For Louis and Clémence
…a most terrible fire broke out, which … not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also places very remote, with incredible noise and fury.
Dear Osama they want you dead or alive so the terror will stop. Well I wouldn’t know about that I mean rock ’n’ roll didn’t stop when Elvis died on the khazi it just got worse. Next thing you know there was Sonny & Cher and Dexys Midnight Runners. I’ll come to them later. My point is it’s easier to start these things than to finish them. I suppose you thought of that did you?
There’s a reward of 25 million dollars on your head but don’t lose sleep on my account Osama. I have no information leading to your arrest or capture. I have no information full effing stop. I’m what you’d call an infidel and my husband called working-class. There is a difference you know. But just supposing I did clap eyes on you. Supposing I saw you driving a Nissan Primera down towards Shoreditch and grassed you to the old bill. Well. I wouldn’t know how to spend 25 million dollars. It’s not as if I’ve got anyone to spend it on since you blew up my husband and my boy.
That’s my whole point you see. I don’t want 25 million dollars Osama I just want you to give it a rest. AM I ALONE? I want to be the last mother in the world who ever has to write you a letter like this. Who ever has to write to you Osama about her dead boy.
Now about the writing. The last thing I wrote was N/A on an income support form that wanted NAME OF SPOUSE OR PARTNER. So you see I’ll do my best but you’ll have to bear with me because I’m not a big writer. I’m going to write to you about the emptiness that was left when you took my boy away. I’m going to write so you can look into my empty life and see what a human boy really is from the shape of the hole he leaves behind. I want you to feel that hole in your heart and stroke it with your hands and cut your fingers on its sharp edges. I am a mother Osama I just want you to love my son. What could be more natural?
I know you can love my boy Osama. The Sun says you are an EVIL MONSTER but I don’t believe in evil I know it takes 2 to tango. I know you’re vexed at the leaders of Western imperialism. Well I’ll be writing to them too.
As for you I know you’d stop the bombs in a second if I could make you see my son with all your heart for just one moment. I know you would stop making boy-shaped holes in the world. It would make you too sad. So I will do my best with these words Osama. I suppose you can see they don’t come natural to me but I hope this letter reaches you anyway. I hope it finds you before the Americans do otherwise I’m going to wish I hadn’t bothered aren’t I?
Well Osama if I’m going to show you my boy I have to start with where he lived and I still do. I live in London England which I agree with you is a bad place in lots of ways but I was born here so what can you do? London looks like a rich place from the outside but we are most of us very poor here. I saw the video you made Osama where you said the West was decadent. Maybe you meant the West End? We aren’t all like that. London is a smiling liar his front teeth are very nice but you can smell his back teeth rotten and stinking.
My family was never rotten poor we were hard up there’s a difference. We were respectable we kept ourselves presentable but it was a struggle I don’t mind telling you. We were not the nice front teeth or the rotten back teeth of London and there are millions of us just like that. The middle classes put up web sites about us. If you’re interested Osama just put down that Kalashnikov for a second and look up chav pikey ned or townie in Google. Like I say there are millions of us but now there’s a lot less than there were of course. I miss them so bad my husband and my boy especially.
My husband and my boy and me lived on Barnet Grove which is a road that goes from Bethnal Green to Haggerston. There are 2 kinds of places on Barnet Grove. The first kind are very pricey old terraced houses. The estate agents call them Georgian Gems With Extensive Potential For Conversion To Fully Appointed Executive Flats With Easy Access To The City Of London And Within A Stone’s Throw Of The Prestigious Columbia Road Flower Market. The second kind of places are places like ours. They are flats in dirty brick tower blocks they smell of chip fat inside. All the flats in each block are the same except that the front doors don’t match on account of they get kicked in as often as they get opened nicely. They built our tower blocks in the fifties. They built them in the gaps where the Georgian Gems had incendiaries dropped on them by Adolf Hitler.
Adolf Hitler was the last chap who hated London as much as you do Osama. The Sun calls him the MOST EVIL MAN IN HISTORY and he made the gaping hole in Barnet Grove that they built our tower block in. I suppose it was thanks to him we could afford to live Within A Stone’s Throw Of The Prestigious Columbia Road Flower Market so maybe Adolf Hitler was not all bad in the long run.
Like I say our flat was in one of those tower blocks. It was a small flat and you could hear the upstairs neighbours on the job. They used to start uh uh uh very soft at first and then louder and louder uh uh oh my god UH and after a bit you could listen as hard as you liked and still not know if you were hearing love or murder. It used to drive my husband crazy but at least our flat was warm and clean and it was ours. It was an ex–council flat which is to say we owned it. Which is to say we didn’t have to struggle to pay the rent. We struggled to pay the mortgage each month instead there is a difference and that difference is called EMPOWERMENT.
I didn’t work I looked after our boy. My husband’s wages paid the mortgage and not much else so by the end of the month things were always a bit wobbly. My husband was a copper and he wasn’t just any old copper he was in bomb disposal. You might reckon bomb disposal wages would of stretched a bit further Osama but you’d reckon wrong if you didn’t reckon with the horses the dogs the cockfights in the back room of the Nelson’s Head and whether it was going to be a white Christmas. My husband was the sort of bloke who’d take a punt on anything so thank god he had a better track record with bombs than the 11:31 at Doncaster. When we were behind on the bills I used to get teeth-chattering scared of the bailiffs Osama. Whenever I could squeeze a fiver out of the shopping money I used to stash it under the carpet just in case my husband blew everything one day and they chucked us out on our ear. There was never more than a month of mortgage under the rug so we were always less than 31 days away from the street or only 28 days if my husband blew the lot in February which sod’s law he would. But I couldn’t hold his flutters against him on account of he needed a thing to take his mind off the nerves and his thing was no worse than mine Osama I’ll tell you about my thing in a minute.
In bomb disposal the call can come at any time of the day or night and for my husband it often did. If the call came in the evening we would be sitting in front of the telly. Not saying much. Just sitting there with plates on our knees eating chicken kievs. They were Findus they were more or less okay they were always his favourite.
Anyway the telly would be on and we’d probably be watching Top Gear. My husband knew a lot about motors. We never could afford a new motor ourselves but my husband knew how to pick a good secondhand one. We mostly had Vauxhall Astras they never let us down. They used to sell off the old police Astras you see. They’d give them a respray but if the light was right you could always see POLICE showing out from under the paint job. I suppose a thing can never really change its nature Osama.
Anyway we’d be watching Top Gear and the phone would go and my husband would put his plate down on the sofa and take the phone next door. He wasn’t supposed to tell me anything about the job but when he came back through the lounge there was one sure way to tell if it was serious. They always knew which were the real bombs and which were most probably just hoaxes. If it was a hoax my husband would sit back down on the sofa and gobble the rest of his chicken kiev before he left the flat. It took him only 30 secs but he never did that if it was serious. When it was serious he just picked up his jacket and walked straight out.
When it was serious I used to wait up for him. Our boy would be asleep so there was only the telly to take my mind off things. Not that it ever would of course. After Top Gear there was Holby City and then it would be Newsnight. Holby made you nervous about death and chip pan fires and Newsnight made you nervous about life and money so between the both of them they could get you in a right state and leave you wondering why you bothered with the licence fee. But I had to keep the telly on in case anything happened and there was a news flash.
So I used to just sit there Osama watching the telly and hoping it would stay boring. When your husband works in bomb disposal you want the whole world to stay that way. Nothing ever happening. Trust me you want a world run by Richard & Judy. At night I always watched the BBC. I never watched the other side because I couldn’t stand the adverts. A woman with nice hair telling how this or that shampoo stops split ends. Well. It made me feel a bit funny when I was waiting to see if my husband had got himself blown up. It made me feel quite poorly actually.
There’s a lot of bombs in London these days Osama on account of if you’ve got a message for the nation then it’s actually quite hard to get on Richard & Judy so it’s easier just to stick a few old nails and bolts into a Nike bag of fertiliser. Half the poor lonely sods in town are making a bomb these days Osama I hope you’re proud of yourself. The coppers make 4 or 5 of them safe every week and another 1 or 2 go off and make holes in people and often as not it’s the coppers on the scene who get the holes put in them. They don’t show it on the news any more on account of it would give people the screaming abdabs. I’m not big on numbers Osama but once late at night I worked out the odds on my husband getting blown up one day and ever since then I had the screaming abdabs all on my own. It was practically a dead cert I swear not even Ladbrokes would of taken your money.
Sometimes the sun would be up before my husband came home. The breakfast show would be on the telly and there’d be a girl doing the weather or the Dow Jones. It was all a bit pointless if you ask me. I mean if you wanted to know what the weather was doing you only had to look out the window and as for the Dow Jones well you could look out the window or you could not. You could please yourself because it’s not as if there was anything you could do about the Dow Jones either way. My whole point is I never gave a monkey’s about any of it. I just wanted my husband home safe.
When he finally came in it was such a relief. He never said much because he was so tired. I would ask him how did it go? And he would look at me and say I’m still here ain’t I? My husband was what the Sun would call a QUIET HERO it’s funny how none of them are NOISY I suppose that wouldn’t be very British. Anyway my husband would drink a Famous Grouse and go to bed without taking his clothes off or brushing his teeth because as well as being QUIET he sometimes COULDN’T BE ARSED and who could blame him? When he was safe asleep I would go to look in on our boy.
Our boy had his own room it was cracking we were proud of it. My husband built his bed in the shape of Bob the Builder’s dump truck and I sewed the curtains and we did the painting together. In the night my boy’s room smelled of boy. Boy is a good smell it is a cross between angels and tigers. My boy slept on his side sucking Mr. Rabbit’s paws. I sewed Mr. Rabbit myself he was purple with green ears. He went everywhere my boy went. Or else there was trouble. My boy was so peaceful it was lovely to watch him sleep so still with his lovely ginger hair glowing from the sunrise outside his curtains. The curtains made the light all pink. They slept very quiet in the pink light the 2 of them him and Mr. Rabbit. Sometimes my boy was so still I had to check he was breathing. I would put my face close to his face and blow a little bit on his cheek. He would snuffle and frown and fidget for a while then go all soft and still again. I would smile and tiptoe backwards out of his room and close his door very quiet.
Mr. Rabbit survived. I still have him. His green ears are black with blood and one of his paws is missing.
Now I’ve told you where my boy came from Osama I suppose I ought to tell you a bit more about his mum before you get the idea I was some sort of saint who just sewed fluffy toys and waited up for her husband. I wish I was a saint because it was what my boy deserved but it wasn’t what he got. I wasn’t a perfect wife and mum in fact I wasn’t even an average one I was what the Sun would call a DIRTY LOVE CHEAT.
My husband and my boy never found out oh thank you god. But I can say it now they’re both dead and I don’t care who reads it. It can’t hurt them any more. I loved my boy and I loved my husband but sometimes I saw other men too. Or rather they saw me and I didn’t make much of an effort to put them off and one thing sometimes led to another. You know what men are like Osama you trained thousands of them yourself they are RAVENOUS LOVE RATS.
Sex is not a beautiful and perfect thing for me Osama it is a condition caused by nerves. Ever since I was a young girl I get so anxious. It only needs a little thing to get me started. Your Twin Towers attack or just 2 blokes arguing over a cab fare it’s all the same. All the violence in the world is connected it’s just like the sea. When I see a woman shouting at her kid in Asda car park I see bulldozers flattening refugee camps. I see those little African boys with scars across the tops of their skulls like headphones. I see all the lost tempers of the world I see HELL ON EARTH. It’s all the same it all makes me twitchy.
And when I get nervous about all the horrible things in the world I just need something very soft and secret and warm to make me forget it for a bit. I didn’t even know what it was till I was 14. It was one of my mum’s boyfriends who showed me but I won’t write his name or he’ll get in trouble. I suppose he was a SICK CHILD PREDATOR but I still remember how lovely it felt. Afterwards he took me for a drive through town and I just smiled and looked out at all the hard faces and the homeless drifting past the car windows and they didn’t bother me for the moment. I was just smiling and thinking nothing much.
Ever since then whenever I get nervous I’ll go with anyone so long as they’re gentle. I’m not proud I know it’s not an excuse and I’ve tried so hard to change but I can’t. It’s deep under my skin like a tat they can never quite remove oh sometimes I feel so tired.
I’ll tell you about one night in particular Osama. You’ll see it isn’t true I always used to wait up for my husband. One night last spring he got called out on a job and while I was waiting up for him the telly made me very anxious. It was one of those politics talk shows and everyone was trying to talk at once. It was like they were on a sinking ship fighting over the last life jacket and I couldn’t stand it. I ran into the kitchen and started tidying to take my mind off things only the problem was it was already tidy. The trouble is when I get nervous I always tidy and I get nervous a lot and there’s only so much tidying a small flat can take. I looked around the kitchen I was hopping from foot to foot I was getting desperate. The oven was clean the chip pan was sparkling and all the tins in the cupboards were in alphabetical order with their labels facing outwards. Apple slices Baked beans Custard and so on it was a real problem it was effing perfect I didn’t know what to do with myself so I started biting my nails. I can bite till my fingers bleed when I get like that but very luckily just then I had a flash of genius I realized I never had alphabetised the freezer had I? I’m good like that Osama sometimes things just come to me. So I opened up the freezer and dumped out all the food onto the floor and put it back in its right order from top to bottom. AlphaBites Burgers Chips Drumsticks Eclairs Fish Fingers I could go on but the point is all the time I was doing this I was very happy and I never once imagined my husband cutting the wrong wire on a homemade nail bomb and being blown into chunks about the size of your thumb. The trouble was as soon as all the packets were back in the freezer that’s exactly what I started seeing. So then I did what anyone would do in my situation Osama I went down the pub.
Actually that isn’t quite true. What I did first was open up the freezer again and take out the bag of AlphaBites and open them and put all the AlphaBites into alphabetical order and put them back into the freezer and then I went down the pub. There was nothing else for it I just had to get out of that flat and close the door behind me.
I know they say you should never leave a child alone in the home but there you go. The people who say that I wonder what they would do if it was them left all alone and it was their husbands making a bomb safe and all their laundry was done already and all their AlphaBites were in perfect order. I think they might of popped out to the pub like I did. Just to see a few friendly faces. Just to drink a little something to take the edge off. So off I toddled down the road to the Nelson’s Head and I got a G&T and I took it to the corner table nearest the telly projector and I sat there watching Sky like you do. They were showing all the season’s greatest goals which was fine by me. I know you’d rather watch blindfolded lads having their heads hacked off with knives Osama well that’s the main difference between you and me I suppose we have different opinions about telly. If you’d ever spent an evening in front of the box with me and my husband there’d of been a lot of squabbling over the remote control. Anyway my point is I was happy minding my own and I sat there all alone good as gold and the old granddads sat at the bar talking about the footie and everyone let me be.
Now I may be weak Osama but I am not a slut. I never asked for Jasper Black to sit down at my table and interrupt me gawping at action replays. I never came on to Jasper Black he came on to me there’s a difference.
You could tell straight away Jasper Black had no business being in the East End. He was one of those types who fancied a spot of Easy Access To The City Of London And Within A Stone’s Throw Of The Prestigious Columbia Road Flower Market. The Sun calls them SNEERING TOFFS. Usually they live about 3 years in Bethnal Green or Shoreditch then move to the suburbs to be with their own kind. I watched a documentary once about salmon swimming up rivers to spawn and that’s what they’re like those people. You turn around one day and they’ve upped sticks and gone and all you’re left with is this fading smell of Boss by Hugo Boss on your nice T-shirt and a Starbucks where the pie shop used to be.
Including him there were 3 SNEERING TOFFS on Jasper Black’s table it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to spot them. I was looking at Sky trying not to catch their eye but I could feel them looking up from their pints and giving each other these little secret grins on account of I was a bit of local colour. Like it was okay I was wearing a Nike T-shirt and trackie bottoms but they’d of preferred it if I’d been dressed as a Pearly Queen or maybe the little match girl from Oliver! The Musical. If they’d been just a bit more pissed they’d probably of taken a photo of me on their mobiles for those web sites I told you about. They thought they were very clever. My whole point is they weren’t very nice and you could of blown up as many of them as you liked Osama you wouldn’t of heard any of us complaining.
Anyway Jasper Black left his table and came over to mine and it was quite a surprise. Normally I’d of told him where to shove it but I couldn’t help noticing he had nice eyes for a SNEERING TOFF. I mean most of them have dead eyes like they’ve been done over with electric shocks like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Or some of them have these little excited eyes like they’ve got a chinchilla up their bum like Hugh Grant in. Well. All his films. But Jasper Black wasn’t like that. He had nice eyes. He looked almost human. I looked back at the slow-motion goals on Sky. I knew it was dangerous to look at Jasper Black at least give me that much credit.
—Football fan are you? said Jasper Black.
—What do you think?
—I think you’re beautiful, said Jasper Black. So do my friends. They bet me 20 quid I couldn’t get your name. So tell me your name and I’ll split the cash with you and never bother you again.
He was smiling. I wasn’t.
—20 quid?
—Yes, he said. 20 English pounds.
—Listen carefully. I’ll say this slowly. Your friends are WANKERS.
Jasper Black didn’t even blink.
—So help me take them for the money, he said. We’ll go halves. 10 quid each. What do you say?
—I don’t need 10 quid.
Jasper Black stopped smiling.
—No, he said. Neither do I really. Well maybe I can just talk with you?
—I’m married. I’m waiting for my husband.
I picked up my G&T and I made sure he got an eyeful of my wedding band. My wedding band is not silver actually Osama it’s platinum it’s a cracker. My husband chose it himself and it cost him a month’s wages. There are some things you just can’t skimp on he always used to say. I still wear it today on a little silver chain around my neck. It’s as wide as runway number 1 at Heathrow Airport and it flashes like the sun but apparently Jasper Black couldn’t see it at all.
—Are you here all on your own? he said.
—No. Well yes I suppose I am. Like I say I’m waiting for my husband he’s a copper he’s a rock he’s never let me down we’ve been married 4 years 7 months we have a boy he is 4 years 3 months old he still sleeps with his rabbit the rabbit is called Mr. Rabbit.
—Are you okay? said Jasper Black. It’s just that you seem a little overwrought.
—Overwhat?
—Overexcited.
—Oh really what makes you say that?
—Well, said Jasper Black. I only asked you if you were here alone and now I know everything about you with the possible exception of your mother’s maiden name.
—Knowles.
—Excuse me? said Jasper Black.
—Knowles was my mother’s maiden name. In fact it always was her name she never was married to my father.
—Oh, he said.
—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’m never normally like this. Spilling my guts to strangers down the pub.
—Please don’t apologise. Talk if you feel like talking. Get it all off your chest. I’m a good listener.
—Are you sure? You seem very kind you have a kind face my husband is in bomb disposal.
—Whoa there, said Jasper Black. Whoa whoa whoa. Just one cotton-picking minute. I’m going to go to the bar and get us both another drink and you’re going to take a deep breath and count backwards from ten and when I get back from the bar you’re going to start at the beginning and tell me all about it.
—Okay.
—Alright, he said. What are you drinking?
—G&T please.
—G&T it is, he said.
—Last orders, said the landlord.
So Jasper Black went up to the bar and his 2 SNEERING TOFF mates got up from their table and went in to the gents for a wee and I got up and locked them in there on account of they’d been gawping at me and Jasper Black and making blow-job faces at us ever since he sat down with me. It couldn’t of been easier. There was a padlock on the outside of the door to the gents and I just clicked it shut through the metal ring that was there and went back to my table nearest the telly projector and sat down good as gold. The landlord and the old granddads up at the bar saw the whole thing and they were all nudging each other and smiling at me which would of been nice except that their teeth were a right state so it was a bit like a horror film actually like Night of the Smirking Cardigan Granddads. When Jasper Black turned back from the bar with our drinks he looked around for his mates and made a question mark face at me with his eyebrows.
—What happened to the blokes I was with? he said.
—They disappeared up their own arses. You should of seen it. It was amazing.
Jasper Black looked at me and frowned. Then he shrugged and sat down. We just drank our drinks for a little bit then. We didn’t look at each other we looked at each other’s drinks like they were effing fascinating. The way 2 people only do if they’ve known each other less than 25 minutes or more than 25 years. So I stared at Jasper Black’s lager and Jasper Black stared at my G&T and after a while this loud banging started coming from the gents now his mates had found out they’d been locked in there. It got louder and louder. You might of thought the landlord would of let them out but he didn’t because we do things a bit different in the East End. There are mysteries in this patch between Bethnal Green and Haggerston Osama that would of had your prophets scratching their heads I should think.
Jasper Black nodded his head at the door of the gents where all the banging was coming from.
—That’s them is it? he said.
—They started it.
Jasper Black frowned again and then he started laughing.
—Good girl, he said.
—Yes I am a good girl as a matter of fact so don’t think you can try anything fancy.
Jasper Black grinned.
—Last thing on my mind, he said.
—My husband is in bomb disposal he got called out on a job tonight I’m waiting for him to come home.
—Bomb disposal, said Jasper Black. The red wire or the green wire eh? That must be one hell of a job.
I shrieked when he said that about the red wire or the green wire I couldn’t help myself.
—Oh god, he said. I’m so sorry that was bloody insensitive of me. Sometimes I can be such a prat oh now I wish the ground would just swallow me up.
