Incendiary (23 page)

—Nah. Cause if you had 2 hours warning you could of stopped
it.

—Yes, said Terence Butcher. But the decision was taken not to stop it.

I just stared at him.

—This is going to be so hard for you to hear, he said. If we’d acted to stop May Day then the terrorists would have known something was up. They’d have changed everything. All their people. All their places. Everything. We’d have lost all insight into what they were planning. And we couldn’t let that happen. The stakes are too high. We know the May Day cell are planning another attack. A hundred times worse than May Day.

—I can’t believe I’m hearing this Terence Butcher. You knew? You personally?

—Yes, he said.

—And you decided not to do anything?

—I didn’t decide, he said. The decision was taken at the very highest level.

—Bollocks to the very highest level. YOU knew.

—Yes, he said. Of course I could have broken ranks and stopped it. And the reason I didn’t was because I agreed with the decision. And I still do. We couldn’t have known the casualties would be so high.

I stared at the glowing orange end of his cigarette and watched my boy burning to death in it. He was screaming MUMMY SAVE ME only I couldn’t come and save him could I? Because I was stuck in a glass bubble with the man that killed him and I was still aching from where I’d had him inside me. I wonder Osama if you are starting to get how it feels yet?

I grabbed Terence Butcher’s hair and twisted his head round so he was looking in my eyes.

—You miserable fucking bastard.

AT THE VERY HIGHEST LEVEL. That was the moment Osama. When he said those words I stopped blaming you for my husband and my boy and I started blaming Terence Butcher. He murdered them. He just used your Semtex to do it with.

—I’m sorry, said Terence Butcher. I shouldn’t have told you. I thought you’d understand.

I started crying and Terence held my face and he wiped away my tears with those same fingers he used to stroke my back in cheap hotel rooms and hold mugs of tea and dial the number of the phone call that killed my boy. I took the ciggie back off him and I sat there with it. I was just crying a bit and trembling and thinking nothing much till the ciggie burned down into the skin between my fingers. Then the pain hit me and I screamed and screamed like my boy must of screamed when the flames cut into him and then I puked up all over London and the puke ran down the inside of the glass down over St. Paul’s Cathedral and down towards the Thames and when our bubble reached the ground again and the door slid open I ran out and I ran along the South Bank in the rain shouting THEY KNEW THEY KNEW THEY KNEW and people were gawping at me like I was a madwoman and I suppose they did have a point Osama because they were just standing under the London drizzle but I was running screaming through falling drops of phosphorus with my little boy running after me shouting MUMMY WAIT FOR ME!

*                  *                  *

I didn’t go back to Jasper and Petra’s place I went home to the Wellington Estate instead. I just turned up like a homing pigeon I didn’t really know how I got there. Up in the flat I sat very still in the lounge looking out the window. The sun went down and the sun went up the way it does. After a day or 2 the phone started ringing I suppose it must of been work wondering where I was. I just listened to the sound of the phone it never occurred to me to go and pick it up.

I’d still be sitting there now with my bones turned to dust on our old Ikea sofa but it was the hunger drove me out of the flat. There’s only so much nothing your body will put up with I suppose and so one day I just sort of woke up in the corner shop on Columbia Road eating pink iced buns straight off the shelves. The woman came out from behind the till and put her hands on her hips and stood there in her dark-grey hijab watching me stuffing my face.

—You are going to pay for all that aren’t you? she said.

I just looked at her with my mouth jammed full and icing dribbling down my chin I couldn’t work out what she was on about. She smiled and shook her head.

—Tea? she said.

—Tea.

I knew that word it was solid it was a great comfort like the noise the handbrake makes when you pull it on at the end of a long trip. The woman took me through a curtain made of plastic rainbow strips into the back room of the shop. It was nice in there it smelled of old bits and bobs and there was a little stereo playing Radio 1. I sat on a green sofa with the arms worn through and an orange cat came and gawped at me. The woman made me strong tea with sugar and we sat there till I felt better. It was a small room and there were all kinds of posters on the walls. There was Wayne Rooney and Mecca and Medina and Avril Lavigne. I swear to god Osama that woman’s head was all over the shop you could only of bombed parts of her.

