The raucous laughter crushed him even further. In the lift, he jabbed the button frantically, desperate to get away.
As the lift moved, he took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. The acrid odour of urine made him cough. It invariably smelled of piss in here, and the lift seemed determined to keep its occupants confined for as long as possible, freeing them only when they were at the point of vomiting. Scott guessed that it was probably the yobs downstairs who emptied their bladders here for amusement.
I’ll raise that issue with them tomorrow, he thought sarcastically. See if that goes down as well as tonight’s little chat.
What an idiot.
He felt more in control when the metal doors eventually whined open. This was the twelfth storey. His domain. He told himself that if he ever came across any of those fuckwits on this floor, he’d really show them what he could do. It would be a long time before they found anything funny again.
That’s what he told himself. It helped for now.
He turned left and through the fire door, then along the corridor to his flat. He pulled out his keys, opened the front door and entered. The hallway stretched ahead of him. To his left were doors to the two bedrooms and the bathroom. A door to his right took him into an open-plan area comprising the living room, dining area and kitchenette. Scott hung up his jacket and went in search of his family, to put his shit day behind him.
Gemma’s face warned him to think again.
She was directly in front of him as he came through the door. Usually a fizzing bundle of energy, this evening she was wearing an expression that said, You’re not going to like this, but . . .
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
She opened her mouth, but then her eyes flicked downwards.
‘Why are you carrying a brick?’
Scott looked around for a surface that wouldn’t be scratched or soiled. Eventually, he lowered the brick to the carpet.
‘Long story,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Daniel. He’s . . . he’s been in a fight.’
Something rolled over in Scott’s stomach. He looked back to the hallway, at Daniel’s closed bedroom door.
‘Oh, shit,’ he said. ‘Not again.’
‘It’s okay,’ Gemma said, coming towards him. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking.’
‘He didn’t—?’
‘No. He was good. A gang of schoolkids came up to him on his way home. He’s got a bloody nose to show for it, but he didn’t fight back. He’s really upset, though.’
Scott looked imploringly at the ceiling. ‘Fucking hell. I hate this place. Isn’t life difficult enough for him already?’
Gemma came closer and folded her arms around him. She had a knack for calming him down when things became too much.
‘Daniel was as good as gold,’ she said. ‘You need to go and tell him. It’ll make him feel better.’
Scott nodded, then kissed his wife and headed towards Daniel’s bedroom. He knocked, opened the door.
Daniel was sitting on his bed, staring at a book. Scott often wished that Daniel’s books didn’t all have pictures in them, that at least one of them could be a textbook on maths or physics, or even just a novel for grown-ups.
He should be a university graduate by now, Scott thought. Maybe training to be a lawyer or a doctor or a dentist. Maybe engaged or married. Just having a girlfriend would be a start. Or—
No.
Stop it. You’re not being fair. You’re letting one crap day ruin everything.
‘Hi, Daniel,’ he said cheerily.
‘Hi, Dad,’ Daniel said. But he didn’t look up from his book.
Scott sat down on the bed next to Daniel. It could still surprise him that he was dwarfed by his own son. Scott was tall and broad. Gemma was also tall. Their ancestors were no Lilliputians. But as for Daniel . . .
He had been born by Caesarean section. No other option for a baby that size. And when he was hauled into the world, it was as if he was determined to continue expanding into his more spacious environment, the way goldfish grow in proportion to their bowls. With his increasing size came mounting strength, which, alas, was not matched by his intellect. In that regard, Daniel was, and always would be, a young child.
‘What are you reading?’ Scott asked.
‘The Gruffalo. I like the story, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Somebody once said I looked like the Gruffalo.’
Scott sighed. It was just the latest in a string of insults. Some called him Lennie, or Desperate Dan, or Tank, or the Hulk, or Shrek, or Bigfoot, or . . . the list went on.
He put his arm around Daniel’s shoulders. He could sense the raw power beneath. ‘People sometimes say and do cruel things. I think you got a taste of that tonight, didn’t you?’
Daniel nodded dolefully. ‘I wasn’t doing anything. I was just walking home. Some boys started saying things. One of them hit me in the face with a football.’
He started crying. Scott rubbed his back. ‘Don’t cry. They’re not worth it.’ He hesitated. He didn’t want to ask this, especially as Gemma had already tried to reassure him, but he felt he had to. ‘You didn’t . . . you didn’t hit any of them, did you?’
