Incendiary

Summer

Dear Osama everything I’ve written so far happened in the spring and it never stopped for one second. It was dirty and sad and anyone who wasn’t blown up and burned was doing the nasty with each other like they might never get another chance. It was just like being in nature. I mean I’m a London girl Osama but I know what goes on in the countryside. I watch the telly like anyone else. Spring is when everything is fighting and killing and mating and London was no different after you went at it with bombs. It was like we all became animals again. You could look at people on the bus and you’d almost see the fur bristling under their nice clean clothes. After May Day everyone was nervous. It wasn’t just me any more.

But then summer came and the weather got hot and people slowed down. If you hadn’t had your husband and your boy blown up then I suppose May Day started to feel like a long time ago. People stopped thinking about how short their life was and they started thinking about motors again.

—Would you look at that? said Terence Butcher. They’ve given tow car of the year to a bloody Volkswagen.

We were in his office and Caravan Club Magazine had just come in the post along with a bunch of memos about terror suspects. He’d opened the magazine first. That did surprise me a bit Osama on account of in my opinion he had the sort of job where you ought to have a good old go at defeating the global jihad before you get on to hobbies but what would I know. Terence Butcher stood behind his desk and held up the magazine so I could see the article.

—That’s nice sir.

—Nice? he said. What do you mean nice? It’s a Kraut abomination. Give me a Vauxhall Cavalier any day. Plenty of poke when you need it on the uphills. Don’t have to send off to Dresden every time you need a spare distributor cap.

—Well I wouldn’t know about that sir. My husband always saw to our motors.

—Then take it from me, he said. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a Volkswagen. I’ve a good mind to write a letter to the editor. Do I have a ten-minute window this morning?

—No sir I’ve got you pencilled in to fight Islamic terror all day. Your tea alright is it?

Terence Butcher looked down into his mug and he nodded.

—Yes, he said. It bloody well is. I don’t know how I drank that slop the last girl made.

—You didn’t drink it did you? You used to pour it into the pot plants and they got sick and died sir.

Terence Butcher smiled at me and I smiled back. The look went on too long.

—Listen, he said. How long have you been with us now?

—2 months sir.

—And you’re enjoying it? Right?

—Oh yes sir I like it here I’m glad to be doing something useful it takes my mind off it all you know.

—Yes, said Terence Butcher. You never seem to stop for a second. You’re a force of nature. There isn’t one minute of my day you haven’t organised. I’d be surprised if you’d left a single sheet of paper out of place in the entire building.

—No sir well I can’t stop can I? The doctor won’t give me any more Valium.

—Oh, he said. Well how do you cope in the evenings?

—Don’t worry about me I cope fine thanks sir.

Actually Osama how I coped in the evenings was I used to come in through the back entrance to the estate and sneak into our flat and keep very quiet with the telly and all the lights off so Jasper Black wouldn’t see I was home and come knocking.

Our flat was hot in those summer evenings so I left the windows open for a bit of air and sometimes if you were lucky there was a breeze. It wasn’t any of your fresh mountain air Osama it smelled of summer in the East End which is mainly hash and car exhaust but a breeze is a breeze my husband always used to say. The breeze lifted the net curtains in the lounge and the shadows moved on the walls and in those shadows if you weren’t looking straight at them you could see my boy mucking around with his toys. It was better if you half closed your eyes. I used to watch him playing for hours it was better than the telly ever was anyway.

—Coping fine eh? said Terence Butcher.

—Oh yes sir.

—Very good.

Terence Butcher was looking out of the window. He took a sip of his tea. It was still the same view of London out of his window only like I say it was summer now. The air was grubby and shimmering. The 2 helicopters hovering over the Houses of Parliament weren’t black any more. They’d painted them red white and blue and the Japs were allowed to film them.

There were still the barrage balloons hanging over the city only they weren’t bright silver any more. Each balloon had the face of one of the May Day victims painted on it. They’d winched them down one at a time and sent them back up. Each one with its smiling face. Of course they weren’t called barrage balloons any more. They were called the Shield of Hope. My chaps were up there doing their bit Terence Butcher had seen to that. My husband was defending the Oval Cricket Ground and my boy was attached to the roof of Great Ormond Street Hospital. When the wind blew it screamed in the balloons’ cables and the noise made the hairs stand up on your neck. That was my boy’s only voice now Osama. That was my only sky.

Terence Butcher turned back to me and put his tea down on the desk. He put it down too hard so some of the tea slopped out.

—You know what the best thing is about caravans? he said.

—No sir.

I looked down at his hand resting on the desktop beside his tea. His big hand brown from the early summer sun with its tendons strong as cables. I followed the line of his arm up to his elbow where his shirtsleeve was rolled. I imagined my small hand slipping inside that shirtsleeve and sliding up to the warm curve of his bicep. Sometimes in those days Osama I got a flash of a life where I didn’t have to sneak around hiding from Jasper Black. It was just the quickest flash of someone standing beside me again. Someone strong enough to start all over with. I looked at Terence Butcher’s hand and I thought yeah. You’d do.

—The best thing about caravans is that they’re always exactly the same, said Terence Butcher. You can tow your caravan to Brighton or Bournemouth or Bognor. Doesn’t make the blindest bit of difference. When you close the door behind you at the end of the day you’re home. You can rely on it. When I close my eyes at night I always think about closing the caravan door. It doesn’t matter what kind of a day I’ve had. Whatever awful things I’ve had to worry about are left outside.

He stopped and looked down at his shoes. Then he looked up at me again.

—But now that feeling is gone, he said. Ever since May Day. I’ve had to make some hard decisions. I’ve done things I’m not sure about. I don’t sleep. It’s as if I can’t close the caravan door any more. I can’t leave the horrors outside. That’s what those Arab bastards have done. They’ve got inside my caravan.

I looked at Terence Butcher. He was in a state alright. His eyes were red around the edges and that hand on the desk was white around the fingertips where he was pressing down too hard.

—Anything else I can do for you sir?

He blinked.

—Oh, he said. I’m sorry. Christ. Listen to me going off on one.

—That’s alright it’s not your fault I mean you’re a bundle of nerves aren’t you sir. With all due respect you’re an accident waiting to happen you’re ready to blow a gasket you’re an effing liability to yourself and others. Sir.

Terence Butcher rocked backwards on his feet.

—Oh dear I’m sorry I shouldn’t of said all that. It’s my big mouth I can’t help it I’m a bundle of nerves myself I suppose you’ll have to sack me now.

He sucked his teeth and shook his head slowly and turned to the window. Down below in the street a procession was going past. It was some sort of dress rehearsal for the Gay Pride Parade but you couldn’t hear the music on account of the bombproof glass and it didn’t look like much of a show. There was so much security down there it looked like a procession of police with a light gay escort. Terence Butcher looked down at it all and sighed.

—I don’t know what to do with you, he said. I can’t sack you because you’re absolutely right of course. I can’t promote you because frankly I’d be bloody surprised if you weren’t the least-qualified woman on the force. And we can’t carry on as we are because you’re starting to get right under my skin.

Terence Butcher turned back from the window.

—I hired you to make the tea, he said. That’s all.

—Yes sir I’ll just make the tea from now on. I’ll keep my big trap shut.

—No, he said. Don’t. I don’t have anyone else I can talk to.

—What about your wife sir?

—What about her? he said.

—Can’t you talk to her?

—Wives are different, he said.

—Different how?

—Different like this. The difference is I can talk to you about her but I can’t talk to her about you.

—Why would you? There’s nothing to say about me.

—Yes there is, he said.

—What’s that supposed to mean?

—What do you think it’s supposed to mean? he said.

—I think it means you think too much.

Terence Butcher sat down on the edge of his desk and lit a Marlboro Red. He blew the smoke out and it drifted up towards the air-conditioning holes in the ceiling. His eyes looked up at the disappearing smoke.

—Listen Terence sir I know what you need I used to have a husband myself you know. You need to take your mind off things. Let’s go down the boozer tonight. Me and you. Let’s drink ourselves silly. We won’t go to a coppers’ pub we’ll go somewhere nobody knows who we are so we can make tits of ourselves.

Terence Butcher frowned.

—No, he said. You’ve seen how I get when I’m drunk.

—Yeah and so what? Nothing happened did it.

Terence smiled and shook his head.

—Tessa still wouldn’t like it.

—Yeah sir well is Tessa going to know?

He looked across at the photo of his wife and kids. He stared for the longest time and when he looked back at me he looked old and tired and sick of himself.

We left from Scotland Yard at 8 that evening. We went in the back of a riot van with wire mesh over the windows and a rubber skirt so you couldn’t throw petrol bombs under it. It had a white-noise siren and a tear gas cannon. It was the perfect way to get through London traffic Osama I don’t suppose you’ve had the pleasure. Me and Terence Butcher rattled around in the back like spare parts. We were headed for the Approach Tavern just off Victoria Park. One of the lads from the motor pool was driving and he got us there in 20 minutes flat. It must of been some kind of a record. The outrider was a great help. He rode in front of us in tight leather trousers and his big BMW motorbike was all painted up in yellow and purple squares. He looked like Darth Vader riding a Battenberg cake.

The van stopped before we got to the Approach and we walked the last 100 yards on account of Terence Butcher said if you turn up at the pub in a riot van people do start to ask daft questions about why they bother paying their taxes. I chose the Approach because it was near enough my neck of the woods to get home easily afterwards but far enough away not to be the sort of pub where coppers stumble out covered in blood. Anyway blokes like the Approach on account of they do a perfect pint of Guinness. My husband used to like the place. My husband always thought a pub ought to be busy and loud. You probably think a pub ought to be firebombed and turned into a mosque Osama well that’s the difference between my husband and you. I bet he could of drunk you under the table.

