Chris Cleave - Incendiary

When I’d finished arranging all Terence Butcher’s files I started taking the rest of his stuff out of the boxes. Some of it could just go straight into the desk drawers. Things like pens and Post-it notes. Then there was a box of magazines. I thought maybe I shouldn’t look inside in case they were glamour mags but I couldn’t stop myself so I opened the box. Actually the mags were only Caravan Club Magazine . There must of been 6 dozen of them. It was quite sweet really. It was nice to think of Terence Butcher driving his family down into Essex in a big blue Vauxhall Cavalier. Getting farther and farther from his city full of bombs. The kids needing to stop for a wee and his wife wearing Dunlop Green Flash and him peering in those big mirrors you strap onto the side of the car so you can see round the back of the caravan.

I put Terence Butcher’s magazines up on the shelves and I emptied the last of the boxes as best I could. It was just coffee mugs and football shields and stuff. The sort of things you’d expect. When everything was tidied away and all the cardboard boxes were flat up against the wall I sat back down on Terence Butcher’s chair and took 2 of the Valiums washed down with the cold police tea.

When Terence Butcher came back in he looked at his office all unpacked and he just started laughing.

—Wow, he said. I don’t know what to say.

—Don’t mention it. I’m used to tidying up after boys.

He stopped smiling then.

—Listen, he said. If you’re serious about coming to work here I think I could find something useful for you. You’ve just shown me you can be handy around an office. How are you with paperwork?

—I don’t know. I can read and write if that’s what you mean. I’m not thick or anything just don’t ask me where the commas go.

Terence Butcher smiled again.

—No problem, he said. You might need to type up incident reports from time to time. They read like SUSPECT WAS APPREHENDED AT 0630 WIELDING A SHARPENED SPOON. That stuff needs commas like Covent Garden needs a gardener. Anyway we’re not writing literature here. We’re trying to stop people bombing people.

I saw how Terence Butcher would look with his forearms blown off and tumbling across the turf at Ashburton Grove.

—I like you, said Terence Butcher. I like your spirit. I want people on my team who have a reason to care about the work. I want people I can trust. There’s a lot of highly sensitive information floating around this place.

—You can trust me I’ll keep my mouth shut it’s not as if I’ve got anyone to tell anyway is it?

Terence Butcher looked out of the window for a while and then back at me.

—I could offer you a job on my administrative staff, he said. You wouldn’t be a police officer. You’d be assisting the officers. Taking on some of their administrative burden. Freeing them up to perform their duties. It’s an essential role and you’d know you were doing something for the effort.

—Right. When do I start?

—Whoa, he said. Steady. I can’t just appoint you like that. This is the Met. We’ve got procedure. First you have to get approved by Personnel. And before we let you anywhere near Personnel we need to get you a haircut and the kind of clothes that have their labels on the inside.

I looked down at my red Nike T-shirt and my white Adidas trackies and my white Pumas. He was right. I mean I didn’t look like someone you’d give an administrative burden to if you didn’t want it dropped.

—Alright. What do the girls dress like round here?

—Blouses, said Terence Butcher. Black skirts. Thick stockings. Sensible shoes. Short hair. Think Prisoner: Cell Block H . Come here tomorrow afternoon looking the part and I’ll get you in.

—Oh god. I’m going to look like a 3-wheel trike.

Terence Butcher grinned.

—It’s like I was saying, he said. This is a war we win by ditching our principles.

Terence Butcher lent me 200 quid so I got the Victoria Line to Oxford Street and bought my Cell Block H clothes in H&M. I kept them on to get the feel and went looking for a place to get my hair cut. All I could find was one of those trendy places in Soho. My boy wouldn’t of liked it. For him a good hairdresser’s was where they let you put on the nylon capes backwards and run around shouting DINNER DINNER DINNER DINNER BATMAN. This place wasn’t like that at all it was a fashion hairdresser’s which is much more serious. It was all skinny girls and smoked glass in there and they were playing a club remix of ENGLAND’S HEART IS BLEEDING.

One of the girls came up to me when I walked in with my crutch and she asked would I like a drink.

—You don’t mean a G&T do you?

—Sorry, said the girl. I can offer you tea or coffee.

—Tea please then. 3 sugars.

The girl looked hard at me. There was no fat on her at all I reckon 3 sugars would of finished her off. She told me to sit down in one of the basin seats. I drank the tea they brought me and they washed my hair it was lovely. When they asked me how I wanted my hair done I said like Lady Di.

Afterwards I took the Central Line home to Bethnal Green. I couldn’t face walking down Bethnal Green Road at first. I needed something to take the edge off it all so I stopped in at The Green Man which was a mistake on account of The Green Man is one of those pubs that never quite stops smelling of puke. It isn’t the nicest pub in the world in fact I needed a couple of drinks just to take the edge off The Green Man. In the end it was last orders before I got out of there.

It felt amazing having short hair. The wind was cold on my neck and my ears. Everything felt very fresh it was like I’d just been born.

I don’t know if you’ve ever walked with a crutch through the gangs of kids down Bethnal Green Road on your way from the tube station at 11:30 on a weeknight Osama. I should hope so. I mean we’re the kind of people you’re bombing so I would of hoped you’d of chosen us personally.

Anyway if you have ever walked through Bethnal Green at night you’ll know why it’s best to do it wearing a red Nike T-shirt with white Adidas trackies and white Pumas. You want to sort of blend in don’t you? But I was carrying all that clobber in my Asda carrier bag along with Mr. Rabbit and the bottle of Valium. What I was wearing was a white blouse and a dark-brown skirt from H&M and 40 denier hold-ups from Pretty Polly and Clarks black leather shoes. It wasn’t easy trying to look natural in that getup I don’t mind telling you. I had makeup on too. Dark-red lippie and black mascara. I felt like a tranny on her first trip outside as a woman. My new Diana hair had so much lacquer on it I swear a single spark would of left a crater where the East End used to be.

There were posters up everywhere telling you not to break curfew. They had a nice family on the posters. The kids were tucked up safe in bed and the parents were smiling and watching telly. SAFELY INSIDE AFTER MIDNIGHT the posters said. WE’RE DOING OUR BIT.

The Valium was mixing funny with the G&T. I kept seeing my boy in the lit windows above the shop fronts. I’d catch a glimpse of him and I’d think oh naughty monkey it’s well past your bedtime young man go back to sleep. Then I’d look again and the window would be empty so all you could see was the cold light from a bare bulb and the dirty flock wallpaper on the inside of the walls. If you could of looked in my eyes you’d of seen the same thing I shouldn’t wonder.

I turned right onto Barnet Grove. It felt weird being back on my street. It felt like coming back from a long holiday only I hadn’t been anywhere nice had I? When I reached our estate it was all quiet and dead. The light was on in our flat. I must of left it on when I rushed out. I tried not to think of the electric bill. I was feeling very tired and alone. I should of liked to pop in and say hello to Jasper Black before I went back to my flat. I wanted to tell him I was out of hospital and maybe he’d of let me stay with him for an hour or 2 if Petra wasn’t around. Not to do anything I mean. We could of just watched the telly for a bit. I looked across the street at his house but there weren’t any lights on so I turned round and went into our estate.