Chris Cleave - Incendiary

—Sorry, he said.

He drank his whisky and put the glass down loudly on the table.

—Right, he said. So tell me what do we do now then. I’m a copper. I need rules. I haven’t done this before.

—Oh. Well I have god help me. It’s quite simple really and there are rules so you’ll be right at home. You start by telling me how you don’t have sex with your wife any more. That’s the hard bit for you. That isn’t something you ever ought to tell another girl so once you’ve said that then we’re both in it together. Then we have sex until your wife finds out and takes your kids to live at her mum’s place.

—You’re the perfect little optimist aren’t you? he said.

—Well. That’s just the way it works. I’m only saying.

Terence Butcher looked down into his pint. He made little circles with his finger in the creamy foam of his Guinness. I watched a thin line of blood start down his arm from under the lime-green sleeve of his polo shirt. The blood ran down the back of his hand and along his finger. Drip drip drip. It made bloody red craters in the creamy white head of his Guinness. He sighed and looked up at me.

—Tessa, he said. That’s my wife’s name. Loves the theatre does Tessa. We have to go once a fortnight. You like the theatre do you?

—Nah.

—Good, he said. The whole thing goes right over my head. Tessa must have dragged me along to a thousand plays by now and I still couldn’t tell you the difference between The Cherry Orchard and the magic forest from The Wizard of Oz . More drinks?

—Yeah go on.

Terence went to the bar and came back with the same again. Jasper Black followed him back to our table with his eyes. I gave Jasper a look and he looked back at me for a long time before he dropped his eyes. Terence sat down.

—Everything alright? he said.

—Mmm? Oh yeah. Fine thanks.

I picked up my new G&T and rattled the ice in it. Terence Butcher lit another ciggie and I took one too on account of I was drunk enough.

—We got married too fast, he said. Me and Tessa. In those days people still waited till they were married. It made you want to get on with it. We were married 3 months and 3 days after our first date. It’s all a bit of a blur. I remember standing at the altar and saying I do. I remember kissing the bride. And then I turned round and looked at everyone in the church. That’s when I noticed I was out of my depth. On my side of the congregation there were all my mates from the force plus all their wives and girlfriends. They were a nice enough bunch but you could tell the suits were on hire if you know what I mean. Whereas on Tessa’s side. The bride’s side I mean. There were lawyers. Stockbrokers. An unbelievable number of ladies in hats. Their own hats I’m reasonably sure.

—You poor bugger.

—I noticed it all in a flash, he said. Us coppers are known for our powers of observation.

He swallowed half his Guinness and banged the glass down and laughed.

—Christ, he said. It looked less like a congregation and more like the two sides lining up for the English Civil War. I looked back at Tessa and I saw her looking out over the church too. She was trying to be brave but I could tell she’d just seen the same thing I’d seen. There it was. All laid out before us. Tessa looked at me and from that moment I don’t think we were under any illusion. I don’t think you could really say it was love after that. The theatre. Child rearing. United front. But not really love.

—Sex?

—Yes, he said. Every now and then until the mid-90s. I can’t say I was sorry when it stopped. Tessa had this way of making me feel like I was walking across her carpet with muddy boots on. She used to lie very still and not make a sound. I’d look into her eyes when we were making love. It was like looking through church windows from the outside.

—Poor you.

—Don’t mind me, he said. I’m fine. I just get like this when I’ve had a drink or two.

—I reckon a bloke like you deserves more from a marriage.

—What I have with Tessa is not a marriage, he said. It’s a nuclear class war.

He gripped his pint so hard I was scared it was going to break. I put my hand on his wrist and he looked up at me.

—Know what’s different about you? he said. Warmth. That’s what I get with you that I don’t get with Tessa. Basic human warmth. Can I tell you something?

—Go on.

Terence Butcher blushed.

—I sometimes imagine you and me in bed together, he said. But not having sex. Just talking. It’s the morning and we’re away somewhere in my caravan and the sun’s coming through the windows. We’re miles from London. You can see the specks of dust glowing in the air above us. Everything’s very quiet and still. And we’re chatting away and suddenly you turn towards me and you ruffle my hair. That’s all. You ruffle my hair and we smile because we understand one another.

I smiled at him and put my hand on his face.

—That’s nice.

He leaned towards me.

—Would you do it? he said. Would you come away with me for a weekend? We’d take the caravan down to the coast. Brighton maybe. Or Worthing. What do you say?

—I’m not sure.

—I’m not sure either, he said. They’ve got better facilities at Worthing but it’s quite dear so maybe Brighton would be a better bet.

—I mean I’m not sure whether we should go at all. What about your wife?

—I don’t think we’d take her, he said. It’s quite a small caravan you see and Tessa comes with rather a lot of baggage. Breeding. Family money. The people who have it aren’t like you and me. They’ll be polite enough to you. But try to get too close and they’ll put back that distance. Try to step inside their circle and they’ll close ranks. Us and them are not the same species. Don’t make the same mistake I made. Don’t ever get involved with the upper classes.

—Shall we have another drink?

Terence Butcher stood up.

—Alright, he said. Stay there. I’ll go.

He took our empties back to the bar and I sat there thinking about Jasper Black and Petra Sutherland. Terence was 100 percent right god help me I never should of got involved but I couldn’t think about that now on account of I was having trouble balancing on my seat and I needed a wee. I got up from our table and I picked up my handbag and walked over to the Ladies. I wasn’t too steady on my pins.

There were 2 cubicles in there and wouldn’t you know it I picked the one with no lock on the door. It’s sod’s law only you probably call it something different down your neck of the woods Osama like THE DIVINE WILL OF THE PROPHET but my point is there were 2 cubicles and I chose the one with no lock on the door and I was so desperate for a wee that I didn’t care so I just pulled my knickers down and sat on the seat and did my wee while I held the toilet door closed with my foot.

I was doing my wee and thinking about what Terence Butcher said. I thought about ruffling his hair in the caravan with the sun coming in very bright through the windows and my boy laughing and doing somersaults on the long grass outside. My boy was giggling. He was ever so happy. He had his yellow wellies on. When he’d had enough of somersaulting we’d go for a walk. Him and me and Terence Butcher. We’d laugh and play 1–2–3 Whoops! and find some puddles for the boy to splash in.

I was so happy. Suddenly I really could see myself with Terence Butcher. I started whispering to my husband don’t worry love I’ll never forget you but you know how it is. You’d of wanted me to find someone wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t of wanted me to drift and blow away all alone like some old carrier bag. I smiled it was like all the emptiness was draining out of me with my wee. I sat there on the toilet for a little while after my wee was finished. I closed my eyes and hugged myself because for the first time in I don’t know how long I wasn’t feeling nervous. I was smiling because just for the moment I didn’t see flames and I didn’t hear screaming. I was smiling because my life wasn’t empty any more it was ready to be filled. There’s a difference you see Osama and that difference is called HOPE.