Terence Butcher was wearing civvies but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He had these blue jeans on with a lime-green polo shirt tucked into them and light-brown Timberlands. He wore his mobile clipped to his belt in a little leather pouch the way only coppers do or your dad. I was wearing my brown skirt and white blouse and Clarks shoes. When we got inside the place was pretty quiet. There was half a crowd in there but it was nothing like what a Friday night would of been before the curfew. The barman winked at us and said Good evening officers.

Go on laugh if you want Osama but I’ve seen photos of you and it’s not as if you’re god’s gift to fashion. Baggy white trousers cammo jacket digital watch and a fussy beard. You’re a right state aren’t you? You’re ever so Hoxton.

We chose a table in the corner and I sat down while Terence Butcher went to the bar. He took his time on account of he was getting a Guinness. They pour them in 2 parts you see which is something you’d know Osama if you got out a bit more. While I was waiting for Terence Butcher to get back I sat there and thought about my boy. I was thinking of the way he waved good-bye to me with his nose pressed up against the back window of the Astra. I was looking down at the floor and I suppose I must of been in a world of my own because when Terence Butcher came back with the drinks he had to snap his fingers to get me to look up.

—Cheer up love, he said. It might never happen.

He sat down across the table from me. He sat his Guinness down in front of him and he pushed my drink towards me.

—There you go, he said. Chin chin. Here’s to brighter days.

I smiled then but it was a nervous smile. If that smile had been a kid it would of been one of those kids you see on telly on the kidney machine with the tubes coming out of them. COURAGE OF BRAVE KELLY, 5. Terence Butcher watched me and took a sip of his pint.

—How’s your drink sir?

He sat back in his chair and put his hands down around his pint. He frowned.

—Listen, he said. Don’t ever call me sir again when we’re off duty. If you do then I’ll have you transferred to the British Transport Police. You will spend the next five years telling fat children not to drop crisp packets on the Docklands Light Railway. If you prove to be especially effective in that capacity you will be promoted to the District and Circle Lines. After fifteen to twenty years if you perform well you will be taken off the night shift and you might even be permitted occasionally to see the light of day in such prestigious surface stations as Gunnersbury and Chiswick Park.

I downed my G&T and it exploded in my tummy.

—Doomed to the underworld. Is that what happened to the last girl you had an affair with?

He didn’t answer straight away. He drained his Guinness first. His eyes watched me over the top of his glass while he drank. He put his pint down very careful and wiped the white Guinness foam off his top lip. He lit a ciggie.

—Is that what this is? he said. An affair?

—Not yet. Not properly.

I slid my hands across the table so that the tips of my fingers were touching the tips of his. Terence Butcher looked around to see if anyone was watching. He let his head drop almost to the table then he lifted it up again and looked at me.

—Would you like it to be? he said.

I didn’t answer I just pushed my hands forward so my fingers laced in with his. He didn’t move his hands back but he didn’t fold them round mine like he could of.

—Well? he said.

—Oh god do you have to be such a copper about everything?

—What? he said. What do you mean?

—Everything has to be black and white with you doesn’t it? In your world we’re either having an affair or we aren’t.

—That’s right, he said. I want to know where we stand. Life’s hard enough without making it complicated.

—I do like you Terence Butcher. I get so lonely and I think you’re a good man and I think you understand me.

He grinned.

—Great, he said. We’re having an affair.

I shrugged. He was such a little boy sometimes.

—Alright then. Yes. Oh actually no. Come to think of it no. No it would never work you see. Trust me you don’t want anything to do with me Terence you don’t know what a state I’m in.

He shook his head.

—You’re fine, he said. There’s nothing wrong with you a couple of drinks won’t fix.

I held on tight to my glass and tried to block out my boy’s voice singing COUPLE OF DRINKS! COUPLE OF DRINKS! NOTHING WRONG WITH MUMMY.

—Yeah you’re right. I’m fine.

—That’s my girl, said Terence Butcher.

He leaned over the table and he stroked my face with both his hands. He pushed the hair off my face and he hooked it behind my ears just exactly the way my mum used to. I don’t suppose he knew how sweet he was being when he did that. I looked up from my G&T and I smiled at him I couldn’t help myself. Tears started up in my eyes. He smiled back. He moved his face closer to mine and he smudged the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs.

—There, he said. You’re too pretty for tears.

I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips there was nothing else for it. I held his top lip between my teeth very gentle and I breathed in his smell of ciggies and Guinness. He didn’t move a muscle. I sat back and looked at him.

—Same again?

—Mmm? he said.

—Guinness?

—Oh, he said. Yes. Yes please.

I smiled at him and I took our empties up to the bar and I nearly died of shock. Jasper Black was sitting up there on his own drinking a glass of red wine. He was looking the other way and I thought he might not of seen me but I had to stand quite close to him on account of there wasn’t much space at the bar. I asked the barman for another Guinness and another G&T and I made myself small but it was no good. Jasper Black winked and got down from his stool and came over to me. He looked better than I remembered. He looked like he’d had his blood drained out and sunshine pumped in instead. He was grinning and bouncing up and down full of beans but when he came close there were stains on his jacket and his eyes looked sore. He puffed out his chest and leaned his elbows back on the bar and I looked down at his feet and he was wearing black slip-on shoes and no socks.

—Hi, he said. No disrespect but I have to tell you you’re looking fantastic tonight.

—Jasper. What are you doing here?

—Me? he said. I’m drinking possibly the most disgusting Merlot it’s ever been my misfortune to be served. I’m guessing the bottle was opened several days ago and stored on a radiator.

—Well. You know. It’s a beer pub. If it’s Merlot you were after you’d of been best off going to a Merlot pub.

—Merlot pubs, he said. There’s a thought. Do they have them these days?

—Well I wouldn’t effing well know would I? I wouldn’t know Merlot from Tizer.

—Probably safest that way, he said. Anyway. I didn’t come in for the wine. I came in to see if you were alright.

—How’d you know I was here?

—I didn’t. I was walking past on my way home and I saw you coming in here with that man.

Jasper flicked his head back in Terence Butcher’s direction. Jasper Black’s hair was a right state. He’d had one of those haircuts where you don’t know if you should say that’s nice or sorry.

—I thought I’d pop in and stand by, he said. In case some misfortune was befalling you.

—Misfortune?

—I thought you might be in trouble, he said.

—Why?

—Your man is wearing a green polo shirt, he said. A lime-green polo shirt. I may not be blessed with Petra’s fashion acuity but I know a plonker when I see one. Your man is wearing beige Timberlands for Christ’s sake. A respectable man would not allow a chasm of such proportions to open up between himself and fashion. I was worried about you.

—You can talk. What the hell have you done to your hair?

—Oh do you like it? he said. I thought I’d treat myself to one of those Shoreditch hairdos. It’s great isn’t it? It’s like 7 haircuts in one. It depends what angle you look at it from.

—It looks a mess.

Jasper Black sniffed.

—Correction, he said. It looks destructured.

—Yeah right.

He flicked his head back at Terence Butcher again.

—I suppose Mr. Timberlands is your new boyfriend? he said.

I looked at the landlord. He’d half-filled the Guinness and it was sitting there waiting to settle. The creamy foam was swirling through the dark stuff. It was fighting to rise free it made me nervous. I looked back at Jasper.

—That’s Terence Butcher. He’s my boss.

—I was watching you together, said Jasper Black. Forgive me if I note that your relationship gives all outward appearances of having transcended the purely professional.

—Come again?

—Are you fucking him? he said.

—Don’t use that word.

—Well are you?

—Mind your own business.

—I miss you, he said. If you were fucking someone I’d very much rather it was me.

He grinned at me. His teeth weren’t very clean and his fingers were drumming on the bar. I looked over at Terence Butcher. He was watching me talking to Jasper Black and he didn’t look too pleased about it.

—Listen Jasper. My husband and my boy were torn to bits by rusty nails and bolts flying through the air at supersonic speed and then what was left of them was burned to cinders. All of it happened while I was fucking you so don’t blame me if it’s put me off.

Jasper Black leaned back on his bar stool and made a face like he’d just mistaken a dog turd for a KitKat Chunky.

—Jesus Christ woman, he said. I was only trying to be nice. Nothing personal but if you want my advice you need psychiatric help.

I stared at him.

—Yeah well I don’t see why I should take brain advice off a man with 7 haircuts.

I turned away from him. It’s funny how quick people can turn on you. The Guinness was finally ready and the landlord slid it across to me along with my G&T. I paid and picked up the drinks and started back to our table.

—Crazy fucking bitch, said Jasper Black.

He was off his head and he said it too loud. The whole pub stopped talking. Terence Butcher stood up. I stopped halfway back to our table holding the drinks. I was shaking. There was Guinness slopping everywhere. The smoke from everyone’s cigarettes was making me think of May Day and my legs started to wobble. Terence Butcher stepped up to me and put his arm around my shoulders. He was staring over the top of my head at Jasper Black.

—Who’s that bloke? he said.

—No one. Just some plonker trying it on. Please just leave it okay?

I went over to our table and I put the drinks down.

—Sit down. Please Terence. Let’s just sit down and forget it.

He looked from me to Jasper and back.

—You sure? he said. Think carefully before you answer. I’m a very senior police officer. I have the resources of the entire Metropolitan Police Force at my disposal. I’m reasonably confident I could make this the worst night of that man’s life.

—No Terence. Please leave it.

I put my hand on his chest and I pushed him down into his chair. He let himself be pushed. He could be as good as gold that man.

We didn’t speak for the longest time after that. We just looked at each other and drank our drinks. I could feel the G&T starting to work. It was nice being out. Pubs were the best places for me really. I mean all the smoke made me nervous but I never actually saw my boy in pubs. They don’t serve the dead or anyone under 18.

When our drinks were finished Terence went up to the bar for another round. He stood right next to Jasper Black so their elbows were touching. They were both tall men and they didn’t say a word to each other and I couldn’t look it made me nervous. After a while Terence Butcher came back with 3 drinks. He’d got himself a whisky chaser with his Guinness and my G&T was a double. He slid mine over to me and sat down.