—It’s not your fault. I feel like a bomb myself tonight I’m all nerves I’m ready to explode I feel like I could go off at any moment.
—Oh you poor thing, he said.
He put his hand on my hand and I trembled.
—Will you drink up now please, said the landlord.
He meant it. 5 minutes later we were out on our ear and the banging from the door of the gents faded out when the barman locked the front door behind us.
—Will they be okay in there? said Jasper Black.
—Your mates?
—Yes.
—Do you care?
—No.
—Fine then.
We stood there looking at each other’s shoes. It was raining. This is London Osama so if I do ever forget to mention the weather you just imagine it’s raining and cold and you won’t be far off.
—Will you be okay? he said. I’m worried about you.
—Worried about me? You don’t even know me. I’m not your problem.
—There is such a thing as compassion, he said. We’re all in this together. You’re having a stressful night. Why don’t you let me at least walk you to your house?
—Cause I don’t have a house. It’s a flat isn’t it?
—Flat then.
—It’s just round the corner. Don’t worry about me I’ll be alright I’ll just go home and put the kettle on.
—Where are you living? he said.
—On the Wellington Estate on the corner of Wellington Row. With my husband.
—That’s funny, said Jasper Black. You live right across the road from me. I see the Wellington Estate from my window.
—Bet that hasn’t done anything for your house price.
—I’m sure it’s nice inside, he said.
—It’s alright. At least we don’t have a view of the Wellington Estate.
He smiled.
—We’ll walk that way together, he said.
He put his arm around my shoulders as we walked. I didn’t know how to stop him doing it. I thought he was maybe just being kind. I was nervous in case my husband came past and saw us walking that way. I was nervous in case my husband got himself blown up. Oh actually I was just nervous.
When we reached the estate my husband’s car wasn’t parked in the road outside. The lights weren’t on in our flat it was obvious he wasn’t back yet.
—He isn’t back yet.
I don’t know why I said that. It was stupid of me. I don’t know why I said anything at all to Jasper Black he hadn’t even told me his name.
—Your husband isn’t back? said Jasper Black.
—No. The lights are off.
—Well why don’t you come to my place? said Jasper Black. I’ll make you a coffee.
—I don’t drink coffee.
—A tea then, he said.
—No thanks. I really should be getting back.
—But what on earth for? he said. It’s not as if anyone’s waiting up for you.
—I suppose not.
Even though my boy was waiting in there for me. But I couldn’t tell him that could I? I couldn’t tell him I’d gone out to the pub and left my only boy all alone in the flat. They might of taken the boy off me. Social Services I mean. So I froze up. I didn’t know what to do. The rain was falling harder now and I was so nervous I couldn’t speak or even think. Jasper Black did all that for me.
—Come on then, he said. Come back to my place. You shouldn’t be alone in your state. A nice cup of tea will do you good I insist.
Jasper Black never did make me that cup of tea Osama. We went back to his place and it was one of those Georgian Gems. It was very nice and tidy inside I suppose he must of had a cleaner. His house was the other side of the road from ours and fifty yards down. He wasn’t lying about that. In his lounge he put on some of that new age music with monks and no drummer. He said it would relax me but it didn’t. I just kept looking out the window to see if my husband was home yet.
—My girlfriend’s away, said Jasper Black.
—Oh.
—Yes, he said. She’s in Paris.
—That’s nice. On holiday is she?
—On business. We’re journalists. She’s doing a piece on Paris Fashion Week. Her name is Petra Sutherland. Maybe you’re familiar with her work?
—Mmm?
—Sunday Telegraph? he said. We’re both with the Sunday Telegraph. It’s how we met.
—That’s nice. Listen I don’t know what I’m doing here I must be out of my mind I think I’ll be getting back now.
—Please don’t go just yet, said Jasper Black. For your own sake why don’t you just stay a while and let me help you to relax.
—You don’t understand.
—Oh I think I do, he said.
He stroked my neck all soft and gentle. It was like an electric shock I could feel it all up and down my body. He took my clothes off very delicate while I just stood there shaking and then he took his own clothes off too all of them.
—This isn’t like me.
—This isn’t like me either, he said. Oh god you have such lovely breasts.
—What did you say?
—That you have lovely breasts, he said.
—Oh. My husband doesn’t call them that.
He took me into the bedroom and we lay down on the bed and we had sex ever so gentle it felt like everything was flooding out of me it was lovely I cried all the way through it.
When I got home my husband still wasn’t back. I ran a bath and I lay in it with just my eyes and nose sticking out the water. I was thinking nothing much. When the bath went cold I put on my pink dressing gown and wrapped a towel round my hair and I went to look in on my boy. He looked so peaceful. I felt very peaceful too I lay down on the floor beside his bed and went to sleep. When I woke up the room was full of pink light from the sun through the curtains. I heard my husband’s key in the front door and I went to meet him in the lounge.
—How did it go?
My husband was drinking his Famous Grouse. He looked up at me.
—I’m still here ain’t I? he said.
I smiled at him.
—Yeah love. Yeah you still are.
He went to sleep with his clothes on. I lay down beside him with my arm over his chest. I listened to him breathing. I was very happy I was still thinking nothing much.
They say you are a FIEND Osama but like I say I don’t believe a word of it. I’ve seen you in your videos. You give me the shivers and you look like a gentleman. My husband was a good man he was a gentleman too. You would of liked him. Maybe you should of thought about that before you blew him up. They say you believe in paradise. They say you believe that if your people kill anyone innocent then you’re doing them a favour because they will go to be with Allah. I wouldn’t know about that. My husband didn’t believe in Allah he believed in his kid and Arsenal football club.
I always liked the football but my husband and my boy were mad for it. My husband used to take the boy to all the home games. The fun used to start the night before. Before we put the boy to bed my husband would run around the flat with the boy on his shoulders. They would sing 1 NIL TO THE ARSENAL till the upstairs neighbours banged on the ceiling. They were Chelsea fans upstairs. You live in the mountains with your Kalashnikov Osama sending god’s fiery vengeance down on the heads of the prophet’s enemies so you might think football isn’t that important. Well it is.
Sometimes the upstairs neighbours would come down and bang on our door. It drove them crazy when my husband and my boy sang 1 NIL TO THE ARSENAL. The neighbours would scream at us to eff off and bang on the door with their fists. Well that just made it worse because my husband and my boy would start singing 2 NIL TO THE ARSENAL. The more fuss the neighbours made the worse the Arsenal was going to beat them to nil. All of it gave me the jitters I don’t mind telling you.
After the singing the boy would be overexcited and laughing and giggling like a lunatic. We couldn’t get him off to sleep for love nor money. Mum he would say mum mum mum come quick there’s something in my room. I’d rush in. What is it? I’d say. Nothing he’d say I fooled you ha ha ha. He was 4 years and 3 months old. You couldn’t be cross with him. That boy had such a beautiful smile. He was just pleased to be alive.
—Go to sleep little monster or you’ll be tired for the big game. Arsenal can’t win without you they need the support.
—But I’m not sleepy mum, he’d say.
—Go to sleep or I’ll have to fetch your father.
—I’m not scared of him, he’d say. My dad is the best dad in the world he’s better than. Than. Than.
—Than what? Eh little monster? What’s your dad better than?
—Monkeys, he’d say. My dad is better than monkeys and and and.
—And what?
—Tizer, said my boy.
It sounds silly Osama but sometimes I’m pleased your people blew them both up together. If my boy had survived he would of missed his father. It would of made him so sad. I never could bear for my boy to be sad so if someone has to be sad now I suppose it might as well be me.
When the boy would finally go to sleep it was always late and we would sit on the sofa drinking beers. Just me and my husband. One Friday night we had an argument about the football. I came right out with it.
—I wish you wouldn’t take the boy to the game. He’s too little. It makes me nervous.
—Nervous? said my husband. What is there to be nervous about?
—Well you know. The violence.
—Ha ha, said my husband. Crowd violence at a football game. That’s a laugh considering I defuse bombs for a living.
—I know. Well that makes me nervous too.
—Listen love, he said. Football crowds aren’t how they used to be. It’s a family game now and anyway I’m a copper I’m a big bloke I can handle myself.
—It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s the boy. He is 4 years and 3 months old he still sleeps with Mr. Rabbit.
—Oh for Christ’s sake, said my husband. You think I don’t look after him? You think I’d let anyone touch a hair on his head? I’d kill them first.
—Alright. But it still makes me nervous.
—Everything makes you nervous, he said.
And he was right oh god he was absolutely right I could feel death rushing towards us.
That night my husband was exhausted he’d had a hell of a day and to top it off he’d blown 250 quid on the wrong horse at Doncaster. I shouldn’t of got him to make love to me I should of just let him be but my nerves were screaming and I thought maybe he could bring it out of me. But no it was miserable sex and the terror stayed inside me my husband just made it worse. He was full of fear himself I could feel every one of those 250 quid he lost knotted in his muscles when he held me. Afterwards we just lay in the dark looking at the ceiling. Neither of us could sleep. The upstairs neighbours had mates over.
—I’m going to kill those bastards, said my husband. Drinking and shouting all hours of the night. Don’t they understand there’s families in these flats? What the hell is that they’re listening to anyway?
—It’s Beyonc.
I knew the names of all the singers Osama I watched a lot of telly in the daytime you see.
—I don’t mean who is it, said my husband. I mean what kind of music do you call that?
—It’s R&B.
—It’s a horrible bloody racket is what it is, said my husband. Look at this. The bass is so loud you can see the ripples in my water glass.
—I wish we were rich. If we were rich we could live in a house not a flat. It’s only the poor who have to suffer each other’s music.
—What are you on about? said my husband. We’re not poor.
—Yeah alright but I mean look at us.
—Don’t start, said my husband.
—Start what?
—Don’t start on about money, he said. You think I need bloody reminding?
I sighed and I stroked his face in the dark.
—No love. I’m sorry.
—No, said my husband. I’m sorry. You deserve better than me.
—Don’t ever say that love I’m so proud of you. You’re a good man. You never think twice when you get the call. You go out and you save people’s lives.
—Yeah, said my husband. But it shreds my nerves to buggery and when I get home those same people whose lives I saved are making our flat shake with what was her name again?
—Beyonc.
—Yeah that’s it, he said. Beyonc. Sometimes I wish we just let the bombs explode.
I stroked his hair he didn’t mean it. We lay there for a long time with the neighbours’ music banging through the ceiling. My husband’s eyes were open. He was all feverish and sweaty looking up at the ceiling.
—Fuckers, he said.
—You don’t have to swear love.
—I’ll fucking swear when I fucking well want to.
—Don’t swear it makes me jumpy when you swear.
—Calm down love, said my husband.
—No you calm down. You’re the one who lost 250 quid. How am I meant to feed the boy and put clothes on him when you carry on like that? Why don’t you effing well calm down?
My husband looked at me like I’d slapped him round the face. I suppose it was a shock on account of I’ve never been a moaner but I was losing it and Beyonc wasn’t helping by shouting CRAZY RIGHT NOW down through our bedroom ceiling so loud it made my back teeth buzz.
—Oh fuck this, said my husband. I don’t think we can carry on like this. My nerves are shot and you’re half mental with worry all the time. You’re turning into a hysterical woman.
—I am not hysterical.
—Yes you are, he said.
—NO I AM EFFING WELL NOT HYSTERICAL.
I grabbed my water glass and I smashed it against the wall. The water and the glass burst all over the carpet and I burst into tears. My husband held me very tight and stroked my hair.
—It’s alright love, he said. It’s not your fault. Anyone would be the same with all this stress.
I turned on the bedside light and I lit one of my husband’s ciggies. My hands were shaking. The music from upstairs got even louder. The ceiling was heaving. Now the bastards were dancing up there. They were the NEIGHBOURS FROM HELL. I smoked the ciggie down to the filter and I threw it across the room like I never would of done in my right mind. I may not be a saint Osama but I am very house proud.
My husband stared at me like he was seeing something for the first time. The ciggie landed where the carpet was soggy from the broken glass water and it hissed out. I suppose that’s when my husband made his mind up.
—You know what I’m going to do? he said.
—No. What are you going to do?
—I’m going to quit the force, he said. I’m going to get out while I’ve still got my health and you’ve still got your marbles.
—Oh god love. That’s brilliant do you really think you could? What would we do for money?
—I know a doctor, said my husband. A police doctor. I did him a favour once back when I was in uniform. His boy got arrested for drugs. It wasn’t anything really. Just a few pills. The lad was no worse than anyone his age. I flushed the pills down the khazi. No sense in making trouble for them. They were a nice family. Anyway. This doctor. If I go and see him and tell him my nerves are shot. Well. He owes me a favour. He can write me a ticket.
—Ticket? What do you mean a ticket?
—Well, said my husband. A ticket means you go on sick leave indefinite. I’d still get 3-quarters pay so there’d be no pressure. I could find another job.
—Oh god love could you really?
—Yes of course I could, said my husband. I’m 35 years old I could retrain.
I smiled in the dark. My husband. Leaving the force. I couldn’t believe it. It was so wonderful.
—Oh god love imagine it no more call-outs no more stress. You’ll lay off the bookies and we’ll move into a nicer place and we’ll laugh all the time and watch the telly together in the evenings. We’ll watch whatever you like okay? And we’ll make a brother or a sister for the boy. Okay?
—Okay, said my husband. Yeah. Okay.
I smiled at him.
—Come on love.
—Come on where? he said.
—Just come with me.
I took him into the lounge and I pulled him over to the stereo.
—Come on love. Help me choose a CD that’ll drive the neighbours mental. We’ll turn it up really effing loud. Give ’em a taste of their own medicine.
My husband started laughing.
—Oh you crazy cow, he said. I love you. How about Phil Collins?
—Phil Collins. Yeah that would wind them up alright but I was thinking of something even more annoying how about Sonny & Cher?
—Christ love, said my husband. We only want to piss them off we don’t want to make them lose their will to live.
—Okay then. How about Dexys Midnight Runners?
—Perfect, said my husband. You are an evil genius.
We took the speakers and we turned them on their backs so they pointed straight up at the neighbours. My husband switched on the stereo and he turned the volume to max. My husband knew how to pick a good secondhand stereo. Ours was a monster. It used to be in a police pub in Walthamstow. Just the roar it made without a CD in it was brilliant. It was like a plane taking off. We giggled at each other. The upstairs neighbours were in for it alright.
—Ready? said my husband.
—Ready.
—Contact! said my husband.
My husband put the CD in. He pressed PLAY and we ran into the kitchen. We held hands and crouched on the floor. It was scary. It was like an earthquake the way the plates rattled when Dexys Midnight Runners sang COME ON EILEEN.
When the song was over we went back in the lounge and we switched off the stereo. Everything went very quiet. Then one of the neighbours shouted from upstairs.
—Don’t ever try that again you bastards, he shouted. Or I’m calling the police.
—They won’t do nothing, my husband shouted back. The police love Dexys Midnight Runners and I should bleeding know. I’m a copper myself.
The neighbours went quiet after that and they didn’t turn their music back on.
—Ah peace at last, said my husband. Thank fuck for diplomacy.
Then I remembered something. I put my hand up to my mouth.
—Oh god. We forgot all about the boy. All that racket. He must of been terrified.
We went to his room we opened the door we thought he’d be howling but he wasn’t. He was just lying there fast asleep. He’d kipped through the whole thing hugging Mr. Rabbit I swear the ordinary rules of sleep did not apply to that boy.
We went next door and lay down on the bed. It was lovely and quiet now. My husband went to sleep straight away. I lay awake for a little while just feeling so happy. My husband was going to leave the force. No more waiting up for him watching Holby City. No more worrying my boy was going to lose his dad. It was so wonderful I couldn’t believe it was true. I shook my husband awake again.
—Oh Christ what is it love? he said.
—Did you really mean it? What you said about leaving the force?
—Of course I meant it, he said. You ever known me not to do what I said?
—No. When are you going to do it?
He looked at me and sighed.
—First thing Monday morning, he said. Now will you let me sleep?
I smiled. I started to fall asleep myself. You can see I had my downs but I was often so happy in those days. I’ve gone through a lot of changes since then Osama but if you looked very carefully and the light was right I expect you could still see the memory of that happy time in me. Hidden but not quite invisible like the POLICE letters down the side of our old Astra.
They say you visited London when you were young Osama. I suppose you saw the nice bits did you? Did you see the Houses of Parliament? Did you walk down Knightsbridge on a sunny Saturday afternoon? Did you shop at Harvey Nick’s? Did they politely ask you to leave your Kalashnikov at the cloakroom?
And I expect you watched the homeless in the squats and the subways? Did you see the crack girls on the game? Were you amazed how cheap the girls sell themselves in London? They’ll let you do them for the price of a Happy Meal for their kids most of them. Does it worry you like it worries me?
So if you saw both Londons Osama then tell me this. Which London is it that Allah especially hates? I’m asking because I don’t see how a tourist could hate both Londons. The SNEERING TOFFS London and the EVIL CRACK MUMS London I mean. Sorry Osama for calling you a tourist I don’t mean to cause offence I’m just saying I don’t see how you can hate the whole of London unless you actually live here on less than 500 quid a week.
One thing you start to hate when you live in London is the way rich people live right next to you. They’ll suddenly plonk themselves right next door and the next thing you know your old street is An Upcoming Bohemian Melting Pot With Excellent Transport Links which means there are posh motors boxing in your Vauxhall Astra every morning. My husband always noticed the motors.
It was the morning after he promised to quit the force and he spotted a really nice one. We were outside in the street in front of the estate. It was May 1 and the sky was blue and it was nice and warm just like you want it to be on May Day. My husband was carrying the boy on his shoulders and both of them were grinning like idiots. They were wearing their Arsenal shirts because it was Saturday and it was the big day. Arsenal were at home to Chelsea. The upstairs neighbours were out too and they were wearing their Chelsea shirts. We were walking to our Astra and the neighbours were walking behind us. They were giving it the old mouth but we ignored them.
The good motor was parked in front of our old Astra.
—Look at that, said my husband. Aston Martin DB7. Hell of a vehicle.
He took our boy off his shoulders so he could look in the windows. The little chap pressed his nose up against the glass. It was all black leather in there.
—0 to 60 in 5 seconds flat son, said my husband. 400 horsepower. Take her up to 170 maybe 180. The force don’t have anything that goes that quick. If a villain wanted to give us the run around in one of these things we’d have to go after him in a chopper.
—Chopper, said our boy. Chopper chopper chopper.
He grinned. He loved that word.
Then they climbed in our old Astra and drove off. The boy pressed his nose against the window glass and I waved him good-bye. I don’t even remember if he waved back. I wasn’t really watching I was thinking about what we needed from the shops. It’s funny but you don’t think about death you think about running out of crisps and toilet roll. I never saw my husband or my boy again.
I went to the shop and I bought toilet roll bacon eggs choc-chip ice cream crisps chicken kievs butter bin bags and beer. The ice cream was a treat for my chaps when they got back from the game. It was my boy’s second-favourite thing after his dad. On the way back from the shop I saw Jasper Black and he was about to get into the Aston Martin DB7.
—Hello there, he said.
—Alright. That’s a nice motor. I’ll bet it does 0 to 60 in 5 seconds flat. I’ll bet it does 170 maybe 180.
—Gosh, said Jasper Black. I didn’t know you knew cars.
—Well that just goes to show you don’t know anything about me at all.
—I’d like to get to know you better, said Jasper Black.
—I’ll bet you would but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.
—Excuse me? said Jasper Black.
—You heard. The other night was a mistake. My husband’s a good man I should never of cheated on him.
—Well can’t we at least talk? said Jasper Black.
—Nope. My choc-chip’s melting.
—I suppose I should really be going too, said Jasper Black.
—Well off you trot then. Wherever you’re going I reckon you can still make it if you get a wriggle on. Your motor does 180 miles an hour after all.
Jasper Black laughed.
—I’m off to a football match actually, he said. Arsenal are playing Chelsea.
—Yeah I had heard. My husband and my boy are there.
—They say it’s going to be quite a game, said Jasper Black.
—I didn’t have you down for a football fan.
—Oh I’m really not. Not in the slightest.
—So why now?
—Petra, said Jasper Black. My girlfriend. She insists I must at least try to get up to speed with the game. I seem to be the last man in England who isn’t. I’m failing to hold my own at dinner parties. Last week Petra gave me an ultimatum. For god’s sake Jasper she said. Do you have to be such a snob? If you don’t drag yourself out of your ivory tower and along to a football match this very weekend I’m moving back to Primrose Hill. Petra does that sort of thing you see. Drama. She’s not like you.
—So what did you say to her?
—I couldn’t say anything. It was all a bit awkward. We were having supper with two of Petra’s girlfriends. Sophie and Hermione. They’re painters.
—Good for them. Good steady trade. People will always need painters.
—Ah, said Jasper Black. Well they’re not that sort of painter actually. They paint canvases. Mainly post-representational. They’re very Hoxton. They’re the kind of girls who’ll talk about football and cook you something ghastly like eel pie. Which one’s expected to find deliciously ironic. Rather than actually delicious if you see what I mean.
I was standing there holding my shopping bags with my mouth half open.
—I’m sorry, said Jasper Black. I’m boring you aren’t I?
—Yeah you are.
In fact Jasper Black was boring me so much I was trying not to dribble.
