Incendiary (15 page)

—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.

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.