—Why are you being so nice to me?

—Your husband bought the
Sun
and 20 Benson & Hedges here every day for 4 years, she said. I owe you a cup of tea.

She still made me pay for the iced buns though.

When I left the shop I went round Petra and Jasper’s place and no one said anything about where’d I been for the last 3 days. Maybe they were being polite or maybe they just never noticed and after a couple of drinks I wasn’t bothered anyway it was just nice not to be sitting on my sofa.

It was cannelloni for dinner that night but none of us touched a bite of it on account of I was full of pink iced buns Jasper was on coke and Petra was on the Atkins diet.

We sat round the table and drank ros wine and watched the cannelloni going cold. There was a power cut and the fridge wasn’t working so the ros was lukewarm. Petra lit some candles but she needn’t of bothered because some Bengali street gang was lighting motors in the street outside and this harsh orange light was coming in through the windows. No coppers or fire engines turned up. I suppose they must of had their hands full somewhere.

There was nothing else for it I drank 5 glasses of ros and told them what Terence told me.

—I don’t believe it, said Petra. It stretches credulity that they knew about May Day and did nothing to prevent it.

—Oh come on Petra, said Jasper. Don’t be naive. They had a source to protect so they let a few football fans die. I don’t see what’s so incredible.

—1 thousand dead souls Jasper, said Petra. That’s what’s not credible.

Jasper laughed.

—1 thousand souls is pocket change, he said.

—Oh please, said Petra.

—More died at Coventry, said Jasper. November 1940. The Germans blitzed it with incendiaries. Churchill knew in advance from Ultra decrypts. Decided not to act. We couldn’t let the Germans know we’d broken their code.

—Oh nonsense, said Petra. That’s been totally discredited. It’s a myth.

—But doesn’t it ring so true? said Jasper. Don’t you believe they’d do anything to protect their precious City boys?

—You’re high, said Petra.

—Sure, said Jasper. But I’m right.

Another motor went up
whump
in the street outside and Jasper and Petra just sat there glaring at each other in the vicious orange light coming off it.

—Listen, said Jasper. It’s the attack on the City they’re really trying to stop. A thousand City suits die and it’s good-bye global economy. A thousand blokes in Gunners T-shirts die and you just sell a bit less lager.

I was drunk now on the bloody ros and I should of stayed out of it but there you go.

—Jasper’s right. The government doesn’t give a monkey’s about people like my husband and my boy.

Petra shook her head.

—That’s just paranoid, she said.

—I am not paranoid I’m working-class there’s a difference.

—Oh please, said Petra. Don’t make this into a class war. It’s the war against terror.

—Yeah and it’s no different from any other war. You ever wondered why an East End girl like me hasn’t got much in the way of family? Well here’s the reasons Petra. World War 1. World War 2. Falklands War. Gulf War 1. Gulf War 2 and the War on Drugs. You can take your pick because I lost whole bloody chunks of my family in all of them. That’s war Petra. This one’s no different. The people who die are people like me. And the people who survive. Well I’m sorry Petra but the people who survive are people like you. And you’re so used to surviving you don’t even notice you’re bloody well doing it.

Petra stared at me.

—You know what? she said. Sod you.

—Petra, said Jasper. Please.

—No Jasper, she said. Sod you too. Sod you both. You’re as bad as each other. You simply refuse to move on don’t you? Hiding behind your cocaine and your conspiracy theories like sulky children. You know what I’ve been doing this week? Moving on. Everyone is. London is moving on. Paris is refusing to be intimidated. And New York was all about vibrant colours. Defiant colours. Thanks to New York there will still be a spring season next year and thanks to me you can still read all about it in next Sunday’s paper. Helmut Lang is moving on. John Galliano is moving on. The entire Western world is able to move on apparently with the sole exception of you. What the hell have you both been up to while I’ve been working my arse off in New York? Moping and fucking each other? I thought you’d be good for each other but look at you. You’re just dragging all 3 of us down.

She stood up from the table and went over to the window and stared out at the street. I went up to her and touched the back of her hand.