—You’re very plainspoken, said Jasper Black. You say exactly what you think don’t you?
—Yes I do. You should try it. Saves a lot of brain work.
—Alright then I will, said Jasper Black. Here goes. I think you are the most original woman I know.
—You don’t know me you twat.
Jasper Black looked up and down the street and lowered his voice.
—We slept together, he said.
—Doesn’t mean anything.
—You really believe that? said Jasper Black.
—Nah.
Jasper Black looked down at my shopping bags.
—So we do know each other a little bit. And I think you’re a very original woman.
—You can’t know many women.
—Oh but I do, said Jasper Black. I really do. I work on a national newspaper. The office is absolutely hissy with women. Do you know the Sunday Telegraph?
—Well I don’t know. Has it got big red letters across the top and lots of girls with massive melons?
—Um no, said Jasper Black. That would be the Sun or possibly the Mirror.
—I know. I’m only pulling your leg. Of course I know the Sunday Telegraph. It’s the big pompous one.
—Oh ha ha ha, said Jasper Black.
—Yes. I am poor but I am not completely thick there is a difference.
—I never thought you were thick, said Jasper Black. I think you are very real. What? Why are you laughing?
—Well. I’ve been called a lot of things by a lot of people but no one’s ever called me real before. They probably thought that was bleeding obvious.
—I’m sorry, said Jasper Black. You must think I’m an idiot.
He blushed and fiddled with his car keys. I thought I might of overdone it.
—Nah. You’re not an idiot. You’re sweet. You’re an idiot for not liking the football though.
Jasper grinned.
—I suppose I’ve just never seen football’s appeal, he said.
—It’s cheap and people like you aren’t into it. Next question.
—What about you? said Jasper Black. Aren’t you going to the game?
—Me? Oh I never go to the games it makes me nervous. I just watch on telly. Don’t get me wrong though. I love the Arsenal. Have done ever since I was a girl.
—I don’t think I could ever get behind a team like that, said Jasper Black. I’m too fickle. Still. I do have a hell of a nice car.
He nodded his head at the Aston Martin DB7 and laughed. I laughed too.
—There’s something nice about a man who doesn’t take himself too serious.
Jasper shrugged. I would of shrugged back at him only shrugging isn’t easy when you’re holding 2 Tesco bags so I just said something stupid instead like I know how.
—Listen. If you really don’t give a monkey’s about the game you might as well come up with me and watch it on telly. I’ll tell you everything you need for your next bloody dinner party. I’ll talk you through why the Arsenal are the greatest team on earth.
—Are you serious? said Jasper Black. I do hope you are because I’d love to.
—It’s just for the company. I want to get that clear. I mean you can talk if you want but we aren’t going to have sex again.
—Really? said Jasper Black. What a shame.
—Yes. I mean it was lovely and everything but there isn’t going to be any more. I was in a state when it happened. I was a bundle of nerves but now I’m over it. I love my husband and he’s getting out of bomb disposal first thing Monday morning. So I’m not going to get in a state any more. And now that’s clear as mud do you still want to come up?
—Well that depends, said Jasper Black. You’re not going to feed me eel pie or anything are you?
—No. I’m making fish fingers. It isn’t irony it’s lunch.
Up in the flat I stuck the telly on. It was the buildup for the big game. Viv Anderson and Andy Gray were moaning on about how the new stadium didn’t have the same atmosphere as Highbury. Then they started joking about what Gunners fans were really calling the place instead of Emirates effing Stadium and it was a laugh on account of Gunners fans have a terrible mouth on them so they weren’t allowed to actually say it. They were showing a shot of the new ground from the air and you could see the supporters arriving in 2 big rivers 1 red 1 blue. They never let the fans mix in the roads round the stadium. Well you wouldn’t would you? You think you’ve seen jihad Osama but I’m telling you you haven’t seen anything till you’ve seen what happens if they let Arsenal and Chelsea fans mix going into a game.
The atmosphere was incredible even Jasper Black was gawping at the telly. There was a huge roar coming from the supporters already inside the ground but more and more were arriving all the time. 60 thousand they reckoned the new stadium could hold and it looked like it was going to have to. It was May Day and it was lovely and sunny and it was the last game of the Premiership for both clubs and the Gunners were only 1 point ahead of Chelsea so no prizes for guessing half of London wanted in to that game.
I left Jasper Black in the lounge while I put the fish fingers under the grill. I always loved fish fingers ever since I was a little girl. I love watching them turn from yellow to browny gold always exactly the same.
—4 alright for you?
—Yes, said Jasper Black. 4 is perfect.
—Good. We’ll have them with chips.
I got the chips out of the freezer and into the microwave. Jasper came in from the lounge and just then his mobile rang. He flipped it open and said hello Petra and held the phone a bit away from his ear. I heard Petra’s voice coming out of Jasper Black’s phone and it sounded posh and tinny like the Queen of England wrapped in BacoFoil. Jasper Black looked straight at me.
—Yes, he said. Yes I’m on my way to the match now. What? Oh god Petra don’t you have enough shoes already? Well alright then. Do try to leave a little something in the bank account. Just in case we need to buy anything tedious like food or electricity. Yes. Yes I will fuck off now. You be a good girl. Kiss kiss. Bye.
Jasper closed the phone back up and looked at it for a second before he put it in his pocket.
—So that was Petra, he said.
—Shopping.
—Yes, said Jasper Black. She does that.
—Do you love her?
—Yes.
—So what the hell are you doing here?
—Can I look around your flat? said Jasper Black.
Jasper Black started walking around the flat looking into the other rooms. It didn’t take long there were only 4 of them. The bathroom the lounge and the 2 bedrooms.
—So this is your little boy’s room, he said.
I supposed it was. I mean I couldn’t see where he was looking I was still in the kitchen with my eye on the fish fingers.
—You’ve done it up terribly nicely, he said.
—Yes it’s a cracking room my husband built the bed and I sewed the curtains.
Jasper Black came back into the kitchen. He was carrying a photo of my boy.
—You must be ever so proud to have such a handsome son, he said.
—Yes he’s a pretty little boy. Takes after his mother ha ha ha.
—Yes, he said. I can see where he gets the looks from.
—You want kids?
—I’d love kids, said Jasper Black. It’s just that Petra would take them out shopping and I don’t think the global economy could survive the adrenalin rush.
—Hmm?
The microwave pinged. The chips were ready. Jasper Black looked out of the kitchen window down into the grubby backside of the estate where the plastic bags swirled.
—Seriously though. I’d love kids, he said.
—What’s stopping you?
—It’s not the right time in Petra’s career, he said.
—On the up-and-up is she?
—We both are, said Jasper Black.
I put the chips out onto 2 plates.
—So what do the pair of you actually do for your living?
Jasper Black shrugged.
—Petra does fashion and I do social comment, he said. We’re columnists. We write the first thing that comes into our heads.
I looked at him funny.
—What? he said. You think all that bullshit writes itself?
—No I mean I wouldn’t of thought you’d say that.
—I’m sure Petra wouldn’t, he said. I’m sure she’d tell you her lifestyle column constituted a useful social barometer and a zesty forum for the exchange of invigorating ideas.
—But you don’t reckon?
Jasper pushed out his bottom lip and held up the photo of my boy.
—I reckon it would be different if I had a child, he said. I reckon I’d have a hard time convincing myself that my 800 words a week were making his world better. I wrote a piece about AIDS in Africa last month. I don’t know anyone with AIDS. I’ve never been to Africa. But my piece won a prize. So fuck it. Is that going to be enough chips?
—It’s going to have to be.
I served up the fish fingers next to the chips and we ate off our knees in the lounge watching the telly. Kickoff was at 3. The stands were already packed and the crowd was deafening it always made me jumpy.
—I’d forgotten how delicious fish fingers were, said Jasper Black.
—It’s no trouble it was all frozen.
The telly roared. The players were out of the tunnel now. They were warming up on the pitch.
—So talk me through it, said Jasper Black. Tell me what’s going on and what would be a good result.
—Well we’re in red and Chelsea are in blue and a good result would be if we thrashed them so bad they never felt like kicking a football ever again in their pathetic little lives.
—Wow, he said. You really care about this don’t you?
The telly was showing the starting lineups. I cleared the plates away. Jasper Black followed me back into the kitchen. I turned around when I got to the sink and I looked at him standing there in his smart clothes all fidgety.
—Look. I don’t know what this is all about. What exactly is it you want with me Jasper Black?
—See? he said. There you go again getting straight to the point. Clearing the air. It’s very original.
I ran hot water into the sink. I gave it a squirt of original green Fairy Liquid.
—Well? I asked you a question. What do you want from me?
—I don’t know, he said. I’ve been asking myself the same question endlessly since the other night.
—Because if you need a new girlfriend then that isn’t me. And if you want a child you’re going to have to sort that out between you and Petra aren’t you? I’ve already got a family and I love them. All I need for the rest of my life is to fall asleep with them every night and wake up with them every morning.
—I know, said Jasper Black. I would hate to do anything to spoil that.
—Don’t flatter yourself. I won’t let you do anything to spoil it.
—God, said Jasper Black. You’re so different from Petra.
—Yes I can imagine. About 100 grand a year different I should think.
—Not what I meant, said Jasper Black. You’re not into all the endless bullshit. You’re strong.
—Strong? Don’t make me laugh. I’m a bundle of nerves. You’ve seen what I’m like.
—You were just having a stressful night, said Jasper Black. What I mean is you’re strong because you know what you want.
—Don’t you have what you want? Posh newspaper job. Aston Martin. That’d be enough for most people I should of thought.
—I thought that was what I wanted, said Jasper Black. You make me think I want different things. Simple things. Fish fingers. You bother me.
Well that made me laugh.
—I think I quite like bothering you Jasper Black.
My heart started hammering Osama I couldn’t believe what I’d just said I would of done anything to take it back but it was out now wasn’t it? I could hear my voice inside me screaming here you go again you terrible bloody girl. Your husband hasn’t been out of the house half an hour and here you go again.
Jasper Black grinned. I took off my trainers and my socks and I handed them to him. He reached out and took them like a lemon.
—Does this bother you?
—Um, said Jasper Black.
I took off my jeans and my T-shirt. I folded them over Jasper’s arm. The one that was holding my trainers.
—What about this? Does this bother you?
—Yes, said Jasper Black. Look at me I’m getting all flustered.
—Well then. See what happens when you get yourself mixed up with the hoi polloi.
I stuck my tongue out and I took off my bra. It was brilliant watching his eyes go wide. It’s true what the Sun says. THEY ONLY WANT 1 THING. I handed my bra to Jasper Black and he reached out and took it. He held it up and frowned like he didn’t get what he was supposed to do with the thing. It’s the same way you’d hold a tax demand from the Inland Revenue Osama. Just after you took it out of the envelope and just before you shoved it down the back of the sofa along with all those letters begging you for mercy.
—I don’t know what to say, said Jasper Black. This really isn’t what I had in mind.
—Yeah. Well listen don’t take this the wrong way but you’re one of those people who if we waited till we knew what you had in mind we’d be here all day and then it wouldn’t matter what it was you had in mind because my husband would be back home and he’d kick your teeth in.
Jasper Black swallowed.
—Fair point, he said.
—Yeah. I do try to be fair.
I took off my knickers and I tucked them into his shirt pocket. I was grinning like an idiot. On the telly next door the ref blew his whistle. The crowd gave a roar. The game was starting. I skipped into the lounge and lay on my tummy on the sofa watching the telly in the altogether.
Robert Pires made a long run down the left side and Jasper Black laid his hand on my bum. I shivered. Pires gave it to Cesc Fabregas. Fabregas ran the ball between 2 blue shirts. Jasper Black ran his fingers down between my buttocks. Fabregas looked around for support. I raised my bum up a bit and Fabregas found Thierry Henry. Jasper Black found my clitoris and Thierry Henry struck it on the half volley and I gasped. Thierry Henry’s shot went in sweet and low and so did Jasper Black the crowd went wild. Chelsea walked the ball back to the centre line Jasper Black was working his fingers in and out of me the crowd on the East Stand were singing 1 NIL TO THE ARSENAL. I smiled I was so happy. We were going to win the Premiership it was obvious. I knew my husband and my boy were singing their hearts out there on the East Stand. They would of been feeling great. I was feeling great too.
Neither side had many chances in the next 10 minutes. The game went all scrappy. I looked out at the street through the net curtains. Jasper Black was inside me all the way in very smooth and nice. I watched the street so calm and quiet in the sunshine. I sighed it was all so perfect. I half closed my eyes. Out on the street 3 kids were mucking around on their bikes. Turning in slow circles with the sun flashing on their spokes. An old dear was walking back from Tesco with her shopping trolley. She swerved to go round some dog mess. It was a perfectly ordinary day. My husband and my boy were happy. Jasper Black was moving inside me and there were hot shivers shooting all through my guts while I watched those kids turning circles on their bikes. It was a perfectly ordinary day in heaven.
I started to moan. The shivers were all through my body now flashing up and down my spine and exploding in my fingertips. I had to bite on the sofa cushion to stop myself screaming. There was a roar from the telly. Gael Clichy and Pires were playing 1-2s fast up the left. Jasper Black was moving quicker inside me it was obvious Arsenal were going to score again I was going to explode I couldn’t stand it. Pires lifted the ball across to Robin van Persie then van Persie struck it on the volley then Jasper Black was gasping. I felt gorgeous and you could see van Persie’s shot looping high and wide then curling back in towards the goal mouth. The Arsenal fans were coming to their feet behind the goal in their red shirts red hats red scarves their mouths were open they were screaming and I was screaming too. Everyone knew it was going in. The keeper was beaten and my whole body was in convulsions and you could see the ball curl in towards the goal tighter and tighter and then the whole East Stand exploded in flames.
At first I thought the telly was bust. There was a flash and I thought the tube was blown. But the ball was still there and the goalposts were still there. It was just the stand behind the goal that had disappeared in a white cloud. It looked like a fog bank. I wondered how fog had suddenly got itself into Arsenal’s brand-new stadium like that.
All those fans that had been standing up to scream for the goal. Well. They were just gone. I couldn’t work it out. I was watching the ball. It was still curling in towards the goal and then it slowed down in midair. Now it was shooting back the way it had come. It was flying backwards from the goal and I couldn’t work it out. I started counting. I know it’s daft really but I just started counting the way you do when you see lightning. The picture on the telly wobbled. The camera was shaking. The sound cut out. Everything went very quiet. Jasper Black stopped moving inside me. Oh fuck he said oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. One, I said. Two three four.
I was just counting. I was thinking nothing much I was watching the telly. The fog bank faded into a big dirty ball of smoke and orange flame boiling up where the East Stand used to be. The keeper was flat on his face he wasn’t moving. The flames rolled over him. Van Persie was still looking where his shot had gone. He followed the ball with his eyes. The ball flew back towards him and bounced right beside him and so did a man’s arm. It was a strong hairy arm. A chippie’s arm maybe. You could see the tats on it. The hand was open like it was reaching for something. The arm hit the ground hand first. It tumbled end over end for a bit and then it stuck into the turf. There must of been a spike of bone or something sticking out of the arm and the spike jammed in the ground. It looked like some chippie was trying to climb out of the earth. Van Persie was just staring at it. Fuck fuck fuck said Jasper Black oh my fucking Jesus Christ. Five I said. Six seven eight.
Some of the players were down and the rest were running now. They were running for the tunnel ahead of the waves of smoke and fire and some of them didn’t make it. The other players had their arms up to cover their heads because half the Gunners fan club was falling down around them in bits. There were feet and halves of faces and big lumps of stuff in Arsenal shirts with long ropes spilling behind them like strings of sausages I suppose it was guts. All of it was falling out of the top of the screen. It didn’t seem real. I looked out at the street. It was still very sunny and quiet out there. The old dear was shuffling off up the road and the 3 kids were still turning slow circles on their bikes. Nine I said. Ten eleven twelve.
Then the windows of the flat started to rattle. There was a low boom and then a sharp bang and the windows shook harder. After the first boom was over it echoed and rumbled all up and down the street. It went on for the longest time this thunder. The kids stopped their bikes and looked up into the blue sky. They couldn’t work it out. I couldn’t work it out myself. I only found out later that the telly pictures travelled faster than sound.
Jasper Black pulled out of me. I felt so empty. There had been something inside me but now there was nothing. I thought about my husband and my boy in their Arsenal shirts and I looked back at the telly. The smoke was everywhere now. The picture had gone almost dark it was like night had fallen on the stadium. The crowd was bursting onto the pitch. They were running in all directions. It was a total panic under this rain of blood and chunks. The crowd couldn’t see where they were going with all the dark and the blood. They didn’t have a chance. Lots of them fell and the ones that were still running ran over them. Then it all stopped.
Sky put on their test card. It was just a black background and the Sky logo and a message that said WHY NOT UPGRADE TO SKY DIGITAL? Yes I thought. Why not?
Jasper Black was pulling his trousers on. He tripped over and stood up again he was saying Oh god this is just too horrible. He tripped again he couldn’t make his arms and legs do what he wanted. I stood up and I went over to the telly and changed channels to the BBC. I was cold. I was wearing only my birthday suit.
It was Grandstand on the BBC and they were showing the racing. It was nice to see those horses scampering round on the soft green grass. Things looked very neat and tidy at Lingfield or Chepstow or wherever it was. No blood no fire just miles and miles of nice clean white fence. It was like fish fingers it was a great comfort always the same round and round forever and ever amen. But then the horses vanished and Sophie Raworth was just sitting down in the newsroom. Her skin was very pale. She didn’t have her nice orange makeup on and she looked like the ghost of Sophie Raworth it made me nervous. She looked at the wrong camera and she fiddled with the thing in her ear. News is just coming in she said.
—Come on. Let’s go.
—Go where? said Jasper. I must get to the paper it’ll be all hands to the pump this is huge.
—Bollocks to the Sunday bloody Telegraph. My husband and my boy are at that game.
—Oh my god, said Jasper. Yes of course they are.
—You can take me in your car.
—I’m afraid there’s no chance, said Jasper. All the roads will be completely blocked.
—I don’t think you heard me. My husband and my boy are at that game. I need to get them home.
I was crying now and I couldn’t see straight. I was shaking I was thinking please god don’t let them be hurt. Jasper Black looked at me standing there all skin and pubes and tears. Then he looked at Sophie Raworth on the telly and he looked at the clock.
—3:30, he said. We don’t go to press for another 6 hours.
I was thinking please god don’t let them be hurt or if they must be hurt please make it so it’s only a little bit. Please god it would be alright if one of them had a cut or something. Even a broken arm. But not the boy okay? I don’t want him hurt. If there must be a broken arm oh god it ought to be my husband he’s a strong bloke he could handle it. He’d make the best of it he’d have a plaster cast and all his mates would sign it. I looked at Jasper Black.
—Please. Please. I need you to take me to the stadium.
—Look, he said. The emergency services can handle this. They don’t need people getting in their way.
—You don’t understand. My husband’s leaving the force. He’s going to tell his boss first thing Monday morning. We’re going to be safe. Please help me get them home. Him and the boy. So I can make them their tea. Please please please.
I was howling now I was standing in front of the telly with my arms crossed over my tits and there was snot coming out of my nose.
—Oh god, said Jasper. Look at you you poor thing. I’m being a complete prick of course I’ll drive you there. You mustn’t worry I’m sure they’re both fine.
—Thank you oh thank you I just need to get them back here that’s all.
—Yes of course, said Jasper.
He looked very serious. I went to the front door.
—Stop, he said. You’re not wearing anything.
I looked down at myself.
—Oh yeah.
I went back to the kitchen and pulled on my clothes. My jeans had ketchup on from where my boy squirted the bottle too hard at breakfast.
—Oh dear these aren’t very clean. I’ll just go and change them.
—No, said Jasper. If we’re going we must go now.
The street was empty. Everyone was inside watching their tellies it was just me and Jasper Black out there. We got into his car. Like my husband said it was a lovely motor but I didn’t really notice. I was thinking what I was going to make for tea when we all got safely back. Chicken nuggets probably. Jasper Black started the motor. It didn’t sound like our Astra it sounded angry it made me tremble. We drove off fast. The tyres squeaked and we flew over all the speed bumps. It didn’t matter on account of any other cars there were had pulled over to listen to their radios. We drove past Jesus Green and nobody was walking their dogs there. We turned onto Columbia Road and there was nobody shopping. No wasters drinking cider from cans and no yummie mummies pushing their babies in 3-wheel buggies.
—It was like this when Charles and Di got married.
—What on earth are you talking about? said Jasper Black.
—The empty streets. The Royal Wedding. I was only a little girl but I remember the streets were empty like this. Everyone was inside watching it on telly weren’t they? I went out in the middle of it to get sweets and it was just like this. It was like the world had stopped. Then it was like this again when she died wasn’t it? Everyone stayed inside. Nobody could believe it. We were all watching the news.
—Yes, said Jasper Black. Well listen it isn’t Diana this time it’s something quite else. I think you need to prepare yourself mentally. I really don’t know if it’s a good idea me taking you there like this. I don’t know if it’s the right thing for you.
—Don’t worry about me. It can’t be as bad as when Diana died. And we all got through that didn’t we?
Jasper Black just looked at me.
—Why don’t you take a few deep breaths? he said.