—Alright? he said.

—Yeah. Terence?

—Yes?

—Thanks for being good to me.

—It’s more than that, he said. I really like you. In fact I think I’m—

—Stop. Don’t say it.

He smiled.

—Sorry, he said.

He drank his whisky and put the glass down loudly on the table.

—Right, he said. So tell me what do we do now then. I’m a copper. I need rules. I haven’t done this before.

—Oh. Well I have god help me. It’s quite simple really and there are rules so you’ll be right at home. You start by telling me how you don’t have sex with your wife any more. That’s the hard bit for you. That isn’t something you ever ought to tell another girl so once you’ve said that then we’re both in it together. Then we have sex until your wife finds out and takes your kids to live at her mum’s place.

—You’re the perfect little optimist aren’t you? he said.

—Well. That’s just the way it works. I’m only saying.

Terence Butcher looked down into his pint. He made little circles with his finger in the creamy foam of his Guinness. I watched a thin line of blood start down his arm from under the lime-green sleeve of his polo shirt. The blood ran down the back of his hand and along his finger. Drip drip drip. It made bloody red craters in the creamy white head of his Guinness. He sighed and looked up at me.

—Tessa, he said. That’s my wife’s name. Loves the theatre does Tessa. We have to go once a fortnight. You like the theatre do you?

—Nah.

—Good, he said. The whole thing goes right over my head. Tessa must have dragged me along to a thousand plays by now and I still couldn’t tell you the difference between The Cherry Orchard and the magic forest from The Wizard of Oz. More drinks?

—Yeah go on.

Terence went to the bar and came back with the same again. Jasper Black followed him back to our table with his eyes. I gave Jasper a look and he looked back at me for a long time before he dropped his eyes. Terence sat down.

—Everything alright? he said.

—Mmm? Oh yeah. Fine thanks.

I picked up my new G&T and rattled the ice in it. Terence Butcher lit another ciggie and I took one too on account of I was drunk enough.

—We got married too fast, he said. Me and Tessa. In those days people still waited till they were married. It made you want to get on with it. We were married 3 months and 3 days after our first date. It’s all a bit of a blur. I remember standing at the altar and saying I do. I remember kissing the bride. And then I turned round and looked at everyone in the church. That’s when I noticed I was out of my depth. On my side of the congregation there were all my mates from the force plus all their wives and girlfriends. They were a nice enough bunch but you could tell the suits were on hire if you know what I mean. Whereas on Tessa’s side. The bride’s side I mean. There were lawyers. Stockbrokers. An unbelievable number of ladies in hats. Their own hats I’m reasonably sure.

—You poor bugger.

—I noticed it all in a flash, he said. Us coppers are known for our powers of observation.

He swallowed half his Guinness and banged the glass down and laughed.

—Christ, he said. It looked less like a congregation and more like the two sides lining up for the English Civil War. I looked back at Tessa and I saw her looking out over the church too. She was trying to be brave but I could tell she’d just seen the same thing I’d seen. There it was. All laid out before us. Tessa looked at me and from that moment I don’t think we were under any illusion. I don’t think you could really say it was love after that. The theatre. Child rearing. United front. But not really love.

—Sex?

—Yes, he said. Every now and then until the mid-90s. I can’t say I was sorry when it stopped. Tessa had this way of making me feel like I was walking across her carpet with muddy boots on. She used to lie very still and not make a sound. I’d look into her eyes when we were making love. It was like looking through church windows from the outside.

—Poor you.

—Don’t mind me, he said. I’m fine. I just get like this when I’ve had a drink or two.

—I reckon a bloke like you deserves more from a marriage.

—What I have with Tessa is not a marriage, he said. It’s a nuclear class war.

He gripped his pint so hard I was scared it was going to break. I put my hand on his wrist and he looked up at me.

—Know what’s different about you? he said. Warmth. That’s what I get with you that I don’t get with Tessa. Basic human warmth. Can I tell you something?

—Go on.

Terence Butcher blushed.

—I sometimes imagine you and me in bed together, he said. But not having sex. Just talking. It’s the morning and we’re away somewhere in my caravan and the sun’s coming through the windows. We’re miles from London. You can see the specks of dust glowing in the air above us. Everything’s very quiet and still. And we’re chatting away and suddenly you turn towards me and you ruffle my hair. That’s all. You ruffle my hair and we smile because we understand one another.

I smiled at him and put my hand on his face.

—That’s nice.

He leaned towards me.

—Would you do it? he said. Would you come away with me for a weekend? We’d take the caravan down to the coast. Brighton maybe. Or Worthing. What do you say?

—I’m not sure.

—I’m not sure either, he said. They’ve got better facilities at Worthing but it’s quite dear so maybe Brighton would be a better bet.

—I mean I’m not sure whether we should go at all. What about your wife?

—I don’t think we’d take her, he said. It’s quite a small caravan you see and Tessa comes with rather a lot of baggage. Breeding. Family money. The people who have it aren’t like you and me. They’ll be polite enough to you. But try to get too close and they’ll put back that distance. Try to step inside their circle and they’ll close ranks. Us and them are not the same species. Don’t make the same mistake I made. Don’t ever get involved with the upper classes.

—Shall we have another drink?

Terence Butcher stood up.

—Alright, he said. Stay there. I’ll go.

He took our empties back to the bar and I sat there thinking about Jasper Black and Petra Sutherland. Terence was 100 percent right god help me I never should of got involved but I couldn’t think about that now on account of I was having trouble balancing on my seat and I needed a wee. I got up from our table and I picked up my handbag and walked over to the Ladies. I wasn’t too steady on my pins.

There were 2 cubicles in there and wouldn’t you know it I picked the one with no lock on the door. It’s sod’s law only you probably call it something different down your neck of the woods Osama like THE DIVINE WILL OF THE PROPHET but my point is there were 2 cubicles and I chose the one with no lock on the door and I was so desperate for a wee that I didn’t care so I just pulled my knickers down and sat on the seat and did my wee while I held the toilet door closed with my foot.

I was doing my wee and thinking about what Terence Butcher said. I thought about ruffling his hair in the caravan with the sun coming in very bright through the windows and my boy laughing and doing somersaults on the long grass outside. My boy was giggling. He was ever so happy. He had his yellow wellies on. When he’d had enough of somersaulting we’d go for a walk. Him and me and Terence Butcher. We’d laugh and play 1–2–3 Whoops! and find some puddles for the boy to splash in.

I was so happy. Suddenly I really could see myself with Terence Butcher. I started whispering to my husband don’t worry love I’ll never forget you but you know how it is. You’d of wanted me to find someone wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t of wanted me to drift and blow away all alone like some old carrier bag. I smiled it was like all the emptiness was draining out of me with my wee. I sat there on the toilet for a little while after my wee was finished. I closed my eyes and hugged myself because for the first time in I don’t know how long I wasn’t feeling nervous. I was smiling because just for the moment I didn’t see flames and I didn’t hear screaming. I was smiling because my life wasn’t empty any more it was ready to be filled. There’s a difference you see Osama and that difference is called HOPE.

But when I opened my eyes I stopped smiling straight away because Jasper Black was standing in the door of the cubicle. I pulled my legs together and hugged my arms round my knees so he couldn’t see anything.

—What the hell do you think you’re doing?

—You left the door open, said Jasper Black. I thought you wanted company.

He came into the cubicle and closed the door behind him and leaned back on it. He stood there for the longest time just looking down at me with his 7 haircuts and his stupid grin. He looked a bit unsteady on his pins too. I should think he was more drunk than I was.

—Who were you talking to? he said.

—No one.

—Yeah right, he said.

He took a wrap of paper out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it.

—Cocaine, he said. Want some?

—No. Listen you’d better get out before my boyfriend comes to see why I’m taking so long. He’s a big chap. If he finds you in here with me you’ll be dead meat.

Jasper lifted his powder up to his nose and sniffed it right off the wrap. He stood there watching me. I think I knew what was coming but I didn’t even have time to scream. He moved so fast. He came forward and pushed his hand over my mouth before I could open it. I tried to get up but he sat on me. His weight crushed my bum into the toilet seat and his crutch was pushed against my tummy. It was hard to breathe. I was slapping at his face with my hands and scratching him but it didn’t seem to bother him. He was just laughing. With the hand that wasn’t covering my mouth he started fingering my neck and my tits. The way his hand scratched at my tits it reminded me of this programme I saw on the telly where an armadillo tries to dig into an anthill.

There wasn’t anything I could do. He pinned me down on that toilet seat. I thought he was going to rape me but he didn’t. He moved his face right up to mine and he started kissing me on the cheeks and the eyes and the nose. His breath had that horrible sweet smell that comes in the evening from starting to drink in the afternoon and not stopping. He kept kissing me it went on and on. Like he was putting off what had to come next.

There were cuts on his face from shaving. It looked like he must of been drunk before he even left his place. There was dandruff on his shoulders. The T-shirt he was wearing could of done with a wash. Maybe it was all the G&T but I suddenly felt so sad for me and for him. You’ve got to be pretty far gone before you pull a stunt like he just had. I mean the list of your crimes is pretty long Osama but I don’t think anyone’s accusing you of following girls into the khazi.

This wasn’t like Jasper Black. I looked in his eyes and I could see it now. He wanted to stop but it was out of control. His life was skidding into mine and it was happening in slow motion like a car crash. He shoved one hand down between us and he pushed his thumb up inside me and it hurt because I wasn’t ready and all the emptiness flooded back in with it.

I gave up struggling. There was no point any more and I didn’t want him to hurt me any worse than he had to. It was very quiet then in the cubicle with just the hiss of his sick sweet breath on my face. He stopped kissing me when I stopped fighting. I could tell he was surprised. His eyes went narrow and he stopped pushing so hard with his hand on my mouth. He just held me there for the longest time with his thumb pushed inside me. I could feel the blood pulsing in it very quick.

