SATURDAY

Half past six and the alarm clock wakes me up with its usual grating groan. I reach out and fumble around in the darkness to switch it off. I have to think for a minute to try and remember what day it is. Do I have to get up? I'm sure it's Saturday and I just forgot to cancel the alarm. I lie still for a second and try and work back through yesterday and last night. I can remember another dull day at the office with Tina Murray taking me into one of the interview rooms and ripping into me because of my attitude. I remember the gig and the fight and running away from the venue. Christ, what exactly did happen there last night? Doesn't matter now. All that's important is that it's Saturday and I don't have to get up and go to work.

I roll over onto my side and put my arm around Lizzie. She seemed happier yesterday than she has been for a while. It did us both good to get out and spend some time together. Shame it had to end the way it did. When we got back to the flat I had to drive Harry home. After that we opened a couple of cans of beer and sat in front of the TV watching a dumb action film, numbing our brains.

I shuffle a little closer to Liz and then wait for her to react. When she doesn't respond I move a little closer again and press myself up tight against her. We never seem to have chance to be intimate these days. Long gone are the times when we could be free and jump into bed at the drop of a hat. These days there's always something do or someone to look after first. Having kids has changed everything. I wish I'd been allowed to borrow someone else's for a while before we had our own. I never appreciated just how much having children can screw up your previously simple and uncomplicated life.

I can feel Lizzie's skin through the cloth of her pyjamas. She feels beautifully soft and warm. If it wasn't so early I might take a chance and try and slip my hand inside her top. Sometimes, if I'm careful and gentle enough, a move like that might start something. At this time of the day, though, she's more likely to kick me than caress me. But I can remember a time a couple of weeks back when we were both in the kitchen. She'd brushed up against me while I was standing at the sink doing the washing up. I stopped and turned around and she just looked at me like she does sometimes. I kissed her and I couldn't help myself. I grabbed her with wet hands and pushed her back onto the table. She took off her top and...

'I want my breakfast, Daddy,' Ellis pipes up from somewhere in the darkness at the side of the bed. Christ, she scared me half to death. I had no idea she was there. My suddenly semi-formed erection quickly droops back down to nothing.

'It's too early,' I mumble. 'Go back to bed.'

'I'm hungry, Daddy,' she says, undeterred.

'In a bit.'

'I'm hungry now. I can't wait.'

'Later.'

'Now,' she demands with more force and insistence in her voice than I would ever have expected from a four-and-a-half year old. She's not going anywhere. I'll have to try a different tack.

'Why don't you get into bed with Mummy and me for a while, sweetheart,' I suggest hopefully, quickly giving up all thoughts of sex. 'We'll get up and get your breakfast in a few minutes.' An hour or so with Ellis in the bed seems a much better option than getting up now. I expect a little resistance but, to my surprise, she agrees. She drags herself up onto the bed, steps over my head and then wriggles between Lizzie and I. Christ her feet are cold. Lizzie angrily mumbles something unintelligible when they touch her.

Thirty seconds of silence and she starts on me again.

'I want toast please, Daddy,' she says. I have to give her her due, she might be irritating but at least she's polite.

'In a minute,' I yawn, rolling over onto my side again, grabbing back some duvet and twisting and contorting my body to avoid contact with her icy feet. 'Let's just stay in bed for a little longer, shall we...?'

She agrees but she talks. And she talks. And she keeps talking. I screw my eyes shut and pull the duvet over my head.

I managed to last another twenty minutes with Ellis in bed before admitting defeat and getting up. I'm in the kitchen now waiting for the kettle to boil. We're both dressed and Ellis has had her breakfast but she's still talking non-stop about nothing in particular. Lizzie's still in bed. She could sleep through anything. Wish I could.

It's freezing cold in here. This flat is impossible to heat. I think it's so cold because the rest of the building is virtually empty. We're on the left hand side of the ground floor and all the warmth that our old-fashioned heating system generates just rises up and disappears into the empty flats above us. I've even thought about trying to get us moved upstairs to see if that makes any difference.

I grab my drink and a bowl of cereal and sit down in front of the TV. There's nothing on worth watching; crappy cartoons, cookery and lifestyle programmes and loud, intelligence-insulting kids shows are all I can find. I settle on the news but even the headlines are boring this morning (an outbreak of violence in the capital, a sex scandal involving a politician and his nephew, more warnings about climate change and a celebrity death). I'll wait for the sports headlines. They're usually on just before the hour.

Christ, all the kids are out of bed now. Why do they have to get up so early? We have to drag them out of their beds when it's a school day. They've only been up for a couple of minutes and I can already hear Ed and Josh fighting over something. I close my eyes and wait for them to start on me. It's only a matter of time...

'I want to watch Channel 22,' Ed says as he storms into the room. Does his entire life revolve around TV?

'I'm watching this,' I answer quickly, annoyed that I've been disturbed.

'With your eyes shut?' he sneers in an irritating tone which makes me want to slap him.

'Yes, with my eyes shut,' I sneer back. 'I'm waiting to watch something.'