We were racing through Hoxton when I saw it. The tower of smoke ahead of us. It must of been miles away still but it was so tall. I followed it down from very high in the blue sky getting darker and darker as it got nearer the ground. Near the top it just seemed to drift but at the bottom before it disappeared behind the tower blocks you could see the black smoke boiling. It looked angry and urgent like it was late for something.
—Deep deep breaths, said Jasper. Just keep breathing for me there’s a good girl.
We turned onto the New North Road. I watched the tower of smoke growing bigger dead ahead while Jasper Black drove us like crazy. When we got onto Canonbury Road there were cars and buses just stopped in the middle of the street. People had their doors open they were standing there listening to their radios and watching the smoke. Jasper Black swerved round all of them. The tyres screeched the motor roared and we kept going but it was getting tight. There were coppers at Highbury and Islington. They had the Holloway Road all closed off with cones and bikes with their lights going but we managed to get off up Highbury Crescent and into the backstreets.
The tower of smoke was bigger now. It was fat and horrible. Great sheets of black were blowing off it and spreading all around us. It was starting to get dark. Jasper Black turned the headlights on and got the wipers going. He pressed some button on the dashboard to stop the outside air coming into the car but it was no good. I started coughing and so did he. He slowed down and we weaved through all these ambulances that were stopped on Bryantwood Road and then we had to stop too. We didn’t have a choice. There was a girl lying in the road.
We’d sped up again just before I saw her. We were nearly on top of her. Stop stop stop I shouted. Jasper stamped on the brakes and turned the wheel hard. The brakes locked and we skidded sideways up the street. I was looking out of the window on my side. I was watching the girl coming closer and closer. Her eyes were open staring into the sky. She wasn’t moving. She was wearing a Chelsea shirt. I remember thinking it would be a shame if we hit her. Even if she was only a Chelsea fan.
The next thing I remember was Jasper pulling me out of his motor. There was this huge crushing thing in the front seat with me. It was all pushed into my face and my tits and it was hurting me. I could hardly breathe.
—What’s this big thing?
—It’s the airbag, said Jasper. It saved your life I should think.
—Who are you?
—My name is Jasper Black, he said. We hardly know one another. We’ve had sex twice. I am very fond of you. I was driving you to a football ground that exploded.
—Oh. Yes I remember you now. You’re very kind to me.
—Does anything hurt? he said. Do you think I can safely move you?
His voice was different. I looked at him. There was blood on his face and his nose wasn’t quite where it ought to of been. I giggled I don’t know why. He pulled me out of the motor. My legs were shaky but they held me up. I looked at the car. We’d gone into a parked van and everything was bent and broken.
—Oh no. Your beautiful motor. It’s all spoiled. And your poor face.
I reached up to push his nose back into the right place but he wouldn’t let me. He grabbed my wrist.
—It’s okay, he said. It’s been broken before it’s no big deal.
—Oh my god. The girl.
—We missed her, said Jasper Black.
—Oh good. Where is she?
—She’s over there, he said.
I looked where he was pointing and I saw her. She was still just lying there in her Chelsea shirt looking up into the smoke. I remember thinking that was pretty casual. I went over to her with Jasper Black holding me steady and I kneeled down beside her. I shook her and I asked if she was okay.
—She won’t answer.
—That’s because she’s dead I’m afraid, said Jasper Black.
The girl was so pretty. She was an ASIAN STUNNER. She looked Chinese but she was too pale. She could of done with a bit of makeup. I stroked her face and her skin was very soft. Around us there was a terrible noise of sirens. All the car alarms in the whole street were going off and the hazard warning lights were flashing through the smoke and the darkness. It was a terrible noise but the girl just lay there. She looked ever so peaceful. She didn’t look like someone whose side had been losing 1–nil. Then I noticed there was a red streak coming out from under her head and running away to the kerb. All the blood had gone out of her and into the storm drains it made me nervous. I stood up.
—Come on. Let’s go and find my husband and my boy. Never mind your car. We can all get home on the bus.
I walked off up the road with the smoke hurting my lungs. I was coughing and dribbling I couldn’t help it. It was getting darker. Jasper Black came with me. He was coughing too and there was blood pouring off his face. Now in the darkness I saw them. First just a few and then so many. Some wore red shirts some wore blue shirts and some had their shirts off so you couldn’t tell. They were coming down the street towards us and they made no sound. Their eyes were wide and glassy and quite often they stumbled but they never blinked. There must of been hundreds of them shuffling out of the smoke. All of them with their eyes huge and wide like things pulled up from very deep in the sea.
A blond woman came towards us. She was wearing gold earrings and an Arsenal shirt and pink Kappa trackie bottoms. Her makeup was nice and her nails were done but she was screaming again and again and again. I wondered how come she was screaming when everyone else was so quiet. She went past us still screaming and I turned to watch her go past. Then I saw what it was. On her back she wasn’t wearing anything at all. The Arsenal shirt and the Kappa trackies were all burned off her. There was just burned skin all the way up her legs and her back. You could see where her knickers had melted into her. The back of her head looked like something you take out of the oven. She disappeared into the smoke still screaming screaming screaming and I wondered why nobody was helping her. Then I remembered my husband and my boy and I forgot all about the woman.
I grabbed the next person that came past. He was a small man with a thin moustache about 50 years old I suppose. I grabbed him round the shoulders. He stopped and looked at me the way my boy used to look at strangers when he was 9 months old. All unsure.
—Have you seen my husband and my son? Have you seen them please? Think carefully my husband is a tall man 6 foot 1 very strong wearing an Arsenal shirt. My son is about this high he is quite strong too for his age he has ginger hair he would of been carrying a rabbit the rabbit is about so big he has purple paws and green ears his name is Mr. Rabbit.
The man stared at me.
—You’re going the wrong way darling, he said.
—Please. Please think carefully.
The man broke free. He went away down the street. I started shouting.
—HAS ANYONE SEEN A LITTLE BOY? HAVEN’T ANY OF YOU SEEN A LITTLE BOY 4 YEARS AND 3 MONTHS OLD? HE MIGHT HAVE A RABBIT WITH HIM OR HE MIGHT NOT.
Nobody stopped. They were all pushing past me. They smelled of smoke and sweat and burned meat. I was crying again. Jasper Black was beside me.
—Come on, he said. Let’s get you out of here. This is the wrong place for you.
He tried to turn me round but I shook him off.
—No. I’m going to find my chaps. You can come with me or not I don’t care.
I went on up the street. It got darker and darker. My eyes hurt so bad I had to close them and I just carried on blindly bumping into people and motors. It was like going up a horrible river. I just made sure I kept on in the other direction from the people I bumped into. I was close to the stadium now. Whenever I opened my eyes there were coppers and firemen all mixed up with the people. The firemen had these masks on and tubes attached to big air tanks on their backs. They were going the same way I was. I held on to the back of one of the firemen and I walked along behind him for a while letting him make a way for me.
We came up under one of the huge entrances all metal and glass soaring up into the black sky. There were coppers there and press. The press were trying to get in. They were pushing into the police line and jumping all over the place flashing off their cameras into the smoke. The coppers wouldn’t let them into the stadium and there was shoving and fights. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled in through the legs of the whole lot of them. I got kicked around and stamped on something terrible. I felt things break inside me but I kept on crawling. My elbows got torn ragged and I couldn’t breathe. It hurt so bad but I didn’t care. I was going to find my boy.
The ground started to get slippery under me. I was inside the stadium now. I could tell because the noise of car alarms was fading. All I could hear was shouts and police radios and people screaming. I was very weak. I knew there was stuff burst inside me because I looked under my T-shirt and my tummy was swelling up from the inside. I tried to stand but I fell over straight away. The ground was so wet and slippery and I was so messed up. I thought if I tried to crawl upwards I might get to dry ground. I found these steps and I started to go up them and this wet sticky stuff was running down and then I smelled it and I puked and puked. I was crawling to find my boy up a waterfall of blood and now it had my puke in it too.
I don’t know how long I dragged myself through the smoke and the crackle of the police radios with the firemen’s boots stamping down all around me. It was very hot and the blood hurt when it dried on my face. Someone stood on my hand. I heard it break. I heard the bones crunch past each other and I saw my thumb sticking out all funny but I couldn’t feel it. I was thinking nothing much. I was thinking of those 3 kids turning slow circles on their bikes. Of me lying next to my husband and listening to him breathe.
I went up steps and down steps with dead bodies and bits of bodies lying all over them. The bodies were like islands in a river with the blood all piled up in sticky clots on their uphill sides. After a long time I felt grass under my hands and I knew I was on the pitch.
The floodlights were on. I could see them shimmering in the sky through the smoke. I crawled until I found the halfway line and then I followed that until I got to the centre circle. I suppose I had the idea I’d be able to see more from there. But in the centre circle there were just 2 men fighting. One of them was wearing a Chelsea shirt the other one was Arsenal. I crawled closer to them. I wanted to ask if they’d seen my boy.
The 2 men fighting weren’t players they were supporters. They were both big lads with bellies. I suppose they were the YOBS THAT GIVE FOOTBALL A BAD NAME. The one in the Arsenal shirt was burned very bad you could see the bone showing through his arm. The one in the Chelsea shirt had mostly lost an ear it was hanging off the side of his head upside down. The Arsenal man hit the Chelsea man in the face with his fist and he grabbed a big lump of something the Chelsea one had been carrying. The Chelsea one fell but he stood up again and he kicked the Arsenal man in the privates. Kicked him so hard he dropped the lump again and the Chelsea man grabbed it. Can’t you see he’s Arsenal you wanker? the Arsenal man shouted. He’s one of ours. No shouted the Chelsea man I know who this is we paid 4 million for him last year. Bollocks you did the Arsenal man shouted and he hit the Chelsea man in the stomach and grabbed for the lump but he missed and it rolled across the turf towards me.
When I saw what they’d been fighting over I fell unconscious and I stayed that way for 3 days.
Well Osama I sometimes think we deserve whatever you do to us. Maybe you are right maybe we are infidels. Even when you blow us into chunks we don’t stop fighting each other. I suppose you heard the details on the radio did you? It must of been strange for you sitting there in your cave with your Kalashnikov. I suppose you were sitting out on the rocks before dawn listening to the goat bells when one of your men came over to you. Did he say Hey boss turn on the radio we did it we blew up Arsenal’s shiny new stadium? Did you smile? Did you hear the news breaking while you watched the sun rise over the mountains?
They stopped the Premiership but it was weeks before the score stopped rising. At first they said 700 dead but it went up and up. The survivors wouldn’t stop dying you see. They had so many bits blown off them they couldn’t really help themselves.
Did you wake up early each morning with the air very crisp and cold in your cave high up above the valley? Did you step outside and stretch and piss against a rock? Did you watch the shepherds driving the goats up the hillside? Did you sit in a high place where you could look down on the whole valley? Did you clean your Kalashnikov while you waited for the sun to come round the shoulder of the mountain and warm you up? Did you turn on the radio and listen to the death toll rise to 750 to 800 to 912?
912 was what it was at when I woke up in hospital. The sheets were very stiff and white. The radio was on in the ward. 912 dead it said. A nurse came in. She saw I was awake and she came over to me.
—Are you alright dear? she said.
—Do you have any news? Do you know if my husband and my boy are alright?
—Steady on dear. We don’t even know who you are yet. In a while someone will be along to ask you some questions but for the moment you just try to get some rest.
—But I’ve got to know now. I’ve got to know where they are.
—Just get some rest dear, said the nurse. I’ll send someone along.
I started screaming then. The nurse brought a doctor over and he gave me an injection. It was very nice I went straight back to sleep.
When I woke up again it was the next morning and the sun was blazing through the windows. They could of done with a clean. There was a BRAVE 82 YR OLD GRAN in the bed across from me. She’d lost both eyes at the stadium and she was singing 1 NIL TO THE ARSENAL again and again and again with her voice very high and crazy. The radio was still on in the ward. 966 dead it said. They kept calling it The Catastrophe. The BBC never did work out what to call the thing you’d blown up. After days of calling it the Emirates Stadium or Ashburton Grove or Gunners Park they gave up and started calling the whole thing May Day. Everyone did. Like you hadn’t just blown up a football ground you’d blown a hole straight through our calendar.
I felt like I’d fallen through the hole. Day and night didn’t mean anything it was all just buzzing neon. I was right at the back of the ward farthest from the windows with only fluorescent strips and green lino and the stink of disinfectant. I couldn’t count the days all I could count was the bodies. THE NUMBER OF CONFIRMED DEAD FROM THE MAY DAY ATTACK HAS RISEN TO 966 they said on the radio. WITH DOZENS MORE STILL MISSING OR IN CRITICAL CONDITION. The ward sister brought me a nice mug of tea.
Did one of your men bring you tea that morning Osama? In one of those little glasses? Did you look him in the eye and wonder if you could trust him? I suppose you must wonder that all the time. 966 is a lot of Gunners fans to blow up if you don’t want it to come back to you one day. Did you drink your tea while you looked your man in the eye? Then did you walk out in the hot sun and breathe in the smell of dry goat shit and wild thyme? Did you turn on the radio and hear them say 966 dead? Did you turn to the east? Did you put your mat down over the rocks and kneel down to pray? Well I prayed that morning Osama. Maybe we were praying for the same thing. I was praying for the death toll to go up to 967. God forgive me but I was praying for the BRAVE 82 YR OLD GRAN across the ward from me to die and leave me in peace.
I marked the days off by scratching little lines in the guardrail of my bed like they do in the films. Each time the nurse came to give me my sedatives I reckoned it was a new day and I made a new mark although now I come to think of it the nurse might of come round twice a day. So maybe it was 16 days after May Day or maybe it was only 8 when the death toll finally reached 1,000. I think the whole country had been secretly hoping it would get there. It was like a relief when it happened. It felt like we’d got somewhere we’d all been headed for a long time.
I must of wished very hard because it was the singing granny who made it a clean 1,000 god bless her. I woke up very early one morning and it was all nice and quiet so I pushed myself up on the pillows and I looked across at her. It was obvious she was dead. The bandage had slipped off her eyes. There were just 2 holes there. The holes were packed with bloody gauze. The poor dear looked like a dirty old doll losing her stuffing. I was thinking YOU’RE NOT SINGING ANY MORE. I started laughing I never knew I was so funny. The doctor came running. He shone a light into my eyes and suddenly I was back on the pitch with the floodlights shining down on me through the smoke. I started screaming again and the doctor gave me another injection.
When I woke up again the radio said 1,003 dead and they were playing a song Sir Elton John had just written called ENGLAND’S HEART IS BLEEDING that was going to be number 1 probably forever or at least until the sun and the stars burned out like cheap lightbulbs and the universe ended for good and it couldn’t come soon enough if you asked me but nobody did.
The death toll didn’t go up any more from 1,003. They started to work out what had happened. I listened to the BBC every morning. They reckon you sent 11 suicide bombers. I don’t know if that was on purpose but you fielded a whole team. Nobody knew why you made them be Arsenal fans. Does Allah hate the Gunners even more than he hates the West in general or was it just a coincidence? Maybe you decided it on the toss of a coin the same way the 2 captains decide which team’s going to kick off.
They reckoned what happened was that 11 of your men got into the ground with bombs under their Arsenal shirts. They had season tickets for seats in the East Stand. When van Persie took his shot on the volley everyone in the East Stand jumped up. The real Arsenal fans were shouting YES! but your men were shouting ALLAH AKBAR! The police played the TV pictures back frame by frame so they could read their lips.
Your men pulled the triggers on their bombs. 6 of them were wearing fragmentation bombs and the other 5 were wearing incendiaries. It had never been done before the experts said they were the most terrible suicide bombs ever used in the history of the world. They must of looked huge under those Arsenal shirts but nobody would of said anything except maybe oi you fatty guess who ate all the pies. There’s a lot of beer bellies in the Gunners fan club you see. Well I suppose there’s a lot less now.
They reckon maybe 200 people died straight away blown to bits by the fragmentation bombs. I hope my husband and my boy were part of that 200. That’s a funny thing to say isn’t it Osama? When I was growing up in the East End me and the other girls used to push our dolls around the streets in tiny little prams and pretend they were our real babies. I don’t recall us ever wishing they would get blown to bits by fragmentation bombs. I don’t think that was how the game ended ever. But that is what I hope. I hope my chaps died straight away. One second thinking YES! and the next second thinking nothing much. Because the 200 people who died straight away didn’t have to suffer. 803 other poor sods didn’t have it so easy.
After the first blast anyone who could still run did run. There was a stampede. People were legging it in all directions. Even the ones who had small bits blown off them like noses and hands and whatnot. There was phosphorus raining down all around. It set fire to the seats. To the stands. To the clothes and skin and fat of the fallen bodies. There was an inferno. They reckon maybe 500 people were crushed and burned to death while fire rained down on the East Stand. And that left 303 people still to die.
The hospital porters said that after the first ambulances started to arrive they had to borrow rubber boots from the operating block. They would swing open the ambulance doors and the blood would be an inch deep on the floor. They said some of the things that arrived on the ambulance stretchers didn’t really look like anything.
Only 2 people died not at the ground or walking away from it or in the ambulances or in the hospitals. Quite near the stadium they found a couple of Chelsea fans hanging from a big old Victorian lamppost. They were strung up very high with electrical cord around their necks. You must of seen them Osama. They were in all the papers swinging very slow and peaceful in their blue shirts against the blue sky once the smoke had cleared. They stayed up there for the whole of that long sunny May evening. The authorities had to clear away all the abandoned motors before they could bring in the cherry-picker crane to take them down. While they were waiting for the crane to come the police sent a marksman to shoot the seagulls that wanted to eat the dead men’s eyes. Nobody ever found out who strung those men up there.
It took a few weeks before it wasn’t just May Day on the radio. Then some of the normal programmes came back but even the normal programmes weren’t normal any more. Every day they put The Archers on in the ward but even The Archers kept banging on about May Day. It’s funny Osama but the first time I realised May Day was actually real was when I heard Eddie Grundy sitting on his tractor and moaning about it.
By that time anyone who was going to die had died and now it was time for us that were left to get better. I had a broken knee and a broken hand but the doctors said it was my internal injuries meant I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. So I lay there day after day watching the relatives coming on to the ward to visit their loved ones. Some of the relatives looked happy when they visited but some of them were heavy with sadness and you could tell their next visit was a grave. Then there was a third kind of visitor and they were the unhappiest of all because they weren’t visiting anyone in particular. They were looking for a relative that was listed missing. They came like ghosts outside normal visiting hours and their eyes stared very hard at each of us ladies on the ward. You could see them patiently trying to turn our faces into the ones they were missing. Even through all the painkillers it made me cry Osama I would of given anything to look like their missing relative just for 1 second just to give us all a moment’s hope.
The day they told me my husband and my boy were definitely dead was the day Prince William came to visit. The nurses were excited. They ran up and down the ward changing our sheets. Men in suits came with mirrors on sticks. They went along the whole ward looking under our beds for bombs. A photographer came and he put a gadget up to my face.
—What’s that?
—It’s a light meter madam, he said. You’re too pale.
—My husband and my boy are missing. You’d be pale too.
The photographer ignored me.
—Please can you get this one some makeup? he said.
A leggy girl came over. She had a long plastic case like the box my husband used to keep his fishing tackle in. She put it down on my bed and opened it up. There was a whole makeup studio in there. She gave me some foundation and then she did my eyes and my lips.
—There, she said. You look lovely. Fit for a prince.
Now 2 men on ropes came down the outside of the building. They washed the windows so clean you couldn’t tell they were there. A doctor wheeled in some big shiny medical contraptions with lots of flashing lights. He put one next to each of the beds on the ward. When he plugged in the machine next to my bed I propped myself up on my elbow to look at it. The doctor blinked at me.
—What does that do?
—It shows that the NHS is fully equipped for the 21st century, he said.
—Are you going to connect me to it?
—Not unless you’re planning on having renal failure, he said. It’s a kidney dialysis machine.
The doctor nodded at me and went off to install the next machine at the next bed. The nurses were frantic by now. They kept popping off to the night station to do their own makeup. They forgot to give us our painkillers. 4 coppers in uniform came on the ward. They stood by the doors. They had curly wires going into their ears. Their eyes were all over the place. Everyone went quiet. Now we were just waiting for Prince William. Then a woman came. She walked straight over to my bed with everyone’s eyes following her. This woman wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. She was wearing an ordinary tweed suit it made me nervous. She pulled the modesty curtain around my bed.
—Hello there, she said.
—What are you pulling that curtain for?
—Well, she said. I’m doing it because I have some news I’m afraid. I thought you might appreciate a little privacy.
—Is it my husband and my boy? Have you found which hospital they’re in?
The woman shook her head. She was middle-aged. 50 maybe or 60. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
—They’re not in any hospital, she said.
—Well then. Just tell me where they are. I’m nearly better. I should think the doctors will let me go home soon. My boy’ll be missing me and I bet he’s not eating properly. I mean he’s a good eater but you have to cook his greens just right or he won’t touch them. Kids eh?
I laughed but the woman didn’t. She just looked at the floor. She swallowed. She looked back up at me. Now she looked 500 or maybe 600 years old.
—I’m very sorry, she said. Your husband and your son are dead.