Tears ran down my cheeks onto his hand. Jasper stared at me in the green glow of the toilet striplights. I watched the flesh scoured off his face by white-hot flying shrapnel and spattered on the wall of the toilet cubicle until all the lonely dykes’ graffiti was drowned and dripping with blood. Jasper’s thumb made small nervous twitches inside me and my guts began to twist. I listened to his breath hiss and a tap drip drip in the washbasin outside. Then I heard the door to the Ladies open and swing closed again. There were 2 footsteps. Then silence. Terence Butcher’s voice came from the other side of the cubicle door.

—Hello? he said. Look I’m sorry about this but you’ve been in there for ages. I just wondered if everything was alright?

Jasper was staring at me. I saw the pupils of his eyes go twice the size and I felt his hand tighten on my mouth. He looked over his shoulder to the cubicle door and then he looked back at me. Both his hands were trembling. I could feel his panic on both sides of my skin.

—Hello? said Terence. Look if you’re poorly it’s alright. Come on out of there. I’ll help you clean up. We’ll go for a coffee somewhere.

Jasper’s eyes went wild. He was looking all around the cubicle for another way out. Maybe one of those small high windows they always have in films. But there wasn’t one.

—Listen, said Terence. Just tell me you’re alright and I’ll wait for you outside. Otherwise I’m going to have to come in.

Jasper made the tiniest sound then. It was the smallest start of a cry. Just a sad little squeak right in the back of his throat. It was the exact same sound my boy used to make the instant after he’d fallen over and banged himself a nasty knock. Just before his face crumpled up with misery and the tears started.

Now you wouldn’t understand this Osama because you’re not a mother. That’s my whole point I suppose. But when I heard that sad little squeak I went on autopilot. I still had my hands free and I moved one of them up to Jasper’s cheek. I stroked his face very gentle. Then I took my other hand and I pulled down on the wrist of the hand he was holding over my mouth. He fought against me for just the tiniest part of a second and then he looked in my eyes and he let his hand fall away from my mouth onto my shoulder. Suddenly he was as good as gold. He was waiting to see what I was going to do. I looked right into his eyes and I felt his thumb trembling inside me. I opened my mouth.

—Terence? I’m alright. Sorry about this. I’ve just had a little bit too much to drink I’ll be right as rain in 2 ticks. I’m a bit embarrassed so go on and have your drink and I’ll be out in a minute.

—Sure? said Terence Butcher.

—Sure.

I stroked Jasper’s hair. Terence Butcher went away then and Jasper breathed out.

—Oh Jesus, he said. Thanks.

He let his forehead drop onto my shoulder he was still shaking. I stroked his hair and I reached down with my other hand and I took his wrist and I pushed his hand down very gently so his thumb came out of me. I pulled his head in closer to my neck and I whispered in his ear.

—There you go. You’re a good boy really. You’ve just been very lonely haven’t you?

Jasper didn’t say anything. His breathing was shallow and fast in my ear and then very slowly it turned into sobs. He didn’t make any fuss he just sobbed very quietly and it didn’t die down for a long time. I sat there just letting him get it all out. You’d think all that sadness inside us would of been deafening but actually it made less noise than the slow drip drip of the tap in the basin outside the cubicle door.

When I got back to our table I smiled at Terence Butcher and the drink he’d lined up for me.

—Ah. Gin & Terence. Lovely.

—You sure? he said. I thought you might’ve had enough.

—Yeah well that was 10 minutes ago. This is now.

—Alright, he said. But on your own headache be it.

Terence Butcher stood up and I went up to him and put my arm round his waist. I leaned in to him and put my head against his chest. I closed my eyes and the flames and the shrapnel were gone again. There was just my boy playing on the long grass outside the caravan. I opened my eyes and looked up at Terence Butcher.

—You’re alright Terence Butcher. You know that?

We drank our drinks and I went up to the bar with Terence to get 2 more in but just then the landlord called time. Terence told him to give us a lock in.

—I don’t think so, said the landlord. The police are pretty strict at the moment.

—Listen, said Terence. The police are pretty drunk at the moment. We’ve had a hard week trying to stop you lot getting blown up. If we’re not allowed to get properly drunk now then we won’t let off enough steam. Which means we’ll be all wound up at work next week. Which means we won’t be able to do our jobs properly. Which means every single one of you will die. So I tell you what. I’ll give you a signed order to stay open another 10 minutes for security reasons.

The landlord smiled.

—Very good sir, he said. Always pleased to do my bit for national security.

—Good man, said Terence Butcher.

He wrote the landlord an official order in biro on the back of a beer mat and the landlord gave us 2 free drinks.

We rolled out of the Approach about half 11 and it was chaos out there. Everyone was trying to get home before curfew. There was a line of choppers flying low over Approach Road heading into town. They battered away into the darkness making a noise like death and nobody wanted reminding about dying so everyone was out the front of the pub giving them the finger. The choppers made a dirty twisting wind that raised up all the rubbish from the side streets. It was going everywhere. All the Burger King wrappers and the fag butts and the used condoms were blowing against the car windscreens like a poorly blizzard.

We were lucky to get a black cab. Terence flagged one down and told the cabbie Barnet Grove and when the cabbie said no Terence showed him his police ID and asked if he wanted to keep his licence. So we got in and Terence slammed the cab door. The helicopters and the rubbish were left outside and it was all quiet apart from the cabbie effing and blinding to himself about weren’t we just his typical bloody luck.

—Thank Christ for that, said Terence.

He slid back into the seat. He was sitting closer than he needed to. His leg was touching mine. I felt his weight pressing against me when we turned right onto Old Ford Road.

—God I feel better for that, he said. You were right you know. A night out was just what the doctor ordered.

I just looked out the window. I didn’t feel like answering. I must of had 8 G&Ts inside me. It felt like I wasn’t going anywhere but London was racing past me. Actually it looked like London was trying to get to the khazi before it puked. It was one of those nights you get sometimes in London where every last bastard is drunk. It was one of those nights where City toffs in Hackett shirts jump out in front of your cab waving their hands and shouting TARXI! TARXI! so the cabbie has to swerve round them and shout can’t you see I’m taken you silly little cunt excuse my French. It was one of those nights where the day can’t come soon enough.

Terence Butcher put his hand on my knee. My tights were ripped and I felt his skin on my skin. I looked at him and I smiled.

—Not here Terence. There’ll be time for all that.

I turned and looked out of the window. We’d just turned down Cambridge Heath Road and the traffic was all jammed up. People were running to catch the last buses and there were coppers with megaphones bawling at them to get a move on.

I closed my eyes and I felt something on the back of my neck. It might of been his lips. Or it might of been my husband’s lips or Jasper’s lips I had 8 G&Ts inside me telling me it made no difference. Terence’s hand moved on my thigh. I gasped and it moved up my leg. I felt his hand push under the elastic of my knickers. Oh god I thought here I go again. I felt his fingers combing through my pubes and I felt the white van behind us blow up and I felt our cab flying eighty feet up in the air high above Bethnal Green tube. I felt the red blood gushing out of me while our cab spun black in the night under the smiling faces of the Shield of Hope. I felt his weight on mine as we lay burning in the wreckage. Oh god it was so bloody nice not to die alone.

The rush of booze got stronger. I opened my eyes and we were turning right onto Bethnal Green Road and we hadn’t been blown up after all. I felt sweet saliva in my mouth.

—Oh dear I think I need to get out.

The cabbie stamped on the brakes and pulled the cab over quick sharp. They know from the tone of your voice when you’re serious. I got out and puked on the double yellows while Terence Butcher held my shoulders. My puke was pure gin you could of cleaned brass with it. When we got back in the cab I felt much better. I smiled at Terence.

—Sorry.

—Don’t apologise, he said. There but for the grace of god and all that.

We were driving past the KFC and the sari shops now we were only 2 mins from my flat.

—Oh look I’m nearly home.

—Are you sure you’re going to be alright? said Terence.

The driver turned onto Barnet Grove.

—Let me come in with you, said Terence.

—It’s almost curfew. You realise if you come in you’ll be stuck with me for the night.

—Yes, he said. That was the general idea.

—What about your wife?

—I’ll call her, he said. I’ll tell her I’m overnighting at the office.

I held on to his hand. My skin was tingling and my stomach was jumping. The emptiness inside me was howling like the wind round tall buildings. The driver slowed up for the speed bumps on Barnet Grove. My street was all grey and dismal with Tesco bags blowing down it like the ghosts of value shopping.

—Anywhere in particular? said the cabbie.

—Anywhere here.

The cab stopped and I squeezed Terence Butcher’s hand.

—Terence. I like you. Let’s not spoil this. Go home to your wife tonight. Get up tomorrow morning and feel good. Look after your kids. Believe me you don’t know how important it is. And then think about it and if you want me then you can have me. Only let’s not do it like this. Please let’s do it so your wife and kids don’t ever find out.

Terence blinked at me. He looked so sad. I wanted him so badly I could feel the emptiness inside me shouting NO NO NO but I did it anyway. I squeezed Terence’s hand one last time then I let it go and I opened the cab door. I got out and grabbed the door handle and slammed Terence Butcher safely back inside his life and his kids and his wife in her Dunlop Green Flash. I waved good-bye and watched his tired face pressed up against the window glass.

I stared up at the dead faces of the Shield of Hope floating in the orange sky. I stared for a long time and then I went inside and up to my flat and I got Mr. Rabbit and I curled up with him on the floor of my boy’s room. I slept and I dreamed of my husband and my boy. They were setting off for heaven in our old blue Astra and their Arsenal away strip. They were ever so excited to be going. I’d made them packed lunches in case it was a long journey. My husband smiled at me. He was tall and handsome and he was all in one piece. I smiled back at him. We’ll be off now love he said. You come after us as soon as you like. I waved them good-bye. My boy was smiling and waving with his nose stuck up against the back window. I watched them drive off up Barnet Grove and into the rising sun.

