Chris Cleave - Incendiary

—No, he said.

—So maybe you’re going about it wrong. I don’t see how you can stop the bombers if you don’t understand them.

Terence Butcher came round to my side of the desk. He stood behind the chair and put his hand on my shoulder.

—Look, he said. The Arabs are different from us. Don’t fool yourself you can understand them. In the Iran-Iraq war they sent children to walk across the minefields. To clear a path so the grown-ups could go and gas each other. They gave each kid a little metal key to paradise. The kids hung those keys around their necks. The grown-up Arabs told the little Arab children that there weren’t enough landmines to send all the kids to paradise. So the little children actually ran. Can you picture what an antipersonnel mine does to a human child? If you saw it I dare say you wouldn’t think it was getting anyone closer to god. But that’s what’s in Johnny Arab’s mind. He can’t get to heaven without sending you to hell.

—That’s not right.

—Isn’t it? he said. Can you think of another name for what you’re living through?

I looked up at him. He was all blurry with tears on account of I was thinking about my boy with his ginger hair flying in the wind running ahead to be the first boy in paradise. He’d of been the first to go. He was a bright boy but kids will believe anything you tell them Osama I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that.

—You need to get this straight in your mind, Terence Butcher said. It’s us against them. War against terror. Fighting fire with fire.

—But you can’t.

—Yes we can, said Terence Butcher. It’s an ugly war and there’s no honour in it. But we will win because we have to. It’s a war we win by ditching our principles. By interning people who are high risk. By listening to private phone calls. And it’s a boring war too. A workaday war. We win by persuading the Brits to have balls. To stand up on the Circle Line and ask Does this bag belong to anyone? We win by following up on every single lead. However insignificant. We win by phoning our wife and saying Sorry darling. I’m not going to make it back till very late again. Give the kids a kiss for me.

He was looking at the photo of his wife and kids. His hand was still on my shoulder. I held on to his desk.

—Alright then. I want to fight.

—What? he said.

—You heard. If it’s a war then I want to fight. Give me a job and I’ll do it I don’t care how dangerous it is I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me a job where I can do something to help.

—No, he said. Let’s not go there. Trust me you don’t want to get involved in this.

—But there’s nothing else I can do is there? My husband and my boy are gone. All I want is to stop another May Day from ever happening again. So no mother ever has to feel how I feel now.

—I admire what you’re saying, he said. You’re a good girl. But you don’t need a job right now. I’m sorry but what you need is counselling.

His hand was heavy on my shoulder. I looked at him and I felt myself go tight inside. It was pitiful all that emptiness whimpering for something to fill it. I made myself sit still but my body was only half tame I could feel it pulling against its rope. I know what you’re thinking Osama but don’t you dare judge me you goat-watching bastard. You wouldn’t know the first thing about it you’re not a woman.

—No. I’m fine. I don’t need counselling. I’m completely back to normal. I’ve seen counsellors I’ve seen grief therapists I’ve even seen Prince William he’s taller than he looks on telly. It’s all useless I just feel empty it doesn’t get better it only gets worse. Please. You couldn’t possibly know what it feels like. I’ll do anything. I could be a spy or I could just do the cleaning or whatever. I could make a better cup of tea than you get around here. I’ll do anything at all. Just please give me a job to do. If I have to go back and just sit in the flat alone I know I really will top myself.

Terence Butcher stared at me and I felt his hand slide on my shoulder. His fingers were beginning to sweat. I felt his breath on my cheek. Then one of the phones went. His hand was shaking when he picked it up.

—Yes? he said. Right. No you just stay there and get Anwar and Janet on a conference line. I’ll be right down.

He hung up.

—There’s something I have to do, he said. I’ll be ten minutes. Will you be okay to wait here till I get back?

—Alright.

—Don’t leave this room will you? he said. I’m not supposed to leave you here alone. But you’re on our side apparently. Aren’t you?

I smiled.

—Apparently.

When he left the room I turned round in his chair. It was one of those adjustable chairs with levers all over it. I swear that chair was more complicated than me. There isn’t all that much to me Osama and certainly nothing you could adjust. I’m sorry but I’m far too stubborn. I felt like doing something to cheer myself up so I pulled up my legs and spun round and round and round in Terence Butcher’s chair. I was singing La la la la Wonder Woman I always liked to do that ever since I was a girl.

I waited for a while. I don’t know how long because I lost my watch on May Day. I looked out over London and it was starting to rain and there were 2 grey pigeons on the window ledge doing the nasty. The one underneath was thin and sick-looking. Her wing was scrunched up against the glass and you could see the feathers all bent. The one on top was pecking at her neck and flapping his wings to stay there. His feet were just raw pink lumps all the toes had gone off them. He finished his business and slung his hook. She just sat there for a minute not even looking where he’d gone and then she flew off too in the direction of Westminster Abbey. I sat there for a minute getting nervous and then I started to tidy up. I couldn’t help myself.

Most of the cardboard boxes were full of files. I took them out one by one and stacked them on the shelves. There must of been 40 or 50 of them. They were big box files with their names written on their sides in magic marker. They had brilliant names all those files. They were code names. My boy would of loved them. They were called COUGAR and RED SKY and OPERATION THUNDER RESPONSE you know what coppers are like Osama. I took all those files out of their boxes on the floor and I put them on the shelves that ran along the sides of the office. I put them in alphabetical order it was a great comfort. I wish I could put the whole world in alphabetical order Osama there would be Deserts and Forests and Oceans between you and my boy.

When all the files were arranged I took the cardboard boxes they’d come out of and I broke them down flat and stood them against the wall. It felt so nice making everything neat and clean I wanted it to go on forever.

I’m that sort of person Osama you could give me any sort of mess and I’d straighten it out for you. I’d be happy to. Let’s say you’d had a party and your flat was a state. Well I could come round in the morning and put all your glam rock CDs back in their right boxes and take the ciggie butts out of your plant pots and clean up the sick that had missed the toilet bowl. I’d be fine with it. Or let’s say your kitchen was on the small side and you couldn’t find anywhere to put anything. Let’s say all your cupboards were stuffed so that saucepan lids fell out when you opened the doors and all your work surfaces were covered with bomb parts and tins of beard wax so there wasn’t anywhere to stack the dirty dishes. Well I could come round and sort it all out with you. I’d go through your drawers and hold things up one at a time and ask if you really needed them. And what I’d do is I’d put all the things you hardly ever used into a box and put the box under your bed and that would leave you with space in the cupboards to put away everything you actually used. See?