Hater

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 I'm going to tell her. Maybe I just won't phone at all.
    My curiosity and apprehension gets the better of me. I finally relent and switch on the news. Half of me wants to know what's happening today, the other half wants to go back to bed, put my head under the pillow and not get up again until it's all over. And that causes me to ask myself yet another unanswerable question - how