When I woke up my boy’s room was rosy pink from the new day coming in through the curtains. And me? Me I was still smiling.

Later that morning I took my hangover into the shower. I say the shower Osama but actually I was standing in the bath. Our shower was one of those rubber hose efforts you stick on to the bath taps. My boy used to love it. He used to take it off the taps and make you hold the rubber ends to your ears so he could talk to you through the showerhead like it was a microphone. What he used to say was COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP I suppose it was my husband taught him that.

The boy loved that game it used to take hours to actually wash his hair. Still you saved me that chore didn’t you Osama. So it was just my own hair I was washing when the doorbell went. I was washing it for the third time. I never could get the smell of smoke out of it since May Day.

I wrapped a towel round my head and I put on my pink bathrobe and went to the front door. I put the chain on the door and opened it a crack and looked out. It was Petra Sutherland standing there. She was wearing maroon stiletto boots silky flower-print skirt pink cashmere rolltop sweater and her hair was long and straight and shiny. She stood there looking at me. Her face was very white there was no blood in it.

—What must I do to get rid of you? she said.

I tried to shut the front door but Petra jammed one of her boots into the gap. Both of us started pushing at the door but she couldn’t open it on account of the chain and I couldn’t close it on account of her foot.

—What do you want?

—I want you to stop chasing after Jasper, she said.

—I never chased after him.

—Liar, said Petra. Trollop.

She pushed her face right up into the gap of the door and sneered at me.

—He came home reeking of you last night, she said. I know your smell. You smell of this place. I spent a whole night in it.

—You don’t understand.

—Oh I understand perfectly well, she said. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Let me in.

—Nah I don’t think so.

—People don’t tell me no, she said. Let me in. We’re going to have this out once and for all.

—Please. I’m not feeling well. Can’t you and Jasper both just leave me alone?

—Us leave you alone? said Petra. Oh that’s funny. That’s a good one.

—Please. You don’t know the situation. It’s Jasper you want to have a word with. Not me.

—No, she said. Let me in. I’m prepared to stay here all day if that’s what it takes.

—Suit yourself.

I went back and finished my shower. It wasn’t the sort of shower you see on the Timotei adverts with a Swedish girl in a waterfall. The water was a bit brown from the rust in the pipes and I could hear Petra banging on the front door the whole time and screaming at me to OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR. By the time I got out and started drying my hair she was trying something different she was yelling THERE IS A PAEDOPHILE IN THIS FLAT. I suppose she thought an angry mob would appear out of nowhere like they do in the Daily Mail and help her storm in but she still had a lot to learn about the Wellington Estate. Round here they wouldn’t piss on themselves if they were on fire let alone the neighbours.

I went into the bedroom and put on a white T-shirt and white trackie bottoms. I lay on the bed just minding my own till the banging and the shouting went quiet and then I went back to the front door. Petra was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her foot still jammed in the door. Her head was down on her knees.

—You finished are you? Got it all out of your system?

Petra looked up at me her eyes were red and puffy and there were streaks of black mascara down her face. It was a bit of a shock I hadn’t put her down for the sort of girl who has feelings. The timer ran out on the stairway lights and the landing went dark behind her. We just stared at each other for a long time through the gap in the door. Petra sniffed.

—You’d better come in.

I took the chain off the door and opened it wide and Petra snapped her head up to look at me.

—Come on get up before I change my mind.

Petra started to put her hands down on the floor to push herself up but the floor was all mucky and she had a good look at it and held her hand out to me instead. I took hold of her hand and pulled her up. When she was up we let go of each other’s hands as quick as we could.

—I need to clean up, said Petra.

—Yeah. Well. You know where the bathroom is don’t you?

I went into the kitchen and I didn’t know what to do with myself so I took all the mugs out of the cupboard and then I put them back in with their colours in the same order as the rainbow from right to left and all of their handles pointing outwards except for the one mug that had a handle on each side. I didn’t know what to do with it and I was still holding it in my hands when Petra came into the kitchen. She’d washed all that streaky mascara off and her face looked very white and new without makeup. I held the mug up.

—Coffee?

Petra looked at the jar of instant sitting on the worktop.

—I think I’d rather have vodka, she said. Do you still have some?

—Yeah. Only I didn’t have you down as a morning drinker.

—It isn’t the morning yet, said Petra. I haven’t slept.

I poured Petra a vodka from the freezer. I felt poorly just looking at it but Petra knocked it straight back and passed me the empty glass.

—Ouch, she said. Again.

I poured her another and we went into the lounge and sat down at different ends of the sofa. Petra looked out at Barnet Grove through the net curtains. Those 3 kids were out there on their bikes again turning slow circles just like they were on May Day it made me nervous.

—The really stupid thing, said Petra. Is that I never really cared about Jasper. Until I realised he was slipping away from me.

I didn’t say anything.

—It’s awful of course, she said. Not really to feel anything about someone until one’s faced with losing them. I suppose you think that’s awfully selfish.

—Nah. I don’t think. I mean I don’t really have the imagination do I?

Petra smiled. She was still looking out the window.

—You can be terribly dry can’t you? she said.

I just gave her a small shrug she couldn’t see on account of her back was turned. I sat there hugging one of the sofa cushions I was getting another wave of my hangover and it was best not to move around too much.

—It hasn’t been the same between Jasper and me since May Day, said Petra. I don’t know whether to blame you or Osama bin Laden. I don’t know which of you is worse.

—Yeah. Well. Have you talked to Jasper about it?

—Jasper’s not in a good place right now, said Petra. He’s been overdoing it. He’s not easy to talk to.

—You’d better give it a go though eh?

Petra was still looking out the window. You could see her back going all stiff and angry and when she spoke her voice was shaking.

—How dare you? she said. How dare you tell me what I better had and better hadn’t do? You’re the one that’s got my Jasper into this state. You’re the one chasing after him with your cute little tush and your sweet little sob story.

Petra stood up and spun round to face me.

—You parasite, she said. Just because your sad little life is over doesn’t give you the right to come after mine.

—You’re having a laugh aren’t you? I’ve seen how you live and I’d rather die.

—Hah, said Petra. Look at me and tell me you weren’t with Jasper yesterday evening.

—That’s not what I’m saying.

—Slut, whispered Petra.

She slapped me round the face it was hard and vicious. I didn’t see her hand coming and it caught me half round the chin and half in the throat it snapped my head back so I heard the bones in my neck click. I fell back on the sofa I was holding my face but it didn’t hurt I was just thinking how strange this is how very bloody strange. How strange to of been around so many blokes in my life and some of them real mischievous pieces of work at that and would you believe it the very first person to slap me about is the Lifestyle editor of the Sunday effing Telegraph. Well I couldn’t help it Osama I just started laughing I mean you’d probably be the same yourself if after everything you’ve been through the first person to get past all your bodyguards and storm into your high mountain cave was wearing maroon stiletto boots and lipstick. I took my hand away from my face and there was blood on it. I suppose I was cut from the rings on Petra’s fingers. I just lay back on the sofa and laughed with the blood dripping off my face and onto my white T-shirt.

—You really are a lunatic aren’t you? said Petra. You think this is funny?

—Listen Petra you’ve said your piece now why don’t you just clear off.

—I am not budging, said Petra. Not until you promise never to have anything to do with Jasper again.

—Petra. Just listen for once will you? Jasper’s the one chasing me. I hide from him. I sneak home and stay here with the lights off and when he comes knocking I keep the door shut.

Petra shook her head and frowned.

—What I don’t understand, she said, is what on earth Jasper sees in you.

She spread her arms out.

—I mean look at this place. This horrendous little place. Is it the squalor he gets off on? Because I could do squalor. Or is it the drudgery? Would he become besotted with me if I gave up one of the best jobs in British media and started doing. I don’t know. Whatever the hell it is you do?

—Tea. I make the tea and I do a bit of filing.

—Super, said Petra. How thrilling for both of you. The conversations you must have.

—Give it a rest will you?

—Or is it simply you? said Petra. Is it your nice little tits and your sad little eyes and your darling Lady Di hair? Because I can do the tits and I can do the eyes and I can do the hair. I can do it all. You think I’m joking? You want to see me do the hair?

Petra ran out of the lounge and into the kitchen. I heard her smashing about in the drawers and when she came back in she was carrying the kitchen scissors. She held them up to her lovely long shiny hair.

—No. Petra. Please. That’s enough now.

Petra started cutting away at her hair thwack thwack thwack. There was gold hair falling all over the carpet and Petra was shouting THERE! THERE! THAT’S HOW HE LIKES IT IS IT? THERE! I couldn’t stop her she was in a rage and I wasn’t going to go near her while she had those scissors. So I just did like they do in the nature films when they get some wild animal going off like that. They just hop up on the roof of the Land Rover and stay up there till it’s safe again. I just went round the back of the sofa and let Petra get on with it and when she was finished she let the scissors fall down on the carpet and she stood there trembling and looking like the things you want to forget about the 1980s. Actually I suppose what I mean Osama is the things we want to forget like Duran Duran and the Thompson Twins not the things you want to forget like the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. Anyway my point is I was safe round the back of the sofa.

Petra started grabbing things and throwing them at me. She picked up my husband’s football trophy from the time his lot beat the Flying Squad and she slung it and I ducked and it smashed against the wall behind me. The next thing she grabbed was an ashtray and she threw that too and it caught me on the arm and rolled off into the kitchen. I was getting scared on account of I was still weak from the hospital and it didn’t look like Petra was going to stop till she’d done for me. She was just grabbing up any old thing she could find and slinging it at me and shouting HARLOT FLOOZY JEZEBEL BITCH and then suddenly she stopped very still on account of she’d picked up Mr. Rabbit.

