else and concentrate on keeping the people on this side of the front door safe.
The flat feels colder than ever this morning and the low temperature makes me feel old beyond my years. I fetch some breakfast and then sit in front of the TV. I watch cartoons. I can't cope with anything more serious. Not yet.
I'm halfway through a bowl of dry cereal and I can't eat any more. I don't have much of an appetite. I feel uneasy all the time and I can't stop thinking about what's happening out there. What the hell is going on? I think about all the unconnected events I've witnessed and the hundreds - probably thousands - of other incidents which have happened elsewhere. No-one can see any connection and yet how can all of these things not be connected? That, I decide, is the most frightening aspect of all. How can so many people from so many different walks of life begin to behave so irrationally and erratically in such a short period of time?
I look over at the clock and realise that I should be getting ready for work now. My stomach starts to turn somersaults when I think about having to phone in and speak to Tina. Christ knows what she's going to say or what