—No. No I’m sorry but you’ve made a mistake. They’re just missing. If they were dead they would of told me so straight away.
The woman took a deep breath and spoke very softly.
—The identification process took a long time, she said. Because their bodies were so badly degraded.
—Degraded?
—Burned, she said. In the end we were able to establish their identities only by recourse to their dental records.
I lay there propped up in bed. I was looking at the green modesty curtain that hung all around us. It was nice in there. It was like being in our tent the one and only time my mum took me camping. The woman in the tweed suit squeezed my shoulder. I smiled at her.
—Dental records eh? That’s funny. My boy used to love going to the dentist. He got all excited about the special chair. The dentist used to give him toothpaste to take home. You want to take care of your teeth the dentist said. You might need them one day.
I looked at the woman.
—And he was right wasn’t he? The dentist I mean.
The woman looked at me.
—You’re in shock, she said. It’s going to take a while to sink in. What I’m going to do is I’m going to fetch a chair and bring it next to your bed. I’ll sit right here with you and be with you and we’ll talk it over.
—Alright. He always had such lovely teeth. My boy.
Then the woman reached up and pulled back the modesty curtain and there was Prince William stepping into the ward with the photographer walking backwards in front of him. There were a dozen people in suits walking all around him.
—Oh, said the woman in tweed.
She took a step back. I watched Prince William looking up and down the ward. So tall and handsome. We always liked the royals in my family Osama I don’t care what people say about them. I wasn’t thinking about anything much except maybe oh look there’s Prince William. I grinned at him and he walked over to my bed. He stood over me. Doesn’t he have his mother’s eyes? I thought. He looked bigger than he seemed on telly but then we always did have quite a small telly.
—Hello there, he said.
He was smiling. He was RELAXED BUT SINCERE. Well that’s what it said in the Sun the next day. In the caption underneath the photo the photographer was taking from the end of my bed.
—How are you feeling? said Prince William.
I looked up at him. Prince William had nice teeth very bright and even. I was remembering how I used to sit our boy on the edge of the basin to clean his teeth. They’re only your milk teeth darling I always used to say. But we’ve got to get into the habit of brushing. Then when you’re my age you’ll have teeth like Mummy’s. Zero cavities. Well we did get into the habit of brushing. It was fun. I never did imagine that teeth was all that would be left of him. I mean you don’t imagine such things do you? I looked up at Prince William. I knew it was my turn to speak but I couldn’t. I felt a huge misery welling up inside me. It was physical. Prince William frowned. Relaxed but sincere.
—How are you feeling? he asked again.
I leaned my head out of the bed and puked all over his shoes.
I puked again after Prince William had jumped back. It was like my whole life was coming out of my mouth and spattering on the green lino floor. When it was finished I felt so empty. Prince William stared at me while one of his men wiped my puke off his shoes. He had this strange expression on. It wasn’t cross. It was far away and sad. You could see him thinking to himself well I suppose I am the prince of all this then. I am the prince of this poor blown-up kingdom and one day all these blown-up people will be my subjects and I’ll be able to do nothing for them. I’ll live in palaces pinning medals onto lawyers and architects while these people watch their tired faces get older each morning in dirty bathroom mirrors. It was that sort of an expression.
I stared back at Prince William. I felt so bad. The smell of my puke was rising from the floor. He smiled at me but you could still see him thinking I am the prince of puke and one day I shall be king of it.
—I’m so sorry your royal majesty.
—Please don’t worry, he said. It’s quite alright.
But we both knew it wasn’t.
After Prince William was gone they unplugged all of the kidney dialysis machines and they wheeled them out but they left us where we were.
That woman in the tweed suit was a grief counsellor. All the time I stayed in hospital we met twice a week to talk through my loss. She honestly thought it would help. She’d never lost anything more serious than car keys. One day she said I might want to join a group of other mothers who lost their children on May Day but I said nah I mean I’ve never been much of a joiner.
In the end the view out of my window did me more good than talking. They moved me to a bed by the window where there was day and night again and I could look out on the whole city. The hospital I was in was Guy’s. Maybe you know it Osama? Maybe you’ve studied just how to blow it up?
Guy’s is tall and grubby and full of poorly people. You can see it from all over London if you ever need reminding you’re going to get very poorly and die one day. From my window at the top of Guy’s Hospital I could see everything from Canary Wharf to St. Paul’s with the Thames cutting under it all like a fat slow wound.
London and me healed slowly. They worked on the city to make it stronger and they worked on me too. How they fixed me up was they put plaster casts on my broken hand and knee and stitched me up inside to stop the bleeding. I had 4 operations and then that was that. There was nothing to do except lie there and wait for myself to get better. For 6 weeks I just stared out of the window watching them fortify London.
Mena was my favourite nurse. She was a nice girl. She lived in Peckham but her family was from the East. Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan or one of those Stans anyway. She told me 2 or 3 times the name of the place but I never could recall it. I remember she said it was much nicer than Peckham but that doesn’t rule out much of the world does it?
Mena’s shift was earlies. She took my temperature at 5 a.m. every morning she always started with me because I was always awake. Then if the other ladies on the ward were still asleep she’d sit on the end of my bed and we’d watch the sun rising up over the docklands. First the towers glowed rosy pink. Then the sun rose huge and dirty orange like a soft warm egg yolk. It wobbled up through the haze getting smaller and harder and brighter until you couldn’t look at it any more. Mena used to hold my hand while we looked out over the city. Her hand was small and hard like the sun.
—So many people down there, she used to say. So many people under this sunrise. So many people waking up right at this moment. And all those people want is to get through today.
She was like that was Mena. Philosophical. I’d definitely of killed myself if it hadn’t of been for her.
Mena’s philosophy started with Valium. Every morning she brought me 2 of them from the medical store. Little blue pills they were. I took 2 of those pills each day. One for my husband and one for my boy. Mena used to take a couple herself. That’s how come she was always so calm. You can’t blame her for that Osama you’d probably be the same if you had to live in Peckham.
The weeks went by like that without any fuss. 2 Valium to be taken with sunrise. The nicest prescription. Me and Mena watched each morning what they were doing to London. First they stopped boats using the river. All those boat buses and disco ships and sightseeing barges. Well they just stopped them. They did it so you couldn’t blow up the Houses of Parliament Osama. With some horrible floating disco full of Semtex and Dexys Midnight Runners. They drained the life out of the river till it was just an empty vein with police boats drifting up and down it like white blood cells.
Next they closed some of the bridges. I never did work out how that was meant to help. Maybe they thought it would demoralise your Clapham cell Osama if they had to go via the M25 to bomb Chelsea. Tower Bridge was the strangest. They raised it early one morning while me and Mena watched and they never lowered it again. It just stayed open after that. It looked like London was expecting something big to come up the river.
What really changed the view though was the barrage balloons. One night I went to sleep as normal and the next morning there they were. Me and Mena watched them shining silver in the rising sun. Bobbing on the ends of their cables. It gave me the shivers. It was like a dream. Mena gripped my hand and I could see the goose bumps on her arm.
—This is terrible, she said. This is grotesque. The world has gone crazy.
—I don’t know about that darling. It all makes sense to me. I reckon it’s to stop them flying planes into the tall buildings.
Mena looked at me. She had the nicest eyes Mena did. They were the colour of caramel creams.
—Listen, she said. I know this might sound awful considering what you’ve been through but we have to get things in perspective. After I finish on this ward I go down to the cancer ward. I’m telling you it is like going into hell. Do you know how many people die in this country each year of lung cancer?
—No.
—33 thousand, she said. 33 times more people than died on May Day die mainly avoidable deaths every single year. I watch them suffer with tubes jammed in every hole of their bodies. It takes them months to die. But does this country declare war on smoking? No it does not. Instead we turn London into a fortress. As if that could possibly stop the terror. As if they couldn’t blow us up just as easily in Manchester or Pontypridd or the queue for the ice cream van on Brighton beach.
I could feel Mena’s hand trembling. I watched a tear run down the side of her nose. It stopped on her upper lip. She had these very fine golden hairs there the way some Asian women do. I held her hand it was warm and strong.
—You’re very young. You don’t have any kids of your own do you Mena?
She shook her head. Another tear fell from the end of her nose. It fell glittering in the sunrise down through the barrage balloons and the disinfectant smell. It splashed down on the lino out of sight.
—If you had kids. Well. If you had kids I reckon you’d be all for anything they can do against the terrorists. It doesn’t matter if it’s logical or not when it’s your own kids.
—It matters if you’re Asian, said Mena.
—You what?
—Look, she said. My family is Muslim right. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for us? I don’t think you can imagine how it feels for me just to walk to work since May Day. To see the hate in people’s eyes when they look at me. I have become the enemy number one. There’s this one caff I walk past on my way here. The builders and the market traders go there. This morning I saw this old man in there. He must have been 80. He was reading the paper and the headline on the paper was THE CRUELTY OF ISLAM. He looked up when I walked past and he sneered at me. He actually curled his lips. That is the nature of this madness. It fills the sky with barrage balloons and people’s eyes with hate.
We sat there very quiet me and Mena while we watched the streets waking up far below. London was a misty floating city with the thousand thick cables of the balloons lifting it into the sky. When it was time for Mena to go she turned to me. Her face was so young but the tears ran down it old and empty like the Thames. She took 4 little blue pills from her top pocket and popped 2 into her mouth and 2 into mine. She crunched her pills between her teeth. They worked faster that way.
—Merciful pills, said Mena. Now we’ll forget about it all for another day. The hours will go by like a dream.
—Lovely.
—Yes, said Mena. My god isn’t cruel. A cruel god wouldn’t help us forget. This is why we say Allah Akbar. God is great.
I smiled at her and crunched my pills and felt the bitter taste spread across my tongue.
—Allah Akbar.
Mena gave me this lovely smile and touched her right hand to her heart.
—I must go, she said.
—Thank you darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.
But I didn’t see her tomorrow. In fact I never did see Mena again. The next morning the sun turned up just like normal but Mena didn’t. A new nurse came instead. She was Australian. She was blond and cheerful. You couldn’t look at her without thinking 19 YEAR OLD PARTY GIRL SHARLENE IN HOSPITAL ROMP.
—Hello. What happened to Mena?
—They stopped her working didn’t they? said the new nurse.
—Come again?
—Muslim wasn’t she? said the new nurse. Security risk. They suspended all of them from working as of midnight. This country’s finally starting to get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure 99 percent of the Muslims are fine but if you can’t trust some of them you can’t trust any of them can you?
—Well when’s Mena going to come back? How long are they all suspended for?
—Who knows? said the new nurse. They say the suspension is indefinite but temporary.
—What does that mean?
—Who cares? said the new nurse. I’m not complaining. I need the work.
—Yeah but they can’t just stop all the Muslims from working.
—Oh they haven’t, said the new nurse. Only the ones who fly planes and work in hospitals and whatnot or have access to certain information.
—This is crazy. I’m going to write to my MP.
—You go girl, said the new nurse. I hope your MP’s not Muslim.
I sank back into my pillow and I waited for the last of yesterday’s Valium to wear off. The new nurse didn’t hold my hand. She didn’t watch the sunrise with me. She didn’t bring me any more little blue pills to make my mind blank. By lunchtime my dead chaps had moved into the place where the pills had been. It felt like they died again every single second.
It always started the same way. I’d start to think of my boy fast asleep in his bed. He had this pair of tiger pyjamas. I don’t know if I already told you that Osama. I would think of my boy asleep very peaceful in his tiger pyjamas and I would smile. I would be full of joy I couldn’t help myself. And then it would hit me right in the guts that he was gone. Then all that joy was left behind like your stomach when you drive too fast over a bridge.
It hit me like that every minute for days and days. It was a torture. I couldn’t sleep. Everything I ate came straight back up. They put me on a drip. Whenever I looked at the drip I heard the music from Holby City. It made me so nervous. I lay there watching tiny bubbles rise inside the plastic tube that went up from my arm to the drip bag. I watched the bubbles rise through the London skyline between the Gherkin Building and the NatWest tower and finish up in the drip bag that floated high above me.
At night I used to climb out of my bed and crawl around the ward. I dragged the drip stand after me. It didn’t steer well. It had one lazy wheel like the trolleys in Asda. I dragged it behind me banging into beds and chairs and hoping the noise wouldn’t wake the other ladies on the ward. I thieved pills off their bedside tables. I never did hold with thieving. I’m not proud of it. But I ate the other ladies’ pills anyway. Red pills white pills long blue capsules I didn’t care. Some of it made me sleepy but none of it made me forget for very long.
Then one evening Jasper Black came. I suppose I knew he would one day. It was visiting hours and I watched him come through the same door Prince William did. He walked up to my bed. He was smiling.
—Oh god not you. Go away for Christ’s sake go away I can’t even look at you.
He stopped. He looked surprised. He was holding yellow flowers and a carrier bag.
—I’m sorry, he said. I’ll just go then.
I turned away and looked out the window. London was still there like a horrible memory and when I turned back so was Jasper Black. He was watching me. I prickled inside I was sure he could see everything. Like I was the patient in that game Operation. The plastic person with the see-through skin and the giblets you can take out one by one. The plastic lungs then the plastic liver then the plastic heart. I was sure he could see right into the middle of me. I watched Jasper Black looking right inside me to that place where my emptiness was.
—Are you still there? I thought you said you were leaving.
—I still will if you really want me to.
—Well I do.
—Alright, he said.
But he didn’t leave. He just stood there holding his hands together in front of him the posh twat.
—Why did you come?
He didn’t say anything. He walked up to my bed and sat down. There was a brown plastic chair between my bed and the window and he sat on it. He put his flowers down on the floor with his carrier bag and looked out the window. London was huge and flat and brown in the evening light. He sat there very still for a minute or 2. I was watching the back of his neck and remembering how I held him there that first time in his flat. At first it was very nice. I could even feel my hands tingling. Then I started to see what his neck would look like with his head blown off it and the blood dripping like motor oil on the green lino floor. My hands went cold.
—Why did you come here Jasper Black?
He was still looking out the window.
—London’s changed beyond all recognition, he said. And I’ve changed too.
He turned to look at me. He was older than I remembered.
—I so nearly went to that game, he said. I was all set to go. I had my hand on the door handle of my car when I saw you. I’ve still got the ticket in my wallet. I can’t stop thinking about it. If I had gone to the match instead of. Well. You know. Then things would have turned out. Well. You know. I came to see if I could help you.
—Really? Well you weren’t much help looking for my husband and my boy.
—You disappeared into the smoke. I searched and searched for you but you were nowhere.
—Really.
—Listen, he said. I understand it must be very painful for you to see me. It isn’t my idea of a perfect night out either if you want to know the truth. I didn’t want to come.
—So why did you?
Jasper Black looked out of the window and then back at me.
—I couldn’t get you out of my head, he said. I kept seeing this picture of you with nobody to cook fish fingers for. It’s a stupid picture but you’re standing in front of the grill and suddenly you burst into tears.
—You’re right it’s a stupid picture.
—Yes, said Jasper Black. But I wanted to come and see if you were alright. It’s interesting. Before May Day I shouldn’t think I’d have given a shit.
He leaned closer to the bed and touched my shoulder. I smelled him then. Oh god that clean soapy smell of him. I closed my eyes and watched the East Stand explode into smoke and flesh. I screamed. The other ladies on the ward muttered and tutted. Jasper Black took me in his arms. I didn’t want him to do that. I struggled but he held me while I screamed quieter and quieter until I was only sobbing. After a long time he whispered into my ear.
—Yesterday I couldn’t stand it any more, he said. I was thinking what if she doesn’t have anyone looking after her? What if she’s all alone in that hospital with no visitors?
—What do you mean no visitors? I’m an East End girl I’ve got my gran and my mum and 14 aunts and 10 sisters and all the girls from the hairdresser’s all rallying round to help. All saying Cor blimey apples and pears you’ll get over it love now how about a nice cup of Rosie. I’ve got all the support I can handle.
—But you don’t, said Jasper Black. Do you?
I sighed and looked at my feet making a lump at the far end of the bed under the bright green hospital blanket.
—Nah. I’ve got no one.
—Well you’ve got me, he said.
I pushed him away from me.
—You’re worse than nothing Jasper Black. When you touch me all I can see is that bloody explosion. I don’t know what I was thinking with you. I wish I’d never met you. I loved my husband and my boy but I waved them good-bye and I took you home and had sex with you on the bloody sofa didn’t I. And then my life blew up. I didn’t deserve my husband and my boy. I’m a slut. I’m a madwoman. You know what the hospital told me? They said there’s nothing left of my chaps except their teeth. I could bury the pair of them in a flower pot. And here you are to remind me.
—Alright, said Jasper Black. Alright.
He held his hands up like he was surrendering. He pushed his chair back from the bed a little way. We watched each other for a long time not saying anything. The new Australian nurse came and changed the bag on my drip. Jasper Black watched her bum when she walked off.
—Pay attention 007, I said.
Jasper Black snapped his eyes back to look at me and then he laughed and shook his head.
—I don’t get it, he said. You’re funny. You’re pretty. How is it possible that no one visits?
—Don’t get me started about my family.
—What about friends? he said.
—I said don’t get me started.
He shrugged and shut up for a bit. It’s an incredible sight from the top of Guy’s it’s a shame you have to be half dead to get a good view in London. We both just looked out of the window down at the streetlights starting to come on.
—He never found out. My husband I mean.
—How do you know? said Jasper Black.
—He would of said something.
—Maybe he wouldn’t have.
—Wouldn’t you of?
—Well yes I probably would, said Jasper Black. But then maybe the life I have with Petra isn’t worth saving. Maybe your husband knew but he kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want to spoil the life you had.
—I wouldn’t know would I?
—I think it was worth saving, said Jasper Black. That’s the impression I get. The life you and your husband had was actually worth something.
I pushed myself up in the bed.
—What do you want?
He leaned closer to me again.
—What is it like? he said. To be a parent I mean.
I sighed.
—Once my boy drew me a picture of a dream he’d had. I couldn’t see what the picture was of. I mean you never can tell with kids’ pictures can you?
—I don’t know, said Jasper Black. I’ve never been around kids.
—Well let me tell you then. If they do an orange squiggle it might be the Death Star blowing up or it might be a carrot. And god help you if you get it wrong. So you ask first don’t you. I asked my boy what’s that? And my boy said it’s Tigger Mummy he’s giving you a hug because you’re so nice. He was such a lovely sweet boy. Of course he could be a right little horror too. I don’t know how many nights I stayed up with him poorly. Or how many times I had to wash his crayon marks off the walls. If it wasn’t one thing it was another from 6 a.m. till we finally got him off to sleep. I used to wish I had just a moment of time to myself. And now that I do have time to myself it’s the last thing I want. It’s silly really.
—No it isn’t, said Jasper Black. I know just what you mean. I live with deadlines on the newspaper. I loathe them but I don’t think I could operate without them any more. All structure would be lost.
—Oh really. Then you’d best hope nobody blows up your precious newspaper.
Jasper Black opened his eyes wide.
—Oh Jesus, he said what a prick I’m being.
—Yeah. But I suppose you’re trying.
—It’s just so difficult, he said. To know what to say I mean.
—That’s alright. I’m glad you came really.
—I’ve brought something for you, he said.
—I can see. Nice flowers. I’ll ask the nurse to put them in water if you can keep your peepers off her knockers for a second.
—It’s not just the flowers, said Jasper Black. There’s something else too. I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. I don’t want to upset you.
—What is it?
—I have a lot of contacts, he said. It’s my job really. I know people in the security services. After the explosion a large number of personal effects were recovered and not claimed. Jewellery and broken watches and so forth. I got them to let me look through it all. I was looking for something in particular. I heard you talking about it and I thought I would try to find it for you because I thought it might. Well. You know. Help. Anyway I finally found it and I have it here. If you don’t want it then I am most terribly sorry and I’ll take it away again.
—What is it?
Although of course I’d already guessed by now. Jasper Black took Mr. Rabbit out of the carrier bag and gave him to me. It’s funny but you never see the big things first do you? You see the small things. The things you know just how to fix. I took Mr. Rabbit out of Jasper Black’s hand and I thought oh hello Mr. Rabbit well you have been in the wars haven’t you? Look you’ve lost your paw. I know just what we’ll do about that. We’ll take a needle and thread and we’ll sew that paw back up for you and you’ll be right as rain just with that arm a little shorter eh. And after that we’ll give you a spin in the washing machine. I know you don’t like the washing machine do you Mr. Rabbit but I’m afraid there’s nothing else for it. We’ll pop you in on a boil wash and that should get most of these nasty black stains off you. There’s a brave bunny.
Jasper Black was staring at me.
—Are you alright? he said.
I looked up at him. I realised I’d been grinning at Mr. Rabbit. I took a deep breath I could feel the emptiness inside me growing again.
—I don’t understand. How come he isn’t burned?
—It isn’t nice to say, said Jasper Black. But a lot of things survived because they were trapped under bodies.
—Oh. Do you think these black stains are my boy’s blood then?
—It’s impossible to say, he said. I think you should try not to think about such things.
I hugged poor broken Mr. Rabbit. I was crying again.
—How can I not think about it? Please tell me how I can stop thinking about it because that’s all I can think of. I can’t think about anything else not for one second it’s horrible horrible horrible. And I’m so scared all the time. I look at people and I see them blown to bits. Every teaspoon that drops sounds like bombs. I’m too scared to carry on even one more day. How can anyone carry on living in a world like this?