She stopped with her arm raised up ready to throw him and then she saw what she had in her hand and she just froze. There was something about Mr. Rabbit you see Osama. You wouldn’t of had the heart to chuck him. Anyone could tell he’d suffered enough. Like I say he was stained black with my boy’s blood and one of his paws was blown off and you could see the scars on him where his skin had burned through and his stuffing had roasted brown and hard as crackling. When Petra saw what she had in her hand she let out this little scream. Just a tiny surprised scream like the blip the scanner makes at the supermarket when it sees the bar code on your beans. Petra let her arm drop very slow and careful. She sank down on her knees and she laid Mr. Rabbit down on the floor in front of her very gentle in the middle of all her cut-off hair and then she just knelt there looking at him like she was in a daze.

I came round from the back of the sofa and I knelt down next to her and I put my arm round her shoulders. Petra was burning hot I could feel it through her jumper it must of been the vodka.

—This is all real isn’t it? said Petra. This is all really happening.

—Yeah.

—We can’t go back, she said. We can’t go back.

—Nah.

Petra raised her head up and looked around the lounge.

—Shit, she said. I’m sorry about the mess.

—You’re alright.

She looked at me.

—Your poor face, she said.

—Yeah well I’m going to wash it.

I went into the bathroom and filled the basin. It took a long time to get the blood off. After a bit Petra came and stood behind me and she stared at her new haircut in the mirror. She couldn’t work it out.

—It’s appalling, she said. No. No. It’s sexy and audacious. Um. No. Tell me honestly. It’s horrid isn’t it?

—It just needs neatening up. Do you want me to do it? I used to do both my chaps’ hair there’s not much to it.

—Do you really think you can fix it? she said.

—Do you really think I can make it worse?

Petra sniffed and went off to fetch the scissors and I sat her down on the edge of the bath and neatened her up a bit. I stuck my tongue out I always do that when I concentrate. It was nice cutting her hair it felt nice to have something to do. When it was done I stepped back and had a good look.

—There. That’ll get you as far as the hairdresser’s anyway.

—Thank you, said Petra.

She stood up to look in the mirror but she stood up too quickly and I had to grab her to stop her falling. She leaned on the basin.

—Oh dear, she said. I think I’d better lie down.

I held on to her arm and took her into the bedroom. She wasn’t too steady and the vodka on her breath was dragging my hangover back up from my stomach. The wardrobe was open in the bedroom and Petra’s mouth went wide when she saw inside. She lurched over and held herself up on the wardrobe door.

—Oh good god, she said. Why do you torture yourself like this? You ought to take all of this to a charity shop.

—Oh no. I couldn’t give my husband’s clothes away. They’re all I’ve got left of him.

—I didn’t mean his clothes, said Petra. I meant yours.

She started grabbing stuff out of the wardrobe and chucking it on the floor.

—Oh for goodness sake, she said. You’re a grown-up woman. Puma no. Kappa absolutely no. Nike. Gap. Reebok. NEXT. No. No. No. NO. Adidas a tentative yes but only for actually running in. Do you actually run in these?

—Nah. I don’t have the energy for running. I couldn’t run a bath.

—Right then, said Petra. Adidas no.

She threw my Adidas trackies on the floor with the rest of my stuff. Then she had a look at what was left on my side of the wardrobe. She held up my brown H&M skirt and wrinkled her nose.

—Alright, she said. I’ll let you keep this for schooldays so long as you never tell a living soul I said you could.

I smiled.

—Look at you, she said. You’d scrub up just fine if you took a little more care over what you wore.

—Yeah well when you have kids you give up on wearing anything smart don’t you? I mean not if you don’t want choc-chip sprayed all up it.

Petra took my wrist and put her other hand on my cheek and swayed so her face came very close to mine.

—Yes, she said. But you don’t have kids do you?

—That’s enough. Let’s get you lying down.

I shoved her towards the bed and she fell down face first on it with those stiletto boots sticking out over the end. She closed her eyes and groaned and her voice came out very slow.

—I’m not tired, she said. I just need a moment.

—That’s alright you just have a little rest you’ll be right as rain.

—What happened with Jasper last night? she said.

—Why don’t you ask him?

—Why don’t you tell me?

I just shrugged I was looking out the window. I was watching these nice white clouds blowing high above the balloons in the bright blue sky. There was a whole pack of them headed east out towards Stratford way and it looked like they were going to drift on and on all day. Not a care in the world those old clouds. I thought of them drifting till the city disappeared and then just floating on over the mooing cows and the buttercups. And when they saw the estuary mud underneath all speckled with gulls I supposed they’d just carry on drifting out over the flat grey sea.

When I turned back from the window Petra was asleep. She had her hands under her face palms down. I took off her boots for her and she mumbled something in her sleep it sounded like I thought I told you no anchovies in the salad. I rubbed my eyes. My hangover was pulling me down like the concrete lump they tie on when they want your body to sink. I lay on the bed next to Petra and watched her sleeping for a bit with her face all scrunched up on her hands. Then I fell asleep too and in my dream I was drifting over the estuary and out to sea. When I woke up the clouds were thicker out the window and Petra was still asleep and her hand was holding on to my wrist very gentle. I stayed still so as not to wake her and I must of drifted off because when I opened my eyes again the sky was overcast and the bed was empty beside me.

It rained for 6 whole days. London was a city on a lukewarm rinse cycle there was water everywhere. The Central Line flooded and Bethnal Green Road ran brown as the Thames and the pigeons sat down in doorways all sulky and wet and they didn’t even bother flying off any more when you went near them. It was summer Osama what can I say?

I went to work in the rain and I came home in the rain. I did it again and again all week. Every day was the same except Wednesday there was thunder and Thursday it just rained harder instead. The wallpaper peeled in the flat and I couldn’t be bothered to go down the shops so I just ate what was in the freezer and when the freezer was empty I started on the Cup-a-Soup.

On the Friday I went down the pub again with Terence Butcher but it wasn’t the same. The crowd in the Approach was moody as the pigeons. I had so much Cup-a-Soup in my system the G&T tasted like minestrone. Terence was just banging on and on about caravans so I told him can’t you give it a bloody rest? We had words and I smashed my glass on the table and walked home through the rain with my clothes wet through and sticking to me. Back home I lay in the lounge in my bra and pants with the telly off just listening to the rain.

I was still on the couch when I woke up. There was this shocking bright light shining through the window I couldn’t remember anything like it. After a bit I worked out it was the sun. I stood up and opened the window and looked at Barnet Grove drying out with the steam coming off it and all the motors sparkling like new.

I had a shower and got dressed and the doorbell went. It was Petra and this time she was smiling.

—Isn’t it a gorgeous day? she said.

I shrugged.

—Are you going to ask me in? said Petra.

—Depends. Are you going to start throwing things?

Her face fell.

—I was completely out of line last week, she said. Jasper told me what he did to you in the pub.

—Yeah?

I turned and went into the kitchen. Petra shut the front door behind her and followed me.

—Another woman might have called the police, she said.

I was looking out the window with my back to her. I shrugged.

—Jasper doesn’t need the police does he? He needs to pull himself together.

—You could have made life quite difficult for us, said Petra. I owe you one.

I turned towards her.

—You don’t owe me anything and I don’t owe you. Forget it. Are you finished?

Petra stood there fiddling with her hands.

—Don’t be like that, she said. I came to make a peace offering.

—Listen Petra I don’t need a peace offering I just need peace and quiet.

I started the water running in the sink. Petra sat down on the corner of the kitchen table and watched me.

—You’re quite something aren’t you? she said. You just get on with things.

—Yeah well what would you do?

Petra thought about it for a bit.

—Me? she said. If I were feeling blue? Shopping.

—Yeah well there’s nothing I need is there.

—You could do with something nice to wear, said Petra. Go on. Let me take you shopping today.

The sink was full. I turned the taps off and started scrubbing dried minestrone off the insides of the mugs.

—I’m fine with the clothes I’ve got.

—No you’re not, said Petra. Trust me. You’re a pretty girl but the way you dress all you’re missing is the hairnet and you could be working in an abattoir. Your life isn’t going anywhere. You need a bit of luck but nothing good is going to happen to you till you can walk out of that front door dressed for it to happen.

—You reckon.

—Darling, said Petra. I don’t reckon. I know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from ten years in fashion it’s that good luck adores good shoes. So come on. We’re going to the shops.

I sighed.

—What if I’ve got something planned today?

—Well do you?

Well I thought about that one Osama and the truth was I didn’t have anything planned for the whole of the rest of my life that was the whole problem. I shook my head.

—Nah.

—Super, said Petra.

She flipped open her mobile and ordered a black cab before I could say it was stupid to waste my bus pass. The cab arrived quicker than I could change my mind so I just put on my Pumas and left the washing-up in the sink. Outside on the street the tarmac was still steaming and my hair was drying in the sun.

—Listen Petra does my hair smell of smoke to you?

I moved closer to her and she took my hair and pulled it into her face. She breathed in slowly and breathed out. I felt her breath cool on my cheek.

—No, she said. Your hair smells delicious.

She brushed her fingers down the side of my face and I shivered. Then she let her hand drop. I watched it fall onto the pavement. Her arm was severed below the elbow and the naked bone peeped out of the ripped flesh. Her pretty pale fingers twitched. I had to close my eyes and open them again before things came back right.

We got in the cab and I saw the cabbie looking at us in the mirror. He did a double take and I don’t blame him. We must of looked like one of those science experiments. You know. Where one twin gets the money and the other twin just gets in a state. I didn’t really know what I was doing out with Petra. All I knew is it was better than staying in the flat all day.

—Where to? said the cabbie.

—Harvey Nichols, said Petra.

—You’re having a laugh aren’t you? I haven’t got the money to shop at Harvey Nichols I’m an Asda girl.

