The Hate Collective by James Powell (rom com books to read txt) 📕

a few quid didn’t really bother Michael, as it was just a drop in the ocean compared to the billions routinely poured down the drain by an incompetent government. Billions wasted bailing out the bankers. Billions wasted on quangos. Billions wasted trying to fight the so called 'War on Terror'. That was the real scandal. And did it really matter if MPs took a little extra, so long as they did a good job? Nobody would begrudge their leaders a few perks if they were doing their bloody jobs properly, but no. That wasn’t the case. They were utterly useless. Still, at this stage, it was worth a try as Michael was prepared to do almost anything to be heard. And who knows, maybe his MP would actually be able to justify his second home allowance.
Despite this lack of faith in the political process, Michael was one of the few people who could still be bothered to go out and vote, but it was more from a sense of obligation than any deeply held political convictions. He might as well make the most of living in a democracy, although it made absolutely no difference which way he voted, as he lived in a safe Tory seat which would remain a safe Tory seat until he was six feet under.
Anyway, much to his surprise, he received a reply from his beloved MP, which was almost enough to restore his faith in politics. Only for a second though because on reading the letter, Michael was reminded why nobody voted anymore.
‘I am very sorry to hear about your recent incident’, it began.
‘Reducing crime has been my number one priority, and I am glad to say that it has been a success. Violent crime is down by ten percent and recorded crime down five percent this year alone. I have taken steps to ensure that more police officers are on the streets and these officers regularly liase with local businesses and community leaders to make sure that this constituency is a safer place to live and work. Unfortunately, there are still isolated cases such as yours, but we are trying to reduce the number of such cases by increasing the number of community support officers. I hope this reassures you, and if there is anything else I can do, please do not hesitate to contact me.’
Michael threw the letter away in despair. He needed help.


Chapter 2
A two year suspended sentence and one hundred hours of community service. That was it. Somehow the defendant had managed to stay out of prison, and despairingly, Steve wondered how on earth this was possible. He couldn’t believe it, and by the look on his lawyers face, neither could he. Not that it was of any great concern of his of course, because as a legal representative, he got paid regardless, but a suspended sentence? It was enough to rouse the emotions of even the most hard-hearted and detached lawyer, because it seemed like a real slap in the face. An insult to all those years of hard studying. It was a joke. Should have been at least six months, but the decision was made. Regaining some composure, Steve looked around the courtroom helplessly, like a lost child looking for some comfort. There was none to be found. The judge looked dispassionate. The defendant looked relieved, and was busy shaking the hand of his own lawyer, a man who looked like his job. Expensive and dishonest. The defendant smiled briefly. ‘Self congratulating little prick‘, thought Steve. ‘So that’s what money can buy. Your freedom. Should be locked up.’ He then noticed several people sitting in the spectators gallery enjoying the show, which made him wonder what kind of person comes to court for entertainment, before realizing that they were probably related to the defendant, something which made him feel even worse. Even the guy’s family were there to see this humiliation. He turned to his lawyer. ‘What happens now?.’
‘I’m afraid that’s it’, came the firm and definite reply. ‘I know it’s not the result we were hoping for, but there isn’t much we can really do. We could appeal, but it would be ruinously expensive with only a very slim chance of a better outcome.’
‘Couldn’t you do it for free?’, ventured Steve, aware of how desperate this made him sound, but nevertheless unapologetic.
‘I’m afraid I don’t do any pro bono work, and even if I did, the chances of a sentence increase are virtually nonexistent, like I said.’ Steve looked devastated. The lawyer tried a different approach. ’You could always sue him though.’
‘I don’t want his money’,came the angry reply. ’I want the guy to get what he deserves. Money doesn’t matter to someone like that. Just look at the lawyer he hired. A few thousand pounds out of his pocket won’t make him lose any sleep, and I wouldn’t want his money anyway because it would make him feel better. Clear his conscience and make him feel as though he had paid for his crime. I can’t let that happen. He deserves to be tormented by guilt for the rest of his life, and taking his money would only help to reduce that guilt. And that's not an option.’
‘Well then, if you’re not going to sue him, all I can do is recommend that you move on with your life and try to forget about what happened. I know it’s a cliché, but time really is a healer. Your daughter will get better and have a normal life, and in a few years time, this will all just be a dim and distant memory. I want you to know that I really did try my best and am genuinely sorry it didn’t go our way.’
