Chris Cleave - Incendiary

—You really are a lunatic aren’t you? said Petra. You think this is funny?

—Listen Petra you’ve said your piece now why don’t you just clear off.

—I am not budging, said Petra. Not until you promise never to have anything to do with Jasper again.

—Petra. Just listen for once will you? Jasper’s the one chasing me. I hide from him. I sneak home and stay here with the lights off and when he comes knocking I keep the door shut.

Petra shook her head and frowned.

—What I don’t understand, she said, is what on earth Jasper sees in you.

She spread her arms out.

—I mean look at this place. This horrendous little place. Is it the squalor he gets off on? Because I could do squalor. Or is it the drudgery? Would he become besotted with me if I gave up one of the best jobs in British media and started doing. I don’t know. Whatever the hell it is you do?

—Tea. I make the tea and I do a bit of filing.

—Super, said Petra. How thrilling for both of you. The conversations you must have.

—Give it a rest will you?

—Or is it simply you? said Petra. Is it your nice little tits and your sad little eyes and your darling Lady Di hair? Because I can do the tits and I can do the eyes and I can do the hair. I can do it all. You think I’m joking? You want to see me do the hair?

Petra ran out of the lounge and into the kitchen. I heard her smashing about in the drawers and when she came back in she was carrying the kitchen scissors. She held them up to her lovely long shiny hair.

—No. Petra. Please. That’s enough now.

Petra started cutting away at her hair thwack thwack thwack. There was gold hair falling all over the carpet and Petra was shouting THERE! THERE! THAT’S HOW HE LIKES IT IS IT? THERE! I couldn’t stop her she was in a rage and I wasn’t going to go near her while she had those scissors. So I just did like they do in the nature films when they get some wild animal going off like that. They just hop up on the roof of the Land Rover and stay up there till it’s safe again. I just went round the back of the sofa and let Petra get on with it and when she was finished she let the scissors fall down on the carpet and she stood there trembling and looking like the things you want to forget about the 1980s. Actually I suppose what I mean Osama is the things we want to forget like Duran Duran and the Thompson Twins not the things you want to forget like the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. Anyway my point is I was safe round the back of the sofa.

Petra started grabbing things and throwing them at me. She picked up my husband’s football trophy from the time his lot beat the Flying Squad and she slung it and I ducked and it smashed against the wall behind me. The next thing she grabbed was an ashtray and she threw that too and it caught me on the arm and rolled off into the kitchen. I was getting scared on account of I was still weak from the hospital and it didn’t look like Petra was going to stop till she’d done for me. She was just grabbing up any old thing she could find and slinging it at me and shouting HARLOT FLOOZY JEZEBEL BITCH and then suddenly she stopped very still on account of she’d picked up Mr. Rabbit.

She stopped with her arm raised up ready to throw him and then she saw what she had in her hand and she just froze. There was something about Mr. Rabbit you see Osama. You wouldn’t of had the heart to chuck him. Anyone could tell he’d suffered enough. Like I say he was stained black with my boy’s blood and one of his paws was blown off and you could see the scars on him where his skin had burned through and his stuffing had roasted brown and hard as crackling. When Petra saw what she had in her hand she let out this little scream. Just a tiny surprised scream like the blip the scanner makes at the supermarket when it sees the bar code on your beans. Petra let her arm drop very slow and careful. She sank down on her knees and she laid Mr. Rabbit down on the floor in front of her very gentle in the middle of all her cut-off hair and then she just knelt there looking at him like she was in a daze.

I came round from the back of the sofa and I knelt down next to her and I put my arm round her shoulders. Petra was burning hot I could feel it through her jumper it must of been the vodka.

—This is all real isn’t it? said Petra. This is all really happening.

—Yeah.

—We can’t go back, she said. We can’t go back.

—Nah.

Petra raised her head up and looked around the lounge.

—Shit, she said. I’m sorry about the mess.

—You’re alright.

She looked at me.

—Your poor face, she said.

—Yeah well I’m going to wash it.

I went into the bathroom and filled the basin. It took a long time to get the blood off. After a bit Petra came and stood behind me and she stared at her new haircut in the mirror. She couldn’t work it out.

—It’s appalling, she said. No. No. It’s sexy and audacious. Um. No. Tell me honestly. It’s horrid isn’t it?

—It just needs neatening up. Do you want me to do it? I used to do both my chaps’ hair there’s not much to it.

—Do you really think you can fix it? she said.

—Do you really think I can make it worse?

Petra sniffed and went off to fetch the scissors and I sat her down on the edge of the bath and neatened her up a bit. I stuck my tongue out I always do that when I concentrate. It was nice cutting her hair it felt nice to have something to do. When it was done I stepped back and had a good look.

—There. That’ll get you as far as the hairdresser’s anyway.

—Thank you, said Petra.

She stood up to look in the mirror but she stood up too quickly and I had to grab her to stop her falling. She leaned on the basin.

—Oh dear, she said. I think I’d better lie down.

I held on to her arm and took her into the bedroom. She wasn’t too steady and the vodka on her breath was dragging my hangover back up from my stomach. The wardrobe was open in the bedroom and Petra’s mouth went wide when she saw inside. She lurched over and held herself up on the wardrobe door.

—Oh good god, she said. Why do you torture yourself like this? You ought to take all of this to a charity shop.

—Oh no. I couldn’t give my husband’s clothes away. They’re all I’ve got left of him.

—I didn’t mean his clothes, said Petra. I meant yours.

She started grabbing stuff out of the wardrobe and chucking it on the floor.

—Oh for goodness sake, she said. You’re a grown-up woman. Puma no. Kappa absolutely no. Nike. Gap. Reebok. NEXT. No. No. No. NO. Adidas a tentative yes but only for actually running in. Do you actually run in these?

—Nah. I don’t have the energy for running. I couldn’t run a bath.

—Right then, said Petra. Adidas no.

She threw my Adidas trackies on the floor with the rest of my stuff. Then she had a look at what was left on my side of the wardrobe. She held up my brown H&M skirt and wrinkled her nose.

—Alright, she said. I’ll let you keep this for schooldays so long as you never tell a living soul I said you could.

I smiled.

—Look at you, she said. You’d scrub up just fine if you took a little more care over what you wore.

—Yeah well when you have kids you give up on wearing anything smart don’t you? I mean not if you don’t want choc-chip sprayed all up it.

Petra took my wrist and put her other hand on my cheek and swayed so her face came very close to mine.

—Yes, she said. But you don’t have kids do you?

—That’s enough. Let’s get you lying down.

I shoved her towards the bed and she fell down face first on it with those stiletto boots sticking out over the end. She closed her eyes and groaned and her voice came out very slow.