—It’s not a problem, said Petra. I have money. It’ll be my treat.

—No Petra you can’t buy my clothes for me.

—Then we’ll just have to add it to my list of can’ts, said Petra. Can’t throw tantrums. Can’t let one’s boyfriend sexually assault the competition. Can’t slap said competition and vandalise her flat. Next to all that I would have thought treating you to a frock or two should count as a minor misdemeanour wouldn’t you say?

—I wouldn’t know I mean you lost me there.

—Then think of it this way, she said. I am Petra Sutherland. I can do whatever the hell I please.

Petra giggled. The cabbie sighed.

—Listen ladies, he said. If you’ve quite finished. Is it Harvey Nichols or isn’t it?

—It is, said Petra. It always is.

It was a long ride to Knightsbridge and so it should be. I mean it’s a different world isn’t it? It doesn’t seem right that you can get from Bethnal Green to Knightsbridge in a cab you should have to go via space or something. Petra kept moaning at the cabbie for taking so long but it wasn’t his fault. All the roads we needed were closed off. It looked like the authorities were determined not to let your men get anywhere near the fashion shops Osama. So I suppose you’ll have to stick with the cammo look for now. Even if it is a bit late 90s. As for me and Petra we had to take a big diversion.

—Good god driver, said Petra. Why don’t you see if you can go a bit farther north? I think I saw icebergs over there but I’d like to make sure.

—Alright sweetheart, said the cabbie. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.

When the cab dropped us outside Harvey Nichols Petra paid what it said on the meter. I’d never seen a meter go past 50 before. It made me feel a bit poorly. Petra didn’t seem bothered. While she paid I stood on the pavement trying not to get in anyone’s way. The streets were almost dry now it was a lovely sunny morning. Sloanes were bursting out all over Knightsbridge like desert flowers after the rain. I stuck out like a sore thumb Osama. I was thinking you would of done too. Even if you weren’t wearing the beard and the AK47 I mean you’d still of been the only chap not wearing brogues and a Herms jumper.

And then I started thinking maybe that was your secret after all. Maybe everyone was looking for you in the wrong place. Maybe you were sitting on Knightsbridge right now drinking a Frappuccino outside Starbucks in a check Barbour shirt and light-tan chinos smoking a Marlboro Light. Maybe the girl at the table next to yours was saying Good lord I suppose you get this all the time but you look just like Osama bin Laden without the beard. And maybe you were laughing and saying yes it can be a frightful bore listen do you know where a bloke can get hold of a decent-sized lump of Semtex round here?

Petra was saying something. She looked cross with me. I’d been off in my own world I suppose.

—Come on, said Petra. We haven’t got all day. These clothes aren’t going to cleverly select themselves.

I followed her into Harvey Nichols. An old man in a grey tailcoat and top hat held the door for us.

—Thank you Tom darling, said Petra.

—Always a pleasure madam, said Tom.

He looked at my clothes and frowned. We went inside and the traffic noise closed behind us. It didn’t smell posh in Harvey Nichols it smelled of all the different perfumes in the world very strong and mixed up together. It felt like having your throat scraped. I took my boy into John Lewis once and it smelled just like that in the perfume section. Yuk Mummy he said. It smells nice and nasty all at once. It smells of angels’ feet.

I kept my head down and followed Petra. We walked right through the first floor without stopping. It was all just perfume and BE PREPARED sort of stuff anyway. Louis Vuitton crisis bags and gas masks by Kenzo with matching headscarves. On the up escalator Petra turned and looked down at me.

—Right then, said Petra. Here we are in Harvey Nick’s. I’d better talk you through it. Floors 1 and 2 are ours. Forget the third floor it’s ghastly. The first floor is the designer stuff. Alexander McQueen Bottega Veneta Dries Van Noten. Nobody actually wears that stuff but it is essential that it exist because it adds a sense of mystery to existence. It’s a bit like Mummy’s makeup. It’s just for looking at it’s not for touching. The clothes one actually wears are on the second floor. And here we are now.

We stepped off the escalator.

—Let’s have some fun, said Petra. Choose anything you want.

I followed Petra around the floor. She looked so happy stroking her hand across this and that. Stopping to go ooh at some of the clothes like she was a gardener and she was so pleased with how her flowers had come up. I was a bit lost. The problem with Harvey Nichols was that you couldn’t work out what any of their clothes were for. Nothing was the shape of actual clothes. There was nothing you could look at and say Ooh look that’s a nice pair of trousers. Don’t get me wrong it was lovely stuff but it was all lovely silky fluttery stuff with lace tabs and things you had to know how to fasten around you before the stuff became clothes. The labels weren’t any help either. The brands were called things like PHILOSOPHY and THEORY and IMITATION OF CHRIST. They didn’t sound like clothes they sounded like the things I failed my GCSEs because of. Petra grinned at me.

—Do cheer up, she said. Why wear a long face when you could be wearing Helmut Lang?

I kept moving. I was terrified in case Petra made me try something on and I didn’t know how to. Give me a Kappa T-shirt any day Osama at least you don’t need a degree to know which hole your head goes through.

I gave up looking at the clothes. It was more interesting looking at the other shoppers. They were the kind of women that wouldn’t be seen dead without their Prada handbag and Chanel sunglasses. You’re a bit of a Knightsbridge girl yourself at heart Osama. We never see you without your AK47 and matching bullet belt I suppose Allah is big on accessories.

All those classy Knightsbridge women were making me nervous. The only accessory I had was Mr. Rabbit in my pocket. He came with me everywhere. I put my hand on Petra’s arm and she stopped and turned.

—Listen Petra. I don’t know what I’m looking for here. The last place I went clothes shopping was H&M. You’re going to have to help me out.

Petra laughed.

—Oh no, she said. Aren’t you something? Alright. I’m looking at you and I’m thinking white slacks from Helmut Lang and a pretty tunic top. Maybe Celine. And some nice strappy heels oh and a decent bag. Here. Follow me.

Petra was away. She was dashing between the racks grabbing clothes off the rails and throwing them over her arms. She knew just what she was doing she never stopped till her arms were full. She was all out of breath.

—Right, she said. Let’s see what these look like on.

We went to the changing rooms. The attendant just smiled and found us a cubicle. Apparently she wasn’t worried I was going to sneak out wearing Herms slacks under my trackie bottoms. I suppose they don’t get much of my sort at Harvey Nick’s. It was a big changing cubicle and me and Petra went in together. There was plenty of room. Petra locked the door behind us.

—Right, she said. We’ll start with the trousers.

I just looked at her.

—What is it? she said.

—You want me to take my trousers off? Here? With you watching?

Petra rolled her eyes.

—Oh good god, she said.

She pushed me down so I was sitting on the bench and she knelt to pull my Pumas off. Then she pulled my trousers down like a busy mum getting her kid ready for swimming lessons. When she saw my old grey knickers she stopped. She dropped her chin onto her neck and sighed out of her nose.

—Oh dear, she said. I’ll be right back.

When she was gone I stood up in the changing cubicle and watched myself in the mirror. It felt strange on account of I wasn’t used to staring at myself. I never had the time I suppose. And now here I was seeing myself right after watching all those classy ladies and it was a bit of a shock. I looked like something you find at the back of the cupboard. I was ashamed. It’s funny what a bomb can do Osama I never used to care how I looked but now I blushed. I stared down at the carpet tiles.

In a little while Petra came back into the cubicle with a bunch of fancy undies and she locked the door behind her again.

—Right, she said. Choose what you like and put it on. Bra and panties. You’ll notice that everything is white and simple. Lesson one. The artist begins with a blank canvas.

We looked at each other.

—Alright. But don’t watch.

—Cross my heart and hope to die, said Petra.

She turned round and put her hands over her eyes. I took my knickers off and I felt the cool air against me. My tummy jumped. It felt like I was falling. I took off my Nike top and my bra and I let them drop on the carpet tiles. I got goose bumps. It was very quiet in the cubicle. You could hear Petra breathing and you could hear the little bright spotlights buzzing. I stood there for a moment. I was thinking nothing much. Then I put on a pair of the white knickers and one of the bras. I don’t know if they matched I didn’t care. I swallowed. My heart was going.

—Alright you can turn round now.

Petra turned round and her eyes went up and down me.

—Mmm, she said.

I blushed. I folded my arms over my tummy and I pressed my knees together.

—Relax, said Petra. Deep breaths. You’re doing fine.

I liked the first pair of trousers Petra handed me. They were bright white and silky. They felt lovely against my skin it was like swimming in cold milk. Petra grinned when she saw them on me.

—Good god, she said. I knew you were a diamond in the rough. We’ll be fighting the boys off with a stick.

The next thing we tried on was the strappy heels. The pair we chose was Fendi. They made me a foot taller I swear. The top half wasn’t so easy. We tried 4 tunic tops before we found one Petra liked. It was Herms and I could of kept my boy in food and clothes for 2 years for what it cost I’m not joking. I showed Petra the price tag.

—Look they’ve made a mistake.

—No, said Petra. They’ve made about 100 million pounds this year. And you know why? Because clothes are like magic. It’s a small price to pay.

—Yeah right.

I was laughing at Petra but then I turned to look at myself in the mirror and I gasped. It was crazy. I could of been on the cover of a magazine. I was tall and beautiful and all I could think was HA! I’d like to see you banging on about caravans when you get an eyeful of THIS Terence Butcher. I looked at myself I just stared and stared I was so happy I started to cry. I watched the tears run down my face I was thinking Oh dear god it really could happen couldn’t it my luck really could change.

—I look alright don’t I?

Petra came up close behind me and she put her chin on my shoulder and her hands on my waist. She was grinning at me in the mirror.

—Here’s to turning a new page, she said.