Jasper Black sighed.
—People keep themselves busy don’t they? he said.
He turned to look out over London.
—Look at all that, he said. Under each lightbulb is somebody keeping themselves busy. Exfoliating and applying the anti-wrinkle cream. Writing long sales reports people will only ever read the last page of. Agonising whether their cock is shrinking or the condoms are getting bigger. What you see down there is the real front line in the war against terror. That’s how people go on. Staying just busy enough so they can’t feel nervous. And do you know what they’re mostly busy doing? DIY. For a whole week after May Day the airports stayed closed and the DIY stores stayed open. It’s pathetic. People are laying their fears to rest under patio slabs. They’re grouting against terror.
I looked away from the city and back at Jasper Black.
—You don’t think much of people do you?
He shrugged.
—I’m a journalist, he said.
—Well I’m a person. Pleased to meet you. My flat smells of chips. I do very ordinary things like go down the shops and get my family blown to bits. I don’t think you’d know the first thing about it. I really don’t know what you want with me Jasper Black. I suppose you get a thrill out of slumming it do you? Do you want us to have sex again is that it? Maybe you haven’t noticed I’m half dead with tubes sticking out of me. Or maybe you really do just want to help. Well if so then you can start by showing some respect for ordinary people because I am one.
—I don’t think you’re being quite fair, said Jasper Black.
—Oh really. Look me in the eye and tell me you just came here to help. I don’t think you know the meaning of it. I don’t think you have an unselfish bone in your body. I WISH YOU’D BEEN AT THAT GAME I WISH YOU’D GOT BLOWN UP INSTEAD OF MY HUSBAND AND MY BOY.
Jasper Black stood up and stared at me. He stood there very tall and pale with the lights of London glittering below and the sky all red from the sunset.
—Fine then, he said. Fine.
He turned and walked away down the ward. I couldn’t bear it. The emptiness went mad inside me. I could feel its teeth biting at my stomach and its hands scratching against the inside of my skin. I shouted at him.
—Stop. Oh please don’t go. Don’t leave me here alone. I’m so sorry Jasper. Don’t leave me here I have nobody. Nothing. NOBODY.
Jasper Black stopped but he didn’t turn. He just stood there very still. I stopped shouting and I watched his back and I wondered what he was going to do. All the ladies on the ward and their visitors were gawping at us. You could see their sick eyes going between me and him. Their heads swung back and forth like in the crowd shots you get of Wimbledon. And it was your kind of Wimbledon Osama. The crowd was mostly dying and there weren’t any strawberries.
Jasper Black took one slow step forward and then another one and there were tears streaming in my eyes by then so I didn’t see him walk out of the ward I just heard his footsteps on the lino slow at first and then getting quicker and then I heard the big safety-glass door of the ward open and swing shut behind him. After that it was very quiet for a bit and then a horrible sound began it was the sound of the ladies on the ward ooohing to each other at the scandal of it all in their sick little whispers. I put my hands on my ears to block the vicious cows out but I could still hear them so I started screaming to shut them all up and that’s when a doctor came and gave me a shot of something. After that I just lay very still and looked at the red glow on the inside of my eyelids.
Jasper came again the next night. I didn’t think he would. I smiled so wide I thought my face would snap in half. He brought fancy chocolates and we sat there for a while not saying anything just eating those chocolates and looking out at the view.
—I’m sorry Jasper. I shouldn’t of made a scene.
—Forget it, he said. I was condescending.
—I felt bad because I cheated on my husband. I still do.
He made a face.
—Oh please. You loved your husband and your boy. That was never in question and what you did with me had nothing to do with it. You were scared. You just needed a little human contact. We all get scared.
—Not you Jasper.
—Especially me Jasper, he said.
—What of? What does someone like you have to be afraid of?
—Same thing as anyone, he said. Being alone.
—What about your girlfriend?
—Petra? said Jasper Black. Let me tell you a story about Petra. After you and I got separated I looked for you but then I gave up and I drove in to the paper. The front end of the car was a mess but it still went. All the way to work I was thinking why doesn’t Petra ring? As far as Petra knew I was at that match. So I was wondering why she didn’t call my phone to see if I was okay. I called her but all I got was the busy signal. I thought maybe the network was saturated. So. I arrived at the paper and the place was absolutely chaotic. I mean the last thing a Sunday newspaper wants is actual news to happen. Right? On any day of the week really but on Saturday afternoon especially. And when the news is that big. Well. The place was going nuts. They decided to spike the whole paper and go to press with just 4 pages. Anyone who’d made it in to the office was set to work. I was one of the last to arrive. There were roadblocks everywhere by this time. The tube was out. People couldn’t get around. So we had junior court reporters knocking up profiles of the possible terror suspects. The football editor was doing 15 hundred words on I SAW HELL. They had bloody 16-year-old interns for Christ’s sake pulling together REACTION FROM AROUND THE WORLD. There were 3 hours till deadline. The chief sub had a heart attack. He actually fell down dead on his keyboard. It was insane. You should have seen it.
—Nah. You’re alright. It doesn’t sound like my cup of tea.
—Nor mine, said Jasper. I just wanted to grab Petra and get us out of there as soon as humanly possible. But Petra wasn’t in her office. I asked around and nobody knew where she was. I started to worry. I was beside myself. I thought maybe something had happened to her in all the panic. And it had. Of course. Petra being Petra.
—Was she alright?
—More than alright, said Jasper. I found her in the editor’s office writing the leader. She was the only person in the building not running around like a headless chicken. I saw her through the glass wall. She was sitting there very calm and composed drinking a Diet Coke and writing 500 words on A NATION UNITED IN HORROR. I watched her nails clicking on the keyboard. Petra has lovely nails. I tapped on the glass and she looked up at me. That’s when it hit me. She looked at me as though I were a complete stranger. There was just this look of absolute blank incomprehension on her face. Then slowly I watched it change. I could see the precise moment when she recognised me. Me. Her partner of 6 years. Then I saw her raise one of those lovely manicured hands to her mouth and gasp. And I knew. She wasn’t gasping because I looked a mess with my broken nose and blood on my jacket. She wasn’t gasping from relief that I’d survived. She was gasping because this was the first moment since it had happened that she had even remembered my existence in the world. And she knew that I saw this.
Jasper wasn’t looking at me any more. He was looking out of the window. He was talking quietly.
—So I stepped in to the editor’s office. Petra took her hands off the keyboard but she held them hovering just above it. As if I were interrupting her for fuck’s sake. We didn’t say anything. We just stared at each other for a minute and then I walked out. I walked all the way home 5 miles through the chaos. My face was swelling up and people were saying things to me that I couldn’t hear. It was like watching fishes in an aquarium. I just walked home and sat there very quietly on the sofa and when it got dark I just sat in the dark. Thinking. Petra turned up around 10 p.m. and switched the lights on. Look she said I’m sorry okay. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m glad you’re fine. I’m not fine I said to her. I can’t believe you would go to work before you even thought about me. Oh god Jas said Petra. I’ve said I’m sorry. But they let me write the leader. The leader Jas. Don’t you understand? They ran my leader word for word. This is just the hugest thing for me.
Jasper sighed. He looked pale green in the fluorescents on the ward.
—I just looked at her, he said. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so low. I looked at Petra and I thought god you are so pretty and so clever and so much fun and such a total fucking cold heartless bitch. And I could see her looking at me and thinking don’t do this to me you prick don’t make me feel guilty when I know damn well you’ve been playing away from home. She knows you see. She knows about you and me. God knows how but she knows. Maybe she just saw it in my eyes. So there we were. Looking at each other and hating each other but not saying anything. And that’s when I started to feel afraid. I looked at Petra and suddenly I realised it wasn’t just her. Everyone I know is cold and heartless. Nobody rang me that night to see if I was okay. And you know why? Because I am a fucking cold heartless cunt too. Why would anyone ring me?
Jasper Black shrugged.
—I think you put it rather more delicately, he said. When you said I didn’t have a selfless bone in my body. But it amounts to the same thing. My life is pointless. I have the kind of friends who aren’t that curious whether or not I have been destroyed by suicide bombers. Still. There’s always cocaine.
I looked at Jasper’s face pale and sick under the striplights. Behind him in the night a million other lights flashed like cheap jewellery. I sighed. Bloody London. Jasper stood up from the chair and kneeled down by the bed. He laid his head on the covers by my knee.
—This world is all fucked up, he said.
—Yeah but we were born here so what can you do.
I couldn’t move. I just watched him lying there. We stayed like that till visiting hours were over and then Jasper went off to spend the night with Petra Sutherland.
I slept even less after that. You burned up sleep Osama when you burned up my husband and my boy so I just used to sit in the brown plastic chair looking out over London. Jasper came back a couple of times and he brought me vitamins and things from my flat. I didn’t need all those things half as much as I needed him to lay his head on my bed again but I never could seem to tell him.
One night I sat looking out. Jasper was meant to of visited that evening but he never turned up. It was full moon and the barrage balloons shone very still in the sky. It was Friday night but the streets were empty. There was a curfew on and it was just the police vans drifting up and down. They had numbers on their roofs and they were driving round in a pattern. I counted them coming round again and again but I still wasn’t sleepy. They say to count sheep when you can’t sleep Osama well I hope they work better than police vans. Where you are you probably have sheep or goats or little dead hostages to count I bet you sleep like a baby.
I lay awake and I listened to the ladies on the ward coughing and snoring and moaning for the nurse. I was so miserable that night Osama. I had no one. I looked down at the lights of London switching off one by one. I never knew there was so much light to go out. About 3 a.m. I couldn’t stand it any more. Normally I would of put the telly on to take my mind off it but there wasn’t any telly on the ward only Radio 4 so I decided to kill myself.
It isn’t easy to kill yourself in Guy’s Hospital. I suppose they make it that way on purpose I mean I probably wasn’t the first girl who’d had enough. For starters the nurses don’t leave anything sharp lying about. I wanted to cut my wrists but the nearest thing I could find to a knife was the edge of a plastic food tray. I snapped it in half and sawed away at my veins with the broken edge. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to cut your wrists with a hospital tray Osama well I wouldn’t waste your time if I were you. It’s more itchy than anything and after about 10 mins your wrists will be a bit red and sore but that’s it.
I looked around the ward for something else to try. I’m a simple girl Osama there isn’t much to me. Once I get an idea in my head I don’t think about it any more. So now I’d decided to kill myself it was making me nervous that I was still alive. I decided to poison myself and quick sharp. I crawled up the ward collecting all the other ladies’ pills and I ground them up into powder under the wheel of my IV stand. There must of been 20 pills at least in all shapes and colours. They made a nasty grey powder. I pricked a little hole in the top of my drip bag and I poured the powder in and gave it a good shake. The powder swirled around and the nice clean liquid in my drip bag went all mucky and vicious-looking. I was very pleased with it and I lay back down on my bed and looked out of the window and waited to die.
I was never scared. Not for one second. While I was dying there was just me and the streetlights below and this orange glow overhead like I was all alone between heaven and central London. It was very peaceful and it gave you shivers like being in church. I started thinking about my boy and whether I was going to see him in heaven when I was dead. Funny really because I never did believe in heaven. I believed in my chaps and my chaps believed in Arsenal football club and I don’t know what the Gunners believed in. That’s where the trail goes cold.
I closed my eyes and I saw my boy smiling at me. My boy had this extra special smile he did when he wanted to show you all of his teeth at once. He threw his head back and his mouth went wider than his whole face so he looked like one of those monster fish you see in the aquarium. Remembering my boy doing his monster smile I started laughing and then I opened my eyes and I saw the tall towers of the City standing out all solemn against the orange light. I smiled because it was pretty. Then I started to wonder what I was smiling for when I was supposed to be dying. And that made me laugh. I was feeling so good all of a sudden. I looked up at the drip bag with all those crushed-up pills trickling into my arm. That’s when I realised the stupid thing wasn’t killing me at all it was making me feel brilliant.
Then I started feeling angry that I was feeling so brilliant. None of this was getting me dead. I decided to stop mucking about and throw myself out of the window. Like I say Osama once I get an idea in my head I stop thinking about the whys and wherefores. I suppose you could find plenty of work for people like me. So anyway I got out of bed and crawled over to the window and pulled myself up on the frame. I turned the handle and swung the window wide open. Cold air came in and I shivered.
It’s funny because when it comes to the moment you don’t think right okay here I go then and plummet 30 floors to your death. You think oooh isn’t it chilly out? Cold is a funny one. It’s impossible to remember it until you actually feel it. I don’t know if you’ve ever jumped into freezing cold water Osama? Well it’s easier to imagine yourself doing it than actually to do it. Don’t you find? Once you’re standing there on the edge of the mountain lake shivering in your Kalashnikov and Speedos I mean.
So I stood there for the longest time holding myself up on the window frame and shivering in my hospital nightie. Another thing. You don’t notice it getting lighter do you? You just suddenly realise you can see certain things. Now I could see the outlines of the towers at Canary Wharf with the sky all milky behind them. I just stood there with the drip bag dribbling the last of those powdered pills into me and feeling better and better. Soon the sun came up. Flashing through all the brand-new concrete and glass. The dawn crept up on me and I was still alive. And that’s when I saw it all. Everything.
London is a city built on the wreckage of itself Osama. It’s had more comebacks than The Evil Dead. It’s been flattened by storms and flooded out and rotted with plague. Londoners just took a deep breath and put the kettle on. Then the whole thing burned down. Every last stick of it. I remember my mum took me to see the Monument to the Great Fire. London burned WITH INCREDIBLE NOISE AND FURY is what the monument has written on it. People thought it was the end of the world. But the Londoners got up the next day and the world hadn’t ended so they rebuilt the city in 3 years stronger and taller. Even Hitler couldn’t finish us though he set the whole of the East End on fire. Bethnal Green was like hell my grandma said. Just one endless sea of flames. But we got through it. We built on the rubble. We built tower blocks and the NHS and we kept on coming like zombies.
You’ve hurt London Osama but you haven’t finished it you never will. London’s like me it’s too piss poor and ignorant to know when it’s finished. That morning when I looked down at the sun rising through the docklands I knew it for sure. I am London Osama I am the whole world. Murder me with bombs you poor lonely sod I will only build myself again and stronger. I am too stupid to know better I am a woman built on the wreckage of myself.
I looked down on the whole of London spread out under me that morning and I knew it was time for me to go back down into it.
I was walking with a crutch. A grubby aluminium stick with a green plastic handle. Clack clack it went on the pavement. Its soft rubber foot was all worn away. It was just the bare metal end clacking down between the old black blobs of chewing gum and the thin white streaks of pigeon shit. I hoped it wouldn’t slip because then I would slip too. Clack clack clack I walked away from Guy’s Hospital along St. Thomas Street.
My body was mostly healed. I was carrying Mr. Rabbit and 2 bottles of Valium in an Asda carrier bag. It was not warm and not cold. There was no wind and the sky was very low and grey but it wasn’t raining. It was like they’d completely run out of weather. I was wearing my white Adidas trackie bottoms. White Pumas. Red Nike T-shirt with the big white tick. I could of been anyone. It was a great comfort. Jasper brought the clothes to me in hospital. I’d asked him to. I’d given him the spare keys to the flat. Clack clack clack.
It was an effort walking with the crutch. I was tired and out of breath. I’d lain 8 weeks in bed after all. I sat down at a bus stop on an orange plastic bench. It made me dizzy to watch the people rushing all around. I took deep breaths. I just watched my Pumas on the pavement. My crutch had a label on it held on with Sellotape. PROPERTY OF GUY’S HOSPITAL it said NOT TO BE TAKEN AWAY. Well I peeled that label off. I was on my way to see a copper after all and there was no point in taking chances. I scrunched the label into a ball. I looked around for a rubbish bin but there weren’t any. They’d taken them away in case anyone tampered with them. There were no rubbish bins any more and no Muslims with jobs. We were all much safer.
I dropped the scrunched-up label on the ground. There was an old dear on the bench next to me. Like I say it wasn’t cold but she was wearing a big fur coat. The kind of coat that might of cost 10 thousand quid at Harrods or a fiver at Barnardo’s you couldn’t tell. She hissed like a cat when I dropped that ball of paper and Sellotape. She had purple lippie on.
—Do you mind? she said.
I looked at her and I saw just what she would look like with her guts blown out and her cheeks burned off till you could see her false teeth clattering loose in her gob. Clack clack clack.
—Sorry.
I picked up my litter and I put it in my pocket.
—Good girl, said the old dear. That’s the spirit. Are you waiting for the 705?
—I don’t know. I’m just resting. I’m ever so tired.
—Where are you trying to get to love? said the old dear.
—Scotland Yard. I’m going to see a copper.
—Oooh dear, she said. I hope you’re not in some kind of trouble.
She shuffled away from me on the bench like she was afraid of catching something off me.
—No. I’m not in trouble. I’m going to see a copper who works there. He used to be my husband’s super. Because my husband and my boy are both dead you see they were blown up and all they found was their teeth and Mr. Rabbit. Would you like to see Mr. Rabbit?
—No thanks darling, said the old dear. You’re alright.
The old dear looked at me for the longest time without saying anything. The traffic roared past us. She had these small thick glasses on and her eyes looked like cheap sweets behind them.
—Well love, she said. If you’re going to Scotland Yard then you need the 705. Take it till just after Waterloo then you might as well walk over Westminster Bridge. After that you want Victoria Street don’t you.
She didn’t say anything else. We waited for the 705 and when it came I sat near the front and the old dear went upstairs. Even though she was old and there were lots of empty seats on the bottom deck. I was crying a bit. I put my hand inside the carrier bag where I could stroke Mr. Rabbit in secret while London went past outside the bus windows keeping itself busy. I got off too early. I mean you always do on a new bus don’t you? I got off at Waterloo Station and I should of waited until a couple of stops later. At Waterloo Station was where it happened. I was getting off the bus all wobbly on my crutch and I saw my boy.
My boy was holding some woman’s hand. The woman was taking him into a newsagent’s. It was my boy alright. It was his beautiful ginger hair and his cheeky little smile. He was pointing at something in the window of the shop and you could tell he really wanted it. It was Skips probably. He always did love Skips I mean kids do don’t they? They fizzibly melt you see Osama. In one second all the emptiness in me was gone. They’d made a mistake. My boy was alive. It was so wonderful.
I went straight across the road with my crutch. A cab nearly killed me. The cabbie screeched his brakes and he called me a stupid slapper. I couldn’t of cared less. I went in the newsagent’s and I saw my boy straight away. He had his back to me. He was on his own looking up at the drinks fridge. The woman was at the counter buying ciggies. I went straight up to my boy. I dropped my crutch and the carrier bag. I turned my boy round I kissed his face. I picked him up and I gave him a huge hug and I buried my face in his neck.
—Oh my boy my brave boy my lovely boy.
My boy was shouting and kicking against me. He didn’t smell right either. I suppose it wasn’t surprising. The woman probably hadn’t been feeding him right. My boy always was fussy you see. He would eat his vegetables but you had to cook them just right for him. Did I say that already?
—Oh you poor brave boy. Mummy’s here now. Mummy’s back and she’ll never let you out of her sight again. I bet you miss Mr. Rabbit so much well he’s been missing you too. We came all the way across town to find you. Me and Mr. Rabbit. We did have an adventure! We took the 705!
Then it all went wrong. My boy got pulled away from me. One second he was in my arms and the next second the woman was holding him. She was screaming and screaming at me. My boy was screaming too. Both of them were bright red and screaming.
—Give me back my boy.
—E int your boy, screamed the woman. Git chore ands off im yer crazy car.
—Give me back my boy. Hand him over.
—But e int yours! Carn choo see? Look at im fer Christ’s sake! Ave a good look at im!
The boy was sobbing. The woman was holding him right up to my face and shaking him like my eyes couldn’t focus on him if he wasn’t moving.
—See? she said. E’s mine. Ain cher Conan?
There was snot running down the boy’s face. His nose didn’t look right and his eyes were the wrong colour. Suddenly he wasn’t my boy any more. Suddenly he didn’t look anything like my boy. I couldn’t work it out.
—Oh god. Oh god oh god I don’t know what I’m doing I’m so sorry.
Then the woman started ranting at me with the boy sobbing in her arms. She just went on and on. I could see her mouth moving but the words didn’t make any sense. I was hypnotised just watching that mouth moving moving moving in her angry red face. She looked like one of those live crabs on the market with their pincers done up in rubber bands and their mean little mouths moving moving moving.
I turned round and I picked up my crutch and my carrier bag and I walked out of the newsagent’s clack clack clack with the woman still screaming effing blue murder behind me.
You’d think it would of got better after that but actually it got worse. There I was walking down Lower Marsh Street with my heart thumping and now my poor sweet boy was everywhere. I saw him getting onto buses and going into shops and walking away down the street. It was always the back of him I saw and there was always some woman holding his hand taking him away from me. He was every little boy in London.
I don’t know how you did it Osama but you didn’t just blow my boy to bits you put him back together again a million times. Every single minute ever afterwards I watched my boy walk off with Sloaney mums and traffic wardens and office girls out on a shopping break and I never thought any of them looked like they could of made his tea the way he liked it. Choc-chip ice cream! I wanted to shout at them. I wanted to tell them he loved choc-chip almost as much as he loved his dad but there’s no point telling people things when you’re stark raving mad is there? They won’t listen.