'I really need to watch Channel 22, Dad,' he whines.

'Watch it in your room,' I suggest sensibly. We bought Ed a TV last Christmas. He hardly uses the damn thing.

'I can't get Channel 22 in there.'

'Sorry, son, I'm watching this. You can turn over when it's finished.'

'That's not fair,' he yells at me, 'I never get to watch any of my programmes.'

Little shit. He seems to spend all of his time in front of the box. How often do I get a turn? It's my TV and I can watch what I like, when I like. I don't know why but I find myself trying to justify watching a five minute programme to my eight year old son.

'You're always watching TV. It's all I ever see you do.'

'No it isn't. It's not fair, you never let me watch what I want.'

I can hear the sports bulletin theme music playing. I open my eyes. Ed's standing directly between me and the TV screen.

'Look, this is only on for five minutes. Let me watch it then you can have your channel on.'

'It's my turn to choose,' Ellis pipes up. I didn't even know she was in here. That's twice she's done that to me today.

'No it isn't,' Ed shouts. 'I'm watching my channel next.'

'But you've got your own telly. I haven't got one. That's not fair, is it Daddy?'

'It's just tough. I asked first.'

'I asked Mummy last night. She said I could watch what I wanted to this morning. She said that...'

'Will you both just shut up!' I yell, loud enough for the people in the flat on the top floor to hear. I hold my head in my hands in despair. Through the gaps between my fingers I can see the TV screen. The sports reporter is in full flow but I can't hear a damn word she's saying.

'Tell her, Dad,' Ed barks again, not about to let it drop. 'I'm watching my channel next.'

'No you're not. Mummy said that I could...'

'I don't care, Dad said that...'

'Shut up!' I snap. 'For crying out loud, will you both just shut up.'

'She started it,' Ed whines.

'No, he started it,' Ellis whines back, and so it goes on...

That's it. The brief sports bulletin is over. Waste of bloody time. Less than five minutes was all I wanted. Was that too much to ask? I get up and switch off the television and for a single blissful moment the flat is completely silent.

'If I can't watch it, no-one can,' I tell them both.

For another second they just stare at me in stunned silence. Then they turn.

'That's not fair,' Ed screams, his face flushed red with anger. 'You can't do that.'

'I just did, now shut up.'

The room is suddenly filled with more noise than ever as they both protest at the same time. It's loud enough to bring Josh waddling in. He starts screaming just because the other two are. I ignore the lot of them. I push past them all and storm through the flat to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet. The lock on the door is broken and I have to push my foot against it to keep it closed and to keep the kids out.

'Dad, will you tell him,' Ed shouts from just outside the bathroom. Christ, is there no escape? What do I have to do to get some peace and quiet? 'Dad, Josh is messing with the remote control.'

I can't bring myself to answer. I know he knows I'm in here but I just can't bring myself to speak to him. I push my foot a little harder against the door as Ed tries to push his way in from the other side.

'Dad... Dad, I know you're in there...'

I let my head loll back on my shoulders and I look up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the window. It's pretty small but we're on the ground floor and I reckon I could squeeze through if I really tried.

Jesus Christ, what am I thinking?

Am I seriously considering trying to escape from my own house through the toilet window? Bloody hell, there has to be more to life than this.

iii

Chris Spencer had been laying the drive in Beechwood Avenue for almost a day and a half and the job was not far off finished. It was a cash-in-hand job on the side for Jackie, a friend of a friend of his girlfriend. He'd started digging out and laying the foundations first thing yesterday morning and now, Saturday lunchtime, he was two-thirds of the way through putting down the block paving. It was hard, physical work and he was on his own today after being let down by his brother who, for a few quid, usually helped him out with jobs like this. It was a cold day but at least it was dry now. It had been raining earlier and he'd started to wonder whether all the effort and the loss of his usual Saturday morning lie-in would be worth the wad of cash he was hoping to shove in his back pocket.

The wheelbarrow was empty again. Tired and hungry he stood up and brushed the sand off his knees, ready to fetch another load of paving bricks. A couple more hours hard graft, he thought, and that would be everything but the edging stones done. He pushed the barrow over towards the half-empty pallet on the grass verge at the side of the road. His calculations had been just about spot-on, he smiled to himself. He'd quoted Jackie for two and a half pallets of bricks but it looked like the job was only going to need two. He'd shove the rest of the bricks in the back of the van and use them on the next job. It wasn't much of a saving but it all helped. It was all profit.

He was half-way through filling the barrow when the motorbike pulled up beside him. It was a huge, powerful thing with a wide exhaust and an impossibly loud engine. He'd heard it approaching from the bottom of the hill. Must be Jackie's son, he thought. She'd said something about him coming over to see her this afternoon. He glanced up and nodded an acknowledgement to the rider as he parked his machine and rested it on the kickstand. The leather-clad figure flicked back his visor and took off his helmet.

'All right, 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 backwards steps towards the house and tripped up the lip of the bricks he'd already laid, landing on his backside. The other man walked towards 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 round 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 towards her.