We both just stood there for ages watching the new me. I smiled back at Petra in the mirror. She was so like me especially now we were both dressed classy. It was like we were sisters but you couldn’t really tell till we were dressed the same. Petra had thick pink gloss on her lips. It was nice and shiny like the back of a beetle.

The flames started in the ends of Petra’s hair and they moved along it like a fuse. They spread to her face quite quickly. Her hair burned yellowy blue like a gas fire. The lacquer on her lips started to go brown and blister. Her lips started moving but it wasn’t Petra’s voice that came out it was my boy’s. Mummy her lips said help Mummy my hair’s on fire it hurts it hurts.

I turned round and I pushed Petra to the floor of the cubicle. I rolled her across the blue carpet tiles trying to put the fire out. She was screaming and kicking and swearing blue murder at me. The flames were spreading up my arms too. My whole front was on fire I could feel the wire of the new bra red hot and sizzling into the soft skin under my tits. It hurt so bad I don’t have the words. The skin was peeling off my hands but I kept trying to put the flames out. I grabbed all the clothes we’d been trying on and I pushed them down all over Petra’s body. I was trying to smother the flames but all the clothes caught fire instead. It all went up in flames the Katherine Hamnett and Armani and Diane von Furstenberg it all looked the same when it was burning.

I started to scream there was nothing else I could do my hands were burned down to stumps. I closed my eyes. I could still hear my boy’s voice screaming out of Petra’s mouth MUMMY MUMMY WHY DON’T YOU HELP ME? I put my arms over my ears and screamed into the smoke and the dark.

The first thing I heard was Petra’s voice. It’s okay she was saying. It’s okay it’s over it’s okay. I opened my eyes. I was sitting on the floor of the cubicle and there were clothes lying all around me. Nothing was on fire. Nothing hurt. A first aider was in the cubicle with us and she was dabbing at a scratch on my face with witch hazel. It stung but I always did love the smell of witch hazel. Petra was holding my head and stroking the hair back off my face. Deep breaths she was saying. Deep breaths. Could someone please fetch us a glass of water?

I looked up. There were security guards outside the cubicle watching us. One of them nipped off and came back with a plastic cup of water. It was half full and warm. The water tasted of blood I suppose I must of bit my tongue.

—Is your friend going to be alright? said the first aider.

Petra looked at me. Her hair was all messed up and her eye makeup was running it was obvious she’d been crying. She smiled at me.

—Of course she’s going to be alright, said Petra. Can you get up?

—I think so.

I stood up with the first aider helping me. My head felt light. Like it might just up sticks any moment and float off into the Shield of Hope. After a while the first aider and the security guards left us alone. I watched myself in the mirror. I was very pale in my bright new clothes. I looked at Petra.

—I’m so sorry.

She hugged me for a long time. I was shaking. We stood there in the cubicle and it was very quiet again with just our breathing and the sound of the spotlights buzzing.

We left my old clothes behind in the cubicle. The only thing I took out of there was Mr. Rabbit. Petra paid for the clothes I was wearing. It came to more than our old Astra.

When we got outside it was lunchtime. The weather was lovely. Hyde Park was right in front of us on the other side of Knightsbridge.

—Let’s keep you out in the fresh air for a while, said Petra. We’ll go on the Serpentine. We’ll bob around on a boat.

—I don’t like boats they make me nervous.

—No they don’t, said Petra. And if we get bored we’ll step ashore and seduce the park wardens.

I was in a bit of a daze still. Petra had to get hold of my wrist and lead me. We went into a take-away place I don’t remember which. Petra bought sushi and 2 bottles of cold white wine and we walked into the park as far as the Serpentine.

There was a long queue to hire a rowing boat so Petra stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled. She hailed this young couple who were already in one of the boats like they were a cab. She gave them 50 quid to turn the thing over to us she was that kind of girl. I was very wobbly getting into the rowing boat I don’t think they were meant for heels. We had a go with the paddles but we couldn’t work out how to make the boat go straight so we just let it drift.

We lay back in the bottom of the boat. It was less wobbly that way. You’d of thought it’d be nice out there on the water but it wasn’t particularly. The sky was blue but you couldn’t see much of it what with all the balloons in the Shield of Hope. They hadn’t chosen very nice people for the balloons round Hyde Park anyway. The faces were mostly fat blokes who looked like they could tuck the pints away. They were the sort of blokes who’d call each other by nicknames like oi Baz and oi Todger and you could imagine them pinching your bum at a New Year’s Eve party. Saying How about it darling? It was funny seeing those dead fat blokes 500 feet up in the air saving us from kamikazes. It might of been the first decent thing they’d done in their lives most of them.

There were helicopters buzzing around between the balloons. One of them was doing a circuit and it kept coming down low over the park. You could see the pilots in their big helmets just like my boy’s lego men. I waved at them but they didn’t wave back. I suppose it isn’t easy when your arms don’t bend at the elbow. As if the chopper wasn’t enough there was a police boat on the water. It was only a small rubber boat with 2 coppers in short-sleeve shirts. I don’t know what they were in aid of. I suppose if you had been planning a raid on the ice cream van on the north shore of the Serpentine Osama then you’d of had to call it off. When the police boat went past it made our little boat rock.

It wasn’t very relaxing out there but everyone was making the best of it. That’s the British way after all. The Serpentine is half full and all that. We started drinking the wine out of plastic cups. It was hot in the sun and the wine was cold and it went straight to my head. Petra sighed. She was trailing her hand in the water making little ripples.

—How do you feel now? she said.

—Better. I still don’t feel right though. I’m trying not to panic.

—I know what you mean, said Petra. Listen. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. However long it takes for you to get better in your mind.

—Thanks.

—You’re welcome, said Petra. Anyway I’d much rather spend a nice sunny day with you than with bloody Jasper. Frankly he’s turning into a bit of a bore. He used to be such an extraordinary boy. There was nothing he wasn’t interested in. He could talk for hours about pop music or plutonium or chicken pox it didn’t matter. It was always fascinating because he was always fascinated. All that’s finished now. Ever since May Day he’s been depressed. He’s been seeing quite a bit of Charlie at weekends and it puts him in a mood all week.

—Charlie?

—Coke, said Petra. Cocaine. The pale mistress. How is a girl to compete?

—I wouldn’t know. The worst my husband ever took was 2 Alka-Seltzer in a small glass of water.

Petra laughed and poured us more wine into the plastic cups.

—Coke’s not the big deal, she said. Not in itself. I know lots of perfectly glamorous people who seem able to dispatch tons of the stuff without feeling compelled to follow girls into the lavatory.

Petra let her head fall back against the wooden side of the boat. Thump. The helicopter went over again very low. The wind it made sent dark little waves rushing outwards from the middle of the Serpentine and it ruffled our Lady Di hairdos.

—You shouldn’t of done that to your hair. It was nicer before.

Petra’s head was still resting against the side of the boat. She closed her eyes.

—True, she said. Still. Jasper likes it.

—Does he?

Petra opened an eye and squinted at me.

—Yes, she said. We have better sex when I look like you.

—Oh.

—Yes, said Petra. It’s so ironic. You’d think I could come up with some other look to turn him on. Considering my job is to inform millions of people how to render themselves more attractive to the gender of their choice. Considering I’m Lifestyle Editor of the Sunday Telegraph and you’re. Well.

—Drunk.

—Yes, said Petra. Oh me too. What is it with booze and boats?

She laughed and poured out the last of the bottle. Then she swallowed. She twisted the hem of her skirt between her fingers.

—I think I might even be drunk enough to say what I’ve been thinking now, she said.

—What?

Petra sat up straight. She held on to my wrist with both hands and the boat wobbled. She moved her face close to mine. Her eyes were shining.

—Move in with us, she said.

—You what?

—Move in with us. Take a holiday from that depressing flat and your awful memories. Come and spend some time to recover.

—Recover? With you?

—Yes, said Petra. It’ll do us all some good. Jasper especially. It’ll take his mind off the coke.

—Nah. You’re having a laugh aren’t you? This time last week you were throwing things.

Petra blushed and looked away over the side of the boat.

—That was before I saw you in Herms, she said.

—You’re not in your right mind.

—No, said Petra. But the entire planet isn’t in its right mind since May Day so for pity’s sake let’s just roll with it. What the hell is the use in the whole world going crazy if we can’t do the same?

I was looking out over the water. People were doing nice normal things in their boats. Teenagers were snogging in their life jackets. Dads were teaching their boys to row. Everyone was laughing and putting on a brave face and sun cream. I wasn’t like them any more. I didn’t have a boy to teach how to row. Apparently I had a chap to distract from cocaine there’s a difference. I started to cry very quietly. The tears slid off my cheeks into the Serpentine.

—I couldn’t Petra. When I see Jasper I see the explosion. Again and again and again.

—Yes, said Petra. But tell me. Honestly. What do you see when you’re sitting home alone?

I looked up at Petra I felt sickness rising in my stomach. I wished it was over I wished I could be far away in a caravan at sunrise I wished I’d never argued with Terence Butcher.

—This isn’t fair.

Petra brushed the tips of her fingers through the tears on my cheeks and put her fingers to her mouth.

—So be brave, she said.

Our boat drifted into the shadow of a barrage balloon. It was cold out of the sun. I shivered. We never did eat that sushi. I mean why would you? All seaweed and raw tuna sushi is. More like a fishing boat accident than lunch. Petra fed hers to the pigeons. I dropped mine over the side. I cried and watched the big white rolls of rice fall out of sight in the muddy brown water. I was thinking bombs away.

Before you bombed my boy Osama I always thought an explosion was such a quick thing but now I know better. The flash is over very fast but the fire catches hold inside you and the noise never stops. You can press your hands on your ears but you can never block it out. The fire keeps on roaring with incredible noise and fury. And the strangest thing is people can be sitting right next to you on the Central Line and not hear a sound. I live in an inferno where you could shiver with cold Osama. This life is a deafening roar but listen. You could hear a pin drop.