‘Thanks for everything. I know you did your best’. This speech had really touched him, and made Steve think that the lawyer wasn’t such a bad guy after all and that he really did care about the case and the family. When he pointed out that his daughter would improve, it was said with such conviction that it was impossible to doubt the sincerity. He was a good man.
They shuffled dejectedly out of the courtroom, and Steve realised he now had to tell Jenny what had happened, something which didn’t bear thinking about.
She was sitting outside, too nervous to watch, despite normally being such a composed individual. The weight of expectation was great, made even more unbearable by the fact it had taken so long to get to this point. But she was still absolutely certain that the news would be good. Dressed in her one and only suit, she stood up the moment Steve came into view and walked towards him, unable to wait any longer. ‘How long did the bastard get?’ was all she said. Steve mumbled something inaudible and avoided eye contact, telling Jenny all she needed to know.
‘Don’t tell me he got off. Don’t you dare tell me he got away with it’, she spat, venomously, as though Steve had some kind of influence over the case and that it was somehow his fault that the judge had been lenient. It was as if she was accusing him of something, but he had no idea what. Slightly bewildered, he told her the truth.
‘Suspended sentence and community service.’ Jenny turned round and stormed off.
Steve waited a couple of seconds before following, and together they walked to the car park in silence. Then they drove home in silence. Throughout the journey, he desperately tried to think of something to say, something to calm her down and make her feel better. Something reassuring. But nothing came out. Maybe it was for the best, because he could quite easily say the wrong thing and make a bad situation worse, which would have been a disaster considering Jenny’s current frame of mind. So he played it safe and kept quiet, hoping that she wouldn’t hold it against him later on, and the journey continued in excruciating silence.
They arrived home half an hour later, though it seemed a hell of a lot longer. Steve’s mum was looking after Daisy, and she too was waiting nervously for the result, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, trying hard to distract herself with the newspaper, cigarette in one hand, double brandy in the other. It was her third of the afternoon, but it was essential. She had been sick with nerves all day, and this feeling only intensified when she heard the car pull up outside.
‘Hi mum’, said Steve, looking totally disheveled, beaten down by the harsh realities of life. ’How’s Daisy been?’
‘Good as gold love’, came the expectant reply.
‘Well’, said Steve. ’He ain’t going to prison for it mum. Come on, I’ll drive you home. Thanks for babysitting’.
‘Oh Steven, I’m so sorry’, she said, trying not to cry in front of her son.
‘It’s alright mum. There’s nothing else we can do except get on with it. Come on, let’s get you home. Come and say goodbye to grandma Daisy’. The nervous little girl came running into the kitchen and gave her grandma a big hug, before running out just as quickly.
‘Poor girl. She’ll get better eventually Steven.’
‘Yeah, I know. Thanks mum’. It was obvious he was hurting, but she knew him well enough to realize there wasn’t really anything she could do to help. He had to deal with it alone and in his own time.
Steve was one of those rare people who had managed to rise above his environment and make the most of a bad situation. Despite being born into relative poverty, he had actually done quite well for himself. This should not have happened. His father had left when he was just two years old and had never come back while his mother wasn’t exactly a good role model either, having never done a day’s work in her life, happy to claim money from the state, money which could never give her anything except a lifetime of bitterness spent waiting for the next cheque which would never quite buy enough. But at least it beat getting a job. Or so she thought. And to make things worse, the area where Steve grew up was notorious for drugs and crime, with very limited educational opportunities, not that he ever showed any great potential at school, but he never really had a chance to begin with. It was already over. And so inevitably, by the age of fifteen, he fell in with what is traditionally called ‘a bad crowd’, in other words, rebellious teenagers just like himself who decided that going to school was a complete waste of time, choosing instead to spend their days drinking in the park and sometimes doing a little bit of harmless shoplifting. Steve actually had fond memories of those days, as nobody ever got hurt, and they all had a good laugh. It was just childish misbehaviour, nothing more, nothing less.
The fact that he left school with no qualifications was irrelevant because at that age, life seems too short to spend it sitting in a classroom, especially when you could be out having a good time. But at least it gave Steve some kind of routine and structure. Once that was gone, and school was no longer an option, the trouble really began.
Thrown into the real world, with no immediate prospect of employment, Steve needed money. His friends also needed money, so they graduated from petty shoplifting to dealing in stolen goods, using Steve’s spare room for storage, which was convenient as his mother was usually to drunk to know or care. This brought in some extra cash to supplement his dole money, but all good things must come to an end and he was soon caught. His friends, showing admirable loyalty, were more than happy