Chris Cleave - Incendiary

—Girlfriend is such a neat little word, she said.

—Yeah well what are you then?

—I am someone who is having a surreal day, she said. This afternoon I had a light lunch with Salman Rushdie. We drank Cte de Lchet. We discussed V. S. Naipaul and long hair on men.

A police helicopter flew low above the street. It was looking along the footpaths of the estate with a spotlight. The beam flashed across the window for a second. The light on Petra’s face went cold and bright as white cotton pants in the Persil ads. Suddenly I felt angry.

—You people can’t ever just say you’re sorry can you?

Her nostrils flared and that voice of hers changed. It still sounded of money but now it was dirty money. Money people carry in Reebok holdalls in nightclub car parks.

—Why should I be sorry you poor cow? she said. I don’t see why I should have to apologise to you. Am I the one who started this? No. You are. You fucked Jasper. And you a married woman. While your husband and your son lay dying you were right there on your awful Ikea sofa fucking my man. So don’t you dare make me feel ashamed.

I looked at her. I couldn’t see straight. My head was exploding from the pills and the booze. I felt like a plane crash and not one of the especially bright ones. Petra grabbed the vodka bottle out of my hand.

—Give me that, she said.

She took a long drink from the bottle and slammed it back down on the table and spat on my kitchen floor.

—There, she said. That’s what I think of bitches like you.

She turned round and bumped straight into Jasper who was just coming into the kitchen. He was wearing my husband’s black bathrobe. He was chewing his lip. He sniffed. Petra slapped him round the face so hard spit came out of his mouth and splatted on the fridge.

—And you can fuck off too, she said. You think I’d have played your stupid game if I’d known this was part of it?

—It wasn’t, said Jasper. I thought she was still in hospital. I promise.

—Car salesmen promise Jasper, said Petra. Estate agents promise. Men in my life are supposed to fucking deliver.

She slapped his face again and screamed at him and the upstairs neighbours started banging on the ceiling. I tried to stand up but I’d forgotten my crutch so I just fell down in a heap on the lino. I watched Petra’s stilettos slamming past my face as she stormed out of the kitchen. Then I rolled on my back and lay there looking up at the striplight on the ceiling. Jasper’s face was looking down at me. His face was wobbling all over the place and going in and out of focus like something you find on the videotape when you thought the camera was turned off but actually you left it running.

—Are you alright? he said.

—Do I look alright?

He knelt down beside me and put his hand on my cheek. His hand was all cold and trembly.

—Oh Christ, he said. I can’t believe what we’ve done to you.

—Yeah. You and Osama bin Laden.

—No, he said. I meant me and Petra.

—Oh. Well. Never mind eh.

He opened his mouth to say something but then he closed it again I suppose there wasn’t much to say.

—Listen do you think you could take me to bed?

—Oh god, he said. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean Petra’s right here in the flat.

—I don’t mean do you think you could have sex with me you twat I mean do you think you could just take me to my bed please I can’t seem to move my legs you see.

—Oh, he said. God. Sorry. Yes.

He picked me up off the lino. I didn’t weigh much any more you see Osama on account of you don’t have the same appetite once all your favourite food just reminds you of bombs. Jasper carried me through to the bedroom and laid me down on the bed. He put me down on my husband’s side I didn’t have the strength to tell him to move me to the other. So I just lay there staring at my husband’s water glass. All the water in it had evaporated there was just this thin white crust left on the sides of the glass. It’s funny what’s left behind once what you had is all dried away. It’s funny how it never made the water cloudy.

—Jasper. Stay with me. Just a few minutes.

—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.

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.