—I’m sorry Petra I shouldn’t of had a go at you.

She turned to me and she was going to say something but I moved my hand around hers so I was holding it. She closed her mouth again.

—I’m sorry Petra.

Petra looked down at my hand around hers and then slowly she moved her other hand up to touch the back of mine with the tips of her fingers. Her rings sparkled orange in the light of the flames coming in off the street. Her face changed then and she looked up from our hands into my eyes.

—Oh Jesus Christ, she said. What if you’re right?

Jasper laughed and leaned back in his chair.

—It wouldn’t bother Helmut Lang, he said. He’s moved on you see.

—Shut up Jasper, said Petra. What if she’s right about May Day?

Jasper shook his head.

—Don’t even go there, he said. I know what you’re thinking.

Petra came forward and leaned into the table and the light from the candles made black shadows where her eyes should of been.

—Listen Jasper, she said. You should do this story.

—Petra, said Jasper. You don’t believe this story. Remember?

—Well I’m beginning to change my mind, said Petra. If it’s true it’s the biggest scoop since the Kelly thing. Bring it in and you’ll be back in favour before you can blink.

—Darling, said Jasper. You’re a fashion journalist. Don’t tell me what’s news and what’s not. Stick to hemlines and fanny waxing.

—Fuck you, said Petra. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t do this story.

—I’ll give you 3, said Jasper. 1 the untold damage it would do to national security. 2 the fact that I’ve been fucking the principal source and 3 now let me see. Oooh yes. That pesky libel thingy that says you oughtn’t to print wild accusations in the absence of any proof. Yeah. Apart from all that this story would be a great career move for me.

—Fuck you, said Petra.

—Not tonight darling, said Jasper. I’m powdering my nose.

He took a paper wrap out of his trouser pocket and opened it up on the table.

—Look at you, said Petra. You’re a fucking disgrace. We work on a national newspaper Jasper. We’re 2 of the very few people in this country with the power to change things. If people like us won’t do the right thing with the truth what hope is there for civilisation?

Jasper laughed and shoved a rolled-up tenner into his nostril. He pointed at himself with both thumbs.

—Petra darling, he said. Do I look like the guardian of Western civilisation to you?

He grinned at Petra and a new orange flash from the window lit up his face. Outside on the street the kids had torched another motor. I’d been forgotten about. I might as well not of been there for all anyone cared. I just sat back down good as gold at the table thinking to myself Oh dear I wish my boy was here now I wish I could just hold him for one minute and smell that lovely smell of his hair and hear him say MUMMY WHY ARE YOU CRYING? and say back to him Mummy’s not crying darling Mummy’s fine she’s just got something in her eye. I looked at Petra being furious because Jasper wouldn’t do what she said and I looked at Jasper sticking powder up his nose while the cars burned in the street outside and I think that might of been the very first time Osama that I began to see your point.

*                  *                  *

The autumn dragged on Osama with filthy grey skies and rain every day. I moved back to the Wellington Estate for good once Jasper and Petra starting fighting about the newspaper story I couldn’t handle them banging away at each other it made me nervous. I went back to work on account of I needed the money but sometimes when Terence Butcher wasn’t looking I spat in his tea.

Out in the streets they started to take down some of the roadblocks and if you weren’t concentrating you might of thought things were slowly getting back to normal again. People didn’t talk much about May Day any more. It was like the rain was washing the memories down the drains along with the old ciggie butts and the run-over conkers.

—Oh come on, said Terence Butcher. Don’t look at me like that. It’s been weeks. Aren’t you ever going to forgive me?

—Depends. Are you ever going to bring my husband and my boy back?

I put his tea down on his desk and not too careful either. Some of it slopped out on his files I didn’t care. I was thinking Ha you should of thought of that Terence Butcher shouldn’t you when you left my chaps to burn.

—I did what I thought was best, said Terence. I thought you’d understand.

—Yeah well you thought wrong didn’t you. You should of told me straight away. I wouldn’t of come near you I’d never of let you touch me you should be ashamed.

—I’m not ashamed, he said. It was beautiful.