I walked across Westminster Bridge watching the empty river sliding past underneath. I shivered. It should of been nice and quiet on the bridge because it was closed to traffic but there were 2 helicopters hovering low above the Houses of Parliament. The noise was horrible. They were shocking vicious things those helicopters. They were like fat black wasps looking outwards through their glittering eyes.
There were 2 Japanese walking in front of me. Their T-shirts said 23 BECKHAM and OXFORD UNIVERSITY. They started to video the helicopters. A copper walked up to them very fast. You could tell he was trained to walk not run. He made the Japanese stop filming and he took their cameras off them. The Japanese were going nuts and mouthing off at the copper in foreign. The copper just stood there very patient and calm. He was wearing a thick bulletproof vest and a thin black moustache. I walked past the 3 of them. The copper smelled of nylon. He had a radio clipped to his jacket and there was a voice coming out of it like a bossy child shouting through a hurricane. TANGO TANGO NINER it said PROCEED TO SECTOR SIERRA 6 AND STAND BY. It did make me nervous.
Parliament Square was closed to traffic too so I walked straight down the middle of the road past Churchill and Smuts and all those other bronze chaps. The traffic started again on Victoria Street. I didn’t have far to go. New Scotland Yard had a row of coppers stopping anyone from parking or loitering in front of all the metal and glass and that silly spinning triangle on a stick that always looks like it could do with a clean. One of the coppers tried to move me on when I stopped there but I wouldn’t leave.
—I’m here to see Superintendent Terence Butcher.
—I’m sure you are madam, said the copper. Now move along please if you would.
He looked down at me with my crutch and my Asda bag. It’s true I didn’t look quite right.
—Please constable. My husband was blown up on May Day. Terence Butcher used to be his boss.
—What did your husband do? said the copper.
I told him and I gave my husband’s warrant number.
—Open the bag if you would please madam, said the copper.
I showed him what was in the bag.
—Alright madam, he said. Wait there just a moment if you would.
He turned away and he spoke into his radio.
I won’t tell you the questions they asked me Osama. I won’t tell you how I got in to see Terence Butcher. I’m not going to give you anything you could use to blow up Scotland Yard. A lot of my husband’s old mates still work there. I won’t tell you where Terence Butcher’s office was. I won’t even tell you his real name. Terence Butcher will do it’s close enough anyway. I mean all those coppers have meat-chopping names don’t they? Like Peter Slaughter. Francis Carver. Steven Cleaver. All the coppers in there had names you could take a grindstone to.
Scotland Yard was just like you’d expect inside. All nerves and notice boards. A constable took me down god knows how many grey painted corridors. The whole place smelled of sweat and Dettol on the lower floors and coffee and Dettol on the upper ones. Terence Butcher’s office was high up I won’t tell you how high exactly. The pale green gloss paint on his door was chipped and grubby but the metal sign was bright and new. CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT TERENCE BUTCHER it said. I don’t know anything about police ranks but the constable who was taking me was so worked up he could hardly knock. ENTER said a voice and we did.
The office smelled of new paint. There were bare shelves all over the walls and cardboard boxes all over the floor. Terence Butcher was sitting against the window behind a long wide metal desk. There were 3 phones on the desk and a photo of a wife and kids. I supposed they were his. I mean it’d be wrong for any man to have a photo of someone else’s wife and kids on his desk but especially for a copper. Terence Butcher was wearing a white shirt with black shoulder tabs with silver crowns on them. No tie. He was talking into one of the phones.
—No, he said. It’s very simple. I’ll tell you again. I told them to go to sector Sierra 6 and wait for orders. I did not tell them to start arresting the Japs. The Japs are not the enemy Inspector. They are a welcome fillip to our capital’s tourist economy. You want to get your officers under control.
He slammed the phone down. He kept his hand on the receiver and dropped his head till it was nearly on the desk. Then he took a deep breath and as he breathed in he straightened up so it looked like he was being pumped up with air from the phone. He was very tall when he stood up and he had big grey eyes that looked at me.
—Sir, said the constable. This is the lady.
—Yes, said Terence Butcher. I can see that. Good lad. Off you go.
—Thank you sir, said the constable.
I walked into the middle of Terence Butcher’s office and I held my metal crutch in front of me to stop my hands shaking. Terence Butcher stood up. Behind him I could see the black helicopters hovering in the grey sky over Westminster Abbey. They made no sound. The window was double glazed. Bombproof. Terence Butcher came half out from behind his desk and then he stopped and looked like he wanted to go back behind it. You could tell he didn’t know what to do with himself I shouldn’t think he was used to people who weren’t there to take orders or dish them out. In the end he just sat there on the corner of his desk and twisted his fingers together. That’s what I do with my hands mostly but it looked strange on a big man.
—I’m so very sorry for your loss, he said.
—Don’t say sorry if it isn’t your fault. This life’s hard enough.
Terence Butcher shrugged and looked at his phones like he was hoping one of them would ring.
—I came in case you could tell me anything about my husband and my boy.
—I’d like to help, said Terence Butcher. But I didn’t work with your husband on a day-to-day basis. If you’d like to speak with someone who knew him better I can arrange a meeting with his direct supervisor or one of his colleagues.
—Nah you’re alright. I know all about what he was like alive. I came to find out how he died. I’d be happier to know my husband and my boy were blown to bits rather than trampled or burned to death you see.
—Christ, he said. Look. You’d be better off talking to the officer in charge of the May Day incident room. If you really think it would help then I’ll instruct him to take you through the details.
—Yeah but I wanted to see you didn’t I? I’m in a state at the moment I don’t need to be talking with a complete stranger.
Terence Butcher narrowed his eyes and looked at me like I was the smallest row of letters at the optician’s.
—Do I know you? he said.
—Do you not remember?
Terence Butcher looked at me for a long time.
—I’m sorry, he said. I meet so many people in this job.
—And you buy them all a G&T do you? You tell them all they’re much too pretty to be a copper’s squaw?
—Mmm? he said.
—Bomb squad fancy dress disco? 2 Christmases ago? You were dressed as Russell Crowe in Gladiator.
—Oh no, he said. You weren’t the little Red Indian girl?
—Pocahontas actually.
—Christ. I don’t know what to say.
—Nothing to say. Nothing happened did it.
—Didn’t it?
—Nah. I’d of remembered.
Neither of us said anything for a while. It was so quiet you could hear the air-conditioning blowing the smell of hangovers and paperwork round the building.
—Are you seeing a grief counsellor? said Terence Butcher.
—Nah.
—You probably should. We could arrange it if you like.
—Nah. You’re alright. There was one at the hospital and she didn’t do any good.
—How do you know?
—Cause I tried to kill myself last night didn’t I? I’ll probably try again.
Terence Butcher stood up from the corner of his desk but he didn’t take his eyes off mine.
—Don’t give me that, he said. I’m a pretty good judge of character. If you wanted to kill yourself. Really wanted to I mean. Then you would have done it by now.
—I was in hospital. It isn’t easy. I would of jumped out the window only it was ever so cold.
Terence Butcher sighed.
—I see, he said. Then let’s make it easy for you shall we?
He reached down and opened a drawer in his desk. He took out a pistol. It was sharp and black and vicious-looking. It was bigger than they are on TV. It was about the same size as the entire universe. He held the pistol out to me still looking in my eyes. He held it by the barrel so the handle was pointing at me. At least I think it’s called the handle. I’m no good with guns. The end you hold anyway.
Terence Butcher’s hand was as steady as his eyes. He held the pistol there and my hand moved towards it. I don’t know why. I never wanted to touch the thing but his eyes made me do it. My hand closed around the handle. It was cold and shiny and the thing was too big for me. I watched myself holding it like a girl trying to lift something made for grown-ups. Terence Butcher let go of the barrel and my arm fell down with the weight of the gun. I tried to point it at myself. I tried and tried but I couldn’t lift it with one hand and I couldn’t use both hands without dropping the crutch and falling over.
I burst into tears and sat down on the floor. I let the crutch fall onto the cardboard boxes. I looked at Terence Butcher through the tears in my eyes and I put both hands on the handle of the pistol with my fingers laced round the back of the handle and my thumbs around that metal bit that goes round the trigger. I lifted the gun up and put the barrel in my mouth.
The expression on Terence Butcher’s face changed. I don’t think he expected me to do it. He looked very sad and calm now. The gun felt so strange in my mouth. It was metal but it wasn’t a knife or a fork or a spoon so my mouth couldn’t work out what to do with it. It’s funny but you can’t think about killing yourself. When there’s something in your mouth your body thinks it ought to be food. My tongue licked round the end of the barrel. It tasted of oil. The taste was sour and my body pulled the gun out of my mouth. I made a face. I couldn’t help myself. I sat there on the floor in the middle of all the cardboard boxes and I stopped crying. I was thinking nothing much.
—See? said Terence Butcher. You don’t really want to kill yourself.
—What if I’d pulled the trigger?
Terence Butcher grinned. He got up from behind his desk and stepped through the mess of boxes on the floor and knelt down next to me. He took a Marlboro Red out of a pack in his shirt pocket and put it in his mouth. Then he took the gun out of my hands and lit his ciggie with it. He pulled the trigger and the gun went click and a little yellow flame came out of the end of the barrel. I looked up at him.
—If you’d pulled the trigger you’d have suffered a serious case of hot mouth, he said.
—Oh.
—Yes. Welcome back to the land of the living. Now let that be the last I hear of any silliness. I’ve got a whole bloody city to look after. Don’t want to add you to my worries.
Terence Butcher reached down and gave me his hand. I grabbed it and he pulled me up like I weighed less than a polystyrene cup. My face came close to his chest and I breathed in his smell of fabric conditioner and cigarette smoke. I held on to his hand longer than I should of. I was trembling and he felt it.
—You’ve got the shakes, he said.
—Yeah.
—You and me both, he said. Ever since May Day.
—Yeah?
—Yes, he said. Ordinarily I would have been at that game too. I haven’t missed the Arsenal against Chelsea since. Well. Since ever.
—Yeah well you wouldn’t would you.
He looked at me very steady.
—Come on, he said. Let’s get you sat down.
He helped me across the room to his chair. It was the only one in the office.
—I’m sorry about the mess, he said. I just moved in here yesterday. I haven’t unpacked.
—I suppose you got promoted did you?
—Yes, he said.
—Nice one.
—Thanks.
He wasn’t looking at me he was looking over my shoulder out the window. I just sat behind his desk and waited. His chair was too high for me so I sat with my white Pumas swinging just above the floor. I looked at Terence Butcher’s 3 phones and the photo of his wife and kids. His wife looked alright. She had a nice smile. The photo was of her and 2 kids sitting on a lawn. She looked very comfortable sitting there. She looked like the sort of girl who’d always been around lawns. It was sunny in the photo and she had a summer dress on with a blue flower print. The dress was pretty ordinary but she might of had nice legs under it you couldn’t really tell. Her ankles were alright but she was wearing Dunlop Green Flash. The laces were done up with a double bow. I was making myself notice these little things because I couldn’t let myself look at her kids.
I looked at her face and I wondered what it would feel like to pick up one of those 3 telephones and call her. I imagined what it would be like to hear her voice say hello darling. To hear the 2 kids squabbling in the background. Fighting over lego. Everything very normal and everyday. I imagined what it would be like to look straight at her pretty face in the photo and say I won’t be back till very late tonight darling. Something’s come up at work.
Terence Butcher looked down at me and smiled.
—The wife, he said.
—You love her do you?
—Of course, he said. What sort of a question is that?
—It’s the sort of question you ask a bloke who buys you a G&T dressed as Russell Crowe.
Terence Butcher coughed.
—Yes, he said. Well. Please don’t take it personally.
—Yeah well I wouldn’t take it personally if it’d been anyone else.
—Look, he said. I’ve already told you I’m sorry. It’s the job. Okay? This job is a bastard and so sometimes you have a few drinks and you let your hair down.
—Tell me about your job.
—Why?
—Because my husband never would.
—He was right, said Terence Butcher. You don’t want to know.
—I’ll be the judge of that.
Terence Butcher sighed then and it was more like a blowout than a slow puncture.
—Well if you have to know it’s bloody simple, he said. Counterterrorism is the worst job in the world. You watch Londoners going about their business. You see them getting onto buses. Taking their kids to school. Drinking half a lager at lunchtime. And all the time you’re getting this information. From phone taps. E-mails. Tip-offs. It’s not like it is in the films. You never know what the bastards are planning. You only get these peaks of activity. You know something’s going to happen. You don’t know what and you don’t know when. But you think it might be today. So you get jumpy. When a siren starts up you hit the roof. If a car backfires you have to stop yourself diving for the pavement. There’s a million volts of electricity churning round in your guts. That’s why you can’t sleep. You get nervous.
Terence Butcher stopped talking. There was sweat on his forehead.
—I know just what you mean.
—You do? he said.
—Yeah. I get very nervous too.
Terence Butcher swallowed.
—I shouldn’t be telling you this, he said. You just lost your husband and your boy. I doubt you’ve slept in days and here I am telling you my life is hard.
I caught the first flash of it then. I saw what Terence Butcher would look like with my arms around his neck. My arms so thin and white against his skin.
—I don’t mind. Talk if it makes you feel better. Get it all out.
—You’re a remarkable woman, said Terence Butcher. Listen. Can I get you something? A coffee or a tea?
I looked up at Terence Butcher and I saw what he’d look like with his fingers pushing under the waistband of my white Adidas trackies, with those big hands around my bum pulling me down on him and both of us moaning and the windows exploding inwards in a bright white flash and his office filled with flying glass cutting us into small pieces his cheating flesh all mixed up with mine so they’d have to bury us together.
—Tea please.
He walked up to the desk he picked up one of the phones I forget which.
—2 teas, he said. Biscuits.
He held the phone and I watched the muscles in his back through his shirt while he ordered us tea. It felt nice to have this big man do something small for me. It gave me the shivers. I wondered if Jasper Black would bring me tea and biscuits if I turned up at his office. It’s funny Osama the way you start to think when you’re a widow.
I reached down into my Asda bag. I got out one of my bottles of Valium and held it out to Terence Butcher on the palm of my hand. My hand was shaking so hard the pills were rattling. I blushed.
—Here. They’re tranquillisers. I got 2 bottles so you might as well have one of them if you’re having trouble sleeping.
He reached out his hand. He held the bottle so it stopped rattling but he didn’t take it out of my hand. He looked into my eyes.
—The wife doesn’t approve of these things, he said. Says they disrupt the body’s natural equilibrium.
—Yeah? Well so do bombs.
Terence Butcher was quiet for a moment and then he closed his hand around the bottle. I felt the tips of his fingers against my palm as he took the pills.
—Thanks, he said.
—You’re alright.
The tea came. It was just how you’d expect police tea to be Osama all lukewarm and milky. Terence Butcher put the bottle of pills in his trouser pocket.
—Listen, he said. A favour deserves a favour. I wouldn’t bother drinking the tea around here. It’s disgusting. I pour it into the plant pots.
He grinned and I grinned too. It felt nice. I hadn’t smiled much since they stopped that nurse Mena from coming. Then one of the phones on his desk rang. He looked at it for a moment before he picked it up.
—No Inspector, he said. Sector Sierra 6. I’d spell Sierra for you if Sierra wasn’t already a letter of the phonetic alphabet.
He slammed the phone down.
—Poor bastard’s had even less sleep than me probably, he said. We should start a club. Insomniacs against Islam.
He smiled again but I didn’t. I was thinking of Mena. How she used to pop those blue pills into my mouth at the hospital. The mercy of her god that she stole from a jar for me so I could crunch it between my teeth and forget about things for one more day. Allah Akbar we used to say. Now I remembered that bitter taste of love.
—You really think it was Islam that killed my husband and my boy?
Terence Butcher stopped smiling.
—Well, he said. It wasn’t the Easter Bunny.
—I knew a Muslim. She was a nurse in the hospital. She was the gentlest woman I ever met. Her god wasn’t a bombing god.
—Yeah, said Terence Butcher, well it isn’t their god that bothers me. It’s the devils that sell them the Semtex.
—They’re not all like that.
—No, said Terence Butcher. And not every kid kicking a ball about in the park will get to play for Arsenal. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t all love a go.
—You’ll just make it worse talking like that. You want to try to understand them.
—I’m not paid to understand, said Terence Butcher. I’m paid to prevent.
—Yeah well you didn’t prevent May Day did you?
He looked at the floor.
—No, he said.
—So maybe you’re going about it wrong. I don’t see how you can stop the bombers if you don’t understand them.
Terence Butcher came round to my side of the desk. He stood behind the chair and put his hand on my shoulder.
—Look, he said. The Arabs are different from us. Don’t fool yourself you can understand them. In the Iran-Iraq war they sent children to walk across the minefields. To clear a path so the grown-ups could go and gas each other. They gave each kid a little metal key to paradise. The kids hung those keys around their necks. The grown-up Arabs told the little Arab children that there weren’t enough landmines to send all the kids to paradise. So the little children actually ran. Can you picture what an antipersonnel mine does to a human child? If you saw it I dare say you wouldn’t think it was getting anyone closer to god. But that’s what’s in Johnny Arab’s mind. He can’t get to heaven without sending you to hell.
—That’s not right.
—Isn’t it? he said. Can you think of another name for what you’re living through?
I looked up at him. He was all blurry with tears on account of I was thinking about my boy with his ginger hair flying in the wind running ahead to be the first boy in paradise. He’d of been the first to go. He was a bright boy but kids will believe anything you tell them Osama I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that.
—You need to get this straight in your mind, Terence Butcher said. It’s us against them. War against terror. Fighting fire with fire.
—But you can’t.
—Yes we can, said Terence Butcher. It’s an ugly war and there’s no honour in it. But we will win because we have to. It’s a war we win by ditching our principles. By interning people who are high risk. By listening to private phone calls. And it’s a boring war too. A workaday war. We win by persuading the Brits to have balls. To stand up on the Circle Line and ask Does this bag belong to anyone? We win by following up on every single lead. However insignificant. We win by phoning our wife and saying Sorry darling. I’m not going to make it back till very late again. Give the kids a kiss for me.
He was looking at the photo of his wife and kids. His hand was still on my shoulder. I held on to his desk.
—Alright then. I want to fight.
—What? he said.
—You heard. If it’s a war then I want to fight. Give me a job and I’ll do it I don’t care how dangerous it is I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me a job where I can do something to help.
—No, he said. Let’s not go there. Trust me you don’t want to get involved in this.
—But there’s nothing else I can do is there? My husband and my boy are gone. All I want is to stop another May Day from ever happening again. So no mother ever has to feel how I feel now.
—I admire what you’re saying, he said. You’re a good girl. But you don’t need a job right now. I’m sorry but what you need is counselling.
His hand was heavy on my shoulder. I looked at him and I felt myself go tight inside. It was pitiful all that emptiness whimpering for something to fill it. I made myself sit still but my body was only half tame I could feel it pulling against its rope. I know what you’re thinking Osama but don’t you dare judge me you goat-watching bastard. You wouldn’t know the first thing about it you’re not a woman.
—No. I’m fine. I don’t need counselling. I’m completely back to normal. I’ve seen counsellors I’ve seen grief therapists I’ve even seen Prince William he’s taller than he looks on telly. It’s all useless I just feel empty it doesn’t get better it only gets worse. Please. You couldn’t possibly know what it feels like. I’ll do anything. I could be a spy or I could just do the cleaning or whatever. I could make a better cup of tea than you get around here. I’ll do anything at all. Just please give me a job to do. If I have to go back and just sit in the flat alone I know I really will top myself.
Terence Butcher stared at me and I felt his hand slide on my shoulder. His fingers were beginning to sweat. I felt his breath on my cheek. Then one of the phones went. His hand was shaking when he picked it up.
—Yes? he said. Right. No you just stay there and get Anwar and Janet on a conference line. I’ll be right down.
He hung up.
—There’s something I have to do, he said. I’ll be ten minutes. Will you be okay to wait here till I get back?
—Alright.
—Don’t leave this room will you? he said. I’m not supposed to leave you here alone. But you’re on our side apparently. Aren’t you?
I smiled.
—Apparently.
When he left the room I turned round in his chair. It was one of those adjustable chairs with levers all over it. I swear that chair was more complicated than me. There isn’t all that much to me Osama and certainly nothing you could adjust. I’m sorry but I’m far too stubborn. I felt like doing something to cheer myself up so I pulled up my legs and spun round and round and round in Terence Butcher’s chair. I was singing La la la la Wonder Woman I always liked to do that ever since I was a girl.
I waited for a while. I don’t know how long because I lost my watch on May Day. I looked out over London and it was starting to rain and there were 2 grey pigeons on the window ledge doing the nasty. The one underneath was thin and sick-looking. Her wing was scrunched up against the glass and you could see the feathers all bent. The one on top was pecking at her neck and flapping his wings to stay there. His feet were just raw pink lumps all the toes had gone off them. He finished his business and slung his hook. She just sat there for a minute not even looking where he’d gone and then she flew off too in the direction of Westminster Abbey. I sat there for a minute getting nervous and then I started to tidy up. I couldn’t help myself.
