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match for his.

Charlie pulled the belt tighter and tighter until the last breath had been squeezed from his wife's body.

Chapter Eight

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