Most of the cardboard boxes were full of files. I took them out one by one and stacked them on the shelves. There must of been 40 or 50 of them. They were big box files with their names written on their sides in magic marker. They had brilliant names all those files. They were code names. My boy would of loved them. They were called COUGAR and RED SKY and OPERATION THUNDER RESPONSE you know what coppers are like Osama. I took all those files out of their boxes on the floor and I put them on the shelves that ran along the sides of the office. I put them in alphabetical order it was a great comfort. I wish I could put the whole world in alphabetical order Osama there would be Deserts and Forests and Oceans between you and my boy.
When all the files were arranged I took the cardboard boxes they’d come out of and I broke them down flat and stood them against the wall. It felt so nice making everything neat and clean I wanted it to go on forever.
I’m that sort of person Osama you could give me any sort of mess and I’d straighten it out for you. I’d be happy to. Let’s say you’d had a party and your flat was a state. Well I could come round in the morning and put all your glam rock CDs back in their right boxes and take the ciggie butts out of your plant pots and clean up the sick that had missed the toilet bowl. I’d be fine with it. Or let’s say your kitchen was on the small side and you couldn’t find anywhere to put anything. Let’s say all your cupboards were stuffed so that saucepan lids fell out when you opened the doors and all your work surfaces were covered with bomb parts and tins of beard wax so there wasn’t anywhere to stack the dirty dishes. Well I could come round and sort it all out with you. I’d go through your drawers and hold things up one at a time and ask if you really needed them. And what I’d do is I’d put all the things you hardly ever used into a box and put the box under your bed and that would leave you with space in the cupboards to put away everything you actually used. See?
When I’d finished arranging all Terence Butcher’s files I started taking the rest of his stuff out of the boxes. Some of it could just go straight into the desk drawers. Things like pens and Post-it notes. Then there was a box of magazines. I thought maybe I shouldn’t look inside in case they were glamour mags but I couldn’t stop myself so I opened the box. Actually the mags were only Caravan Club Magazine. There must of been 6 dozen of them. It was quite sweet really. It was nice to think of Terence Butcher driving his family down into Essex in a big blue Vauxhall Cavalier. Getting farther and farther from his city full of bombs. The kids needing to stop for a wee and his wife wearing Dunlop Green Flash and him peering in those big mirrors you strap onto the side of the car so you can see round the back of the caravan.
I put Terence Butcher’s magazines up on the shelves and I emptied the last of the boxes as best I could. It was just coffee mugs and football shields and stuff. The sort of things you’d expect. When everything was tidied away and all the cardboard boxes were flat up against the wall I sat back down on Terence Butcher’s chair and took 2 of the Valiums washed down with the cold police tea.
When Terence Butcher came back in he looked at his office all unpacked and he just started laughing.
—Wow, he said. I don’t know what to say.
—Don’t mention it. I’m used to tidying up after boys.
He stopped smiling then.
—Listen, he said. If you’re serious about coming to work here I think I could find something useful for you. You’ve just shown me you can be handy around an office. How are you with paperwork?
—I don’t know. I can read and write if that’s what you mean. I’m not thick or anything just don’t ask me where the commas go.
Terence Butcher smiled again.
—No problem, he said. You might need to type up incident reports from time to time. They read like SUSPECT WAS APPREHENDED AT 0630 WIELDING A SHARPENED SPOON. That stuff needs commas like Covent Garden needs a gardener. Anyway we’re not writing literature here. We’re trying to stop people bombing people.
I saw how Terence Butcher would look with his forearms blown off and tumbling across the turf at Ashburton Grove.
—I like you, said Terence Butcher. I like your spirit. I want people on my team who have a reason to care about the work. I want people I can trust. There’s a lot of highly sensitive information floating around this place.
—You can trust me I’ll keep my mouth shut it’s not as if I’ve got anyone to tell anyway is it?
Terence Butcher looked out of the window for a while and then back at me.
—I could offer you a job on my administrative staff, he said. You wouldn’t be a police officer. You’d be assisting the officers. Taking on some of their administrative burden. Freeing them up to perform their duties. It’s an essential role and you’d know you were doing something for the effort.
—Right. When do I start?
—Whoa, he said. Steady. I can’t just appoint you like that. This is the Met. We’ve got procedure. First you have to get approved by Personnel. And before we let you anywhere near Personnel we need to get you a haircut and the kind of clothes that have their labels on the inside.
I looked down at my red Nike T-shirt and my white Adidas trackies and my white Pumas. He was right. I mean I didn’t look like someone you’d give an administrative burden to if you didn’t want it dropped.
—Alright. What do the girls dress like round here?
—Blouses, said Terence Butcher. Black skirts. Thick stockings. Sensible shoes. Short hair. Think Prisoner: Cell Block H. Come here tomorrow afternoon looking the part and I’ll get you in.
—Oh god. I’m going to look like a 3-wheel trike.
Terence Butcher grinned.
—It’s like I was saying, he said. This is a war we win by ditching our principles.
Terence Butcher lent me 200 quid so I got the Victoria Line to Oxford Street and bought my Cell Block H clothes in H&M. I kept them on to get the feel and went looking for a place to get my hair cut. All I could find was one of those trendy places in Soho. My boy wouldn’t of liked it. For him a good hairdresser’s was where they let you put on the nylon capes backwards and run around shouting DINNER DINNER DINNER DINNER BATMAN. This place wasn’t like that at all it was a fashion hairdresser’s which is much more serious. It was all skinny girls and smoked glass in there and they were playing a club remix of ENGLAND’S HEART IS BLEEDING.
One of the girls came up to me when I walked in with my crutch and she asked would I like a drink.
—You don’t mean a G&T do you?
—Sorry, said the girl. I can offer you tea or coffee.
—Tea please then. 3 sugars.
The girl looked hard at me. There was no fat on her at all I reckon 3 sugars would of finished her off. She told me to sit down in one of the basin seats. I drank the tea they brought me and they washed my hair it was lovely. When they asked me how I wanted my hair done I said like Lady Di.
Afterwards I took the Central Line home to Bethnal Green. I couldn’t face walking down Bethnal Green Road at first. I needed something to take the edge off it all so I stopped in at The Green Man which was a mistake on account of The Green Man is one of those pubs that never quite stops smelling of puke. It isn’t the nicest pub in the world in fact I needed a couple of drinks just to take the edge off The Green Man. In the end it was last orders before I got out of there.
It felt amazing having short hair. The wind was cold on my neck and my ears. Everything felt very fresh it was like I’d just been born.
I don’t know if you’ve ever walked with a crutch through the gangs of kids down Bethnal Green Road on your way from the tube station at 11:30 on a weeknight Osama. I should hope so. I mean we’re the kind of people you’re bombing so I would of hoped you’d of chosen us personally.
Anyway if you have ever walked through Bethnal Green at night you’ll know why it’s best to do it wearing a red Nike T-shirt with white Adidas trackies and white Pumas. You want to sort of blend in don’t you? But I was carrying all that clobber in my Asda carrier bag along with Mr. Rabbit and the bottle of Valium. What I was wearing was a white blouse and a dark-brown skirt from H&M and 40 denier hold-ups from Pretty Polly and Clarks black leather shoes. It wasn’t easy trying to look natural in that getup I don’t mind telling you. I had makeup on too. Dark-red lippie and black mascara. I felt like a tranny on her first trip outside as a woman. My new Diana hair had so much lacquer on it I swear a single spark would of left a crater where the East End used to be.
There were posters up everywhere telling you not to break curfew. They had a nice family on the posters. The kids were tucked up safe in bed and the parents were smiling and watching telly. SAFELY INSIDE AFTER MIDNIGHT the posters said. WE’RE DOING OUR BIT.
The Valium was mixing funny with the G&T. I kept seeing my boy in the lit windows above the shop fronts. I’d catch a glimpse of him and I’d think oh naughty monkey it’s well past your bedtime young man go back to sleep. Then I’d look again and the window would be empty so all you could see was the cold light from a bare bulb and the dirty flock wallpaper on the inside of the walls. If you could of looked in my eyes you’d of seen the same thing I shouldn’t wonder.
I turned right onto Barnet Grove. It felt weird being back on my street. It felt like coming back from a long holiday only I hadn’t been anywhere nice had I? When I reached our estate it was all quiet and dead. The light was on in our flat. I must of left it on when I rushed out. I tried not to think of the electric bill. I was feeling very tired and alone. I should of liked to pop in and say hello to Jasper Black before I went back to my flat. I wanted to tell him I was out of hospital and maybe he’d of let me stay with him for an hour or 2 if Petra wasn’t around. Not to do anything I mean. We could of just watched the telly for a bit. I looked across the street at his house but there weren’t any lights on so I turned round and went into our estate.
I went through the swing doors to the stairwell. Oh god that smell. It was like my life had been quietly waiting there for me all along. Old chip fat. That’s what my life smelled of. And BK onion rings and ciggies and hash and sweaty trainers and nappies. The smell wrapped itself around me till I was choking and I sat down on the stairs and cried and cried and cried. My crying echoed in the stairwell and outside I could hear the police cars going up and down with their loudspeakers squawking at the last stragglers to get inside for curfew.
After a while I stopped noticing the smell. I was back in my life I didn’t need any more reminding. I stood up and climbed the stairs to our flat. We were only on the third floor so it wasn’t far to climb. I stopped outside our front door. I could hear noise from inside. It sounded like the telly was on. That’s funny I thought. I could of sworn I turned the telly off before we left. It made me feel a bit poorly thinking what a lightbulb and the telly left on for 2 months was going to look like on a red electricity bill. I found my keys and I opened the front door and went inside.
There were 2 people’s coats hanging off the pegs in the hallway and they weren’t anything to do with my family. One was a man’s Barbour jacket. You wouldn’t of caught my husband dead in one of those. The other was a woman’s coat. It was wool and dark pink with a purple silk lining it looked like it cost more than our flat. I put my carrier bag down quietly. I didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t burglars was it? I mean burglars don’t usually come in posh coats. At least not in Bethnal Green they don’t. I tiptoed down the hallway. The lounge door was open. I sort of wish it hadn’t been and then I wouldn’t of seen what I saw next.
Jasper Black was on my sofa with a woman. The woman was wearing pink stilettos and nothing else and she was on her hands and knees and Jasper had his thing up her. The woman was shouting. Ow yeah she was shouting. Fuck me you posh bugger I deserve it it’s all I’m good for. Jasper was whacking her with the back of his hand. Her arse was all red you could see the bruises starting. The woman had one hand up underneath her she was playing with herself. I watched them going at it. I felt so confused with the pills and the booze I thought maybe I was imagining the whole thing. So I stepped back into the hallway and I went up to the coats. I touched them with my hands. I put the silk lining of the woman’s coat up against my cheek. It felt so soft and cool. I thought about putting the coat on and walking out in the night all the way to the Thames and drowning myself like a kitten in a priceless sack. I probably would of done it as well. If it hadn’t been for the curfew I mean.
I tiptoed back to the lounge and I watched them for a long time through the gap in the door. My lounge smelled of sex. The telly was showing Murder Detectives but neither of them was watching. There was a lot more shouting. Jasper was calling the woman a DIRTY WORKING-CLASS SLUT. Then they both just went uh uh uh. When it was finished they collapsed facedown on my sofa. Jasper was panting and the woman was giggling. She reached down for a bottle of champagne that was open on the floor. I never did like champagne. She took a long drink of it and passed it to Jasper. She giggled again. It was a horrible sound like a hacksaw going through pipes. Jesus Christ Jasper she said you are a sick bastard that was fucking unbelievable.
—Oh hello Jasper I didn’t recognise you from behind.
They both spun round then and saw me and the woman screamed. She pulled a cushion up to cover her tits which seemed a bit silly considering I’d practically seen her insides. Jasper jumped up and he put his hands over his bits. He stared at me. He couldn’t work out who I was.
—It’s me Jasper. I’ve got a new job. This is my new look. Do you like it?
I watched his eyes go even wider.
—Oh god, he said. Oh god oh god oh god. I thought you were in hospital.
—Well I was. But I’m back now aren’t I? I’m pleased you found a use for my spare keys. Make yourself at home there’s fish fingers in the freezer if you’re hungry. Don’t mind me I’ll just be tidying a few things up. This is the first time I’ve been home you see since my husband and my boy got blown up and burned to death and I ought to start putting their things into boxes.
The woman stared at me then she looked at Jasper.
—Oh Jasper you absolute cunt, she said.
She burst into tears and I turned around and went into the kitchen. It was nice and tidy in there just the way I’d left it. There was the bottle of vodka in the freezer where it always lived. I took down a glass and I poured myself a shot. The vodka was cold and lazy. It poured slowly like water in a dream. I let about an inch go into the glass and I drank it straight down. I took out 2 more of the Valiums and I put them in my mouth. They lay there hard under my tongue like I was an oyster and these were my pearls. I poured more vodka into the glass and drank down the pills. I didn’t give a monkey’s any more. I just sat at the kitchen table waiting for the pills to work. I was looking at my boy’s drawings on the wall. I wished I’d remembered to write on them what they were meant to be. After the longest time the woman came into the kitchen. I heard her walk in and stand behind my chair but I didn’t turn around.
—Look, she said. I really don’t know what to say.
Her voice was amazing. It was comedy posh. It was the sort of voice corgis would obey without question. I laughed I couldn’t help myself.
—No please, said the woman. I think perhaps I owe you an apology.
I still didn’t turn around. I was so empty there were tears running down my face but I didn’t feel anything.
—It’s alright. I’m sure you’re very sorry and everything I don’t blame you I don’t even care really so why don’t you just fuck off?
—Um, said the woman. Well I’m afraid we can’t just fuck off. Much as we’d love to. There’s the curfew. It’s gone midnight. I realise these are absolutely appalling circumstances but I’m afraid you’re stuck with Jasper and me for the night.
I turned round then and I looked at her. I couldn’t help gasping. The woman looked just like me. She was wearing my pink bathrobe and her pink stilettos. She was about my height and she had my figure. Long legs. Small tits. Big eyes. Thin neck. Maybe a few pounds lighter. Her hair was the same colour blond as mine except it was cut very long and pretty and it shone like in the adverts. Like each hair had been individually polished by tiny angels. God knows what she used on it and it must of cost a packet. But it was her eyes that made me gasp. They were my eyes it was as simple as that. Her cheeks were pink from the sex and the champagne. She looked back at me and I could tell she could see the same thing. Even though I must of looked a state with my Lady Di hair and my mascara running. It was obvious. The woman shrugged.
—Oh dear, she said. I suppose we must be Jasper’s type. I’m Petra Sutherland by the way. I’ve heard so much about you.
—Yeah? Well. There isn’t much to say about me really.
She leaned back and put her elbows on the work surface behind her.
—I’m sure you’re right, she said. But I wish you’d tell Jasper that. The silly boy is obsessed by you. He’s in your bathroom crying his eyes out. He’s absolutely devastated. He won’t stop gibbering on about how he’s hurt you.
I looked at her. I didn’t feel hurt. In fact I didn’t feel anything. The vodka and the Valium were starting to work.
—Petra. Fancy that eh? I never thought I’d meet his girlfriend.
She sighed and looked at me like I was a ciggie she’d of liked to knock the ash off.
—Girlfriend is such a neat little word, she said.
—Yeah well what are you then?
—I am someone who is having a surreal day, she said. This afternoon I had a light lunch with Salman Rushdie. We drank Cte de Lchet. We discussed V. S. Naipaul and long hair on men.
A police helicopter flew low above the street. It was looking along the footpaths of the estate with a spotlight. The beam flashed across the window for a second. The light on Petra’s face went cold and bright as white cotton pants in the Persil ads. Suddenly I felt angry.
—You people can’t ever just say you’re sorry can you?
Her nostrils flared and that voice of hers changed. It still sounded of money but now it was dirty money. Money people carry in Reebok holdalls in nightclub car parks.
—Why should I be sorry you poor cow? she said. I don’t see why I should have to apologise to you. Am I the one who started this? No. You are. You fucked Jasper. And you a married woman. While your husband and your son lay dying you were right there on your awful Ikea sofa fucking my man. So don’t you dare make me feel ashamed.
I looked at her. I couldn’t see straight. My head was exploding from the pills and the booze. I felt like a plane crash and not one of the especially bright ones. Petra grabbed the vodka bottle out of my hand.
—Give me that, she said.
She took a long drink from the bottle and slammed it back down on the table and spat on my kitchen floor.
—There, she said. That’s what I think of bitches like you.
She turned round and bumped straight into Jasper who was just coming into the kitchen. He was wearing my husband’s black bathrobe. He was chewing his lip. He sniffed. Petra slapped him round the face so hard spit came out of his mouth and splatted on the fridge.
—And you can fuck off too, she said. You think I’d have played your stupid game if I’d known this was part of it?
—It wasn’t, said Jasper. I thought she was still in hospital. I promise.
—Car salesmen promise Jasper, said Petra. Estate agents promise. Men in my life are supposed to fucking deliver.
She slapped his face again and screamed at him and the upstairs neighbours started banging on the ceiling. I tried to stand up but I’d forgotten my crutch so I just fell down in a heap on the lino. I watched Petra’s stilettos slamming past my face as she stormed out of the kitchen. Then I rolled on my back and lay there looking up at the striplight on the ceiling. Jasper’s face was looking down at me. His face was wobbling all over the place and going in and out of focus like something you find on the videotape when you thought the camera was turned off but actually you left it running.
—Are you alright? he said.
—Do I look alright?
He knelt down beside me and put his hand on my cheek. His hand was all cold and trembly.
—Oh Christ, he said. I can’t believe what we’ve done to you.
—Yeah. You and Osama bin Laden.
—No, he said. I meant me and Petra.
—Oh. Well. Never mind eh.
He opened his mouth to say something but then he closed it again I suppose there wasn’t much to say.
—Listen do you think you could take me to bed?
—Oh god, he said. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean Petra’s right here in the flat.
—I don’t mean do you think you could have sex with me you twat I mean do you think you could just take me to my bed please I can’t seem to move my legs you see.
—Oh, he said. God. Sorry. Yes.
He picked me up off the lino. I didn’t weigh much any more you see Osama on account of you don’t have the same appetite once all your favourite food just reminds you of bombs. Jasper carried me through to the bedroom and laid me down on the bed. He put me down on my husband’s side I didn’t have the strength to tell him to move me to the other. So I just lay there staring at my husband’s water glass. All the water in it had evaporated there was just this thin white crust left on the sides of the glass. It’s funny what’s left behind once what you had is all dried away. It’s funny how it never made the water cloudy.
—Jasper. Stay with me. Just a few minutes.
—I don’t think that’s a good idea, he said.
He moved his face very close to mine I could feel his breath on my face. He opened his mouth to say something but just then Petra shouted from the lounge JASPER WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? GET IN HERE NOW.
Jasper stroked my hair back off my face.
—I have to go, he said.
—Just 5 minutes. Please.
—I can’t, said Jasper. I couldn’t explain it to Petra. You saw how jealous she is.
—2 minutes.
Petra shouted from the lounge again JASPER IT’S HER OR ME CHOOSE WHO YOU LIKE BUT CHOOSE RIGHT NOW.
Jasper stood up and shrugged.
—I’m sorry, he said. You know if I stayed it would just make it worse.
—For you or for me?
Jasper looked at me for a long time.
—I’m sorry, he said.
Then there was just his back walking away into the lounge. After that I cried a bit and then I lay awake listening to Petra and Jasper arguing with each other in whispers. It was a horrible noise very vicious and quiet like 2 insects fighting in a jar. It didn’t sound like love to me Osama but then what would you or me know I mean we’re half deaf from the bombs already.
After a long time I couldn’t hear Petra and Jasper arguing any more. The pills and the booze made me sleep for a bit but then in the middle of the night I woke up. It was the noise that woke me. I got up and went over to the window and held on to the frame of it to steady myself. I looked up at the helicopters circling overhead and flashing light out in all directions. It was like a free police disco and about as much fun. I mean I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a police disco Osama but I have so you can take it from me. The DJs are always coppers themselves and if you don’t think they play the theme tune from The Bill near the end then you think wrong.
I couldn’t face lying down and waiting for my boy’s voice to start babbling round my head again so when I got sick of watching the helicopters I went into the lounge on my tiptoes. I shuffled along the walls to hold myself up. Petra was asleep on the sofa and Jasper was on the floor by the telly. They both had their coats over them. I went down on my hands and knees and crawled over to Petra very quiet and slow. She was curled up on her side to fit onto the sofa and there was just her head and neck sticking out from underneath her coat. I knelt and watched her for a bit I suppose I was trying to remember what it was like to be able to sleep like that.
Petra’s face was soft and still and yellow in the light that came in from the street lamps. Whenever a helicopter came overhead the windows rattled and Petra frowned in her sleep and in the white searchlights you could see this little pulse fluttering away in her throat. I watched her pulse and I listened to my boy’s voice starting up again in my head very distant at first and then nearer and nearer like the radio tuning in on a station m m mum mum mummy mummy MUMMY! I tried to tune it out I tried to concentrate on that vein banging away on Petra’s neck. On and on that pulse went because it never stops does it? Your heart bangs away like a stuck record and the streetlights on Barnet Grove switch on again and off again and the tide sloshes up and down in the Thames and it’s life whether you can sleep or not.