Chris Cleave - Incendiary

Petra giggled. The cabbie sighed.

—Listen ladies, he said. If you’ve quite finished. Is it Harvey Nichols or isn’t it?

—It is, said Petra. It always is.

It was a long ride to Knightsbridge and so it should be. I mean it’s a different world isn’t it? It doesn’t seem right that you can get from Bethnal Green to Knightsbridge in a cab you should have to go via space or something. Petra kept moaning at the cabbie for taking so long but it wasn’t his fault. All the roads we needed were closed off. It looked like the authorities were determined not to let your men get anywhere near the fashion shops Osama. So I suppose you’ll have to stick with the cammo look for now. Even if it is a bit late 90s. As for me and Petra we had to take a big diversion.

—Good god driver, said Petra. Why don’t you see if you can go a bit farther north? I think I saw icebergs over there but I’d like to make sure.

—Alright sweetheart, said the cabbie. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.

When the cab dropped us outside Harvey Nichols Petra paid what it said on the meter. I’d never seen a meter go past 50 before. It made me feel a bit poorly. Petra didn’t seem bothered. While she paid I stood on the pavement trying not to get in anyone’s way. The streets were almost dry now it was a lovely sunny morning. Sloanes were bursting out all over Knightsbridge like desert flowers after the rain. I stuck out like a sore thumb Osama. I was thinking you would of done too. Even if you weren’t wearing the beard and the AK47 I mean you’d still of been the only chap not wearing brogues and a Herms jumper.

And then I started thinking maybe that was your secret after all. Maybe everyone was looking for you in the wrong place. Maybe you were sitting on Knightsbridge right now drinking a Frappuccino outside Starbucks in a check Barbour shirt and light-tan chinos smoking a Marlboro Light. Maybe the girl at the table next to yours was saying Good lord I suppose you get this all the time but you look just like Osama bin Laden without the beard. And maybe you were laughing and saying yes it can be a frightful bore listen do you know where a bloke can get hold of a decent-sized lump of Semtex round here?

Petra was saying something. She looked cross with me. I’d been off in my own world I suppose.

—Come on, said Petra. We haven’t got all day. These clothes aren’t going to cleverly select themselves.

I followed her into Harvey Nichols. An old man in a grey tailcoat and top hat held the door for us.

—Thank you Tom darling, said Petra.

—Always a pleasure madam, said Tom.

He looked at my clothes and frowned. We went inside and the traffic noise closed behind us. It didn’t smell posh in Harvey Nichols it smelled of all the different perfumes in the world very strong and mixed up together. It felt like having your throat scraped. I took my boy into John Lewis once and it smelled just like that in the perfume section. Yuk Mummy he said. It smells nice and nasty all at once. It smells of angels’ feet.

I kept my head down and followed Petra. We walked right through the first floor without stopping. It was all just perfume and BE PREPARED sort of stuff anyway. Louis Vuitton crisis bags and gas masks by Kenzo with matching headscarves. On the up escalator Petra turned and looked down at me.

—Right then, said Petra. Here we are in Harvey Nick’s. I’d better talk you through it. Floors 1 and 2 are ours. Forget the third floor it’s ghastly. The first floor is the designer stuff. Alexander McQueen Bottega Veneta Dries Van Noten. Nobody actually wears that stuff but it is essential that it exist because it adds a sense of mystery to existence. It’s a bit like Mummy’s makeup. It’s just for looking at it’s not for touching. The clothes one actually wears are on the second floor. And here we are now.

We stepped off the escalator.

—Let’s have some fun, said Petra. Choose anything you want.

I followed Petra around the floor. She looked so happy stroking her hand across this and that. Stopping to go ooh at some of the clothes like she was a gardener and she was so pleased with how her flowers had come up. I was a bit lost. The problem with Harvey Nichols was that you couldn’t work out what any of their clothes were for. Nothing was the shape of actual clothes. There was nothing you could look at and say Ooh look that’s a nice pair of trousers. Don’t get me wrong it was lovely stuff but it was all lovely silky fluttery stuff with lace tabs and things you had to know how to fasten around you before the stuff became clothes. The labels weren’t any help either. The brands were called things like PHILOSOPHY and THEORY and IMITATION OF CHRIST. They didn’t sound like clothes they sounded like the things I failed my GCSEs because of. Petra grinned at me.

—Do cheer up, she said. Why wear a long face when you could be wearing Helmut Lang?

I kept moving. I was terrified in case Petra made me try something on and I didn’t know how to. Give me a Kappa T-shirt any day Osama at least you don’t need a degree to know which hole your head goes through.

I gave up looking at the clothes. It was more interesting looking at the other shoppers. They were the kind of women that wouldn’t be seen dead without their Prada handbag and Chanel sunglasses. You’re a bit of a Knightsbridge girl yourself at heart Osama. We never see you without your AK47 and matching bullet belt I suppose Allah is big on accessories.

All those classy Knightsbridge women were making me nervous. The only accessory I had was Mr. Rabbit in my pocket. He came with me everywhere. I put my hand on Petra’s arm and she stopped and turned.

—Listen Petra. I don’t know what I’m looking for here. The last place I went clothes shopping was H&M. You’re going to have to help me out.

Petra laughed.

—Oh no, she said. Aren’t you something? Alright. I’m looking at you and I’m thinking white slacks from Helmut Lang and a pretty tunic top. Maybe Celine. And some nice strappy heels oh and a decent bag. Here. Follow me.

Petra was away. She was dashing between the racks grabbing clothes off the rails and throwing them over her arms. She knew just what she was doing she never stopped till her arms were full. She was all out of breath.

—Right, she said. Let’s see what these look like on.

We went to the changing rooms. The attendant just smiled and found us a cubicle. Apparently she wasn’t worried I was going to sneak out wearing Herms slacks under my trackie bottoms. I suppose they don’t get much of my sort at Harvey Nick’s. It was a big changing cubicle and me and Petra went in together. There was plenty of room. Petra locked the door behind us.

—Right, she said. We’ll start with the trousers.

I just looked at her.

—What is it? she said.

—You want me to take my trousers off? Here? With you watching?

Petra rolled her eyes.

—Oh good god, she said.

She pushed me down so I was sitting on the bench and she knelt to pull my Pumas off. Then she pulled my trousers down like a busy mum getting her kid ready for swimming lessons. When she saw my old grey knickers she stopped. She dropped her chin onto her neck and sighed out of her nose.

—Oh dear, she said. I’ll be right back.

When she was gone I stood up in the changing cubicle and watched myself in the mirror. It felt strange on account of I wasn’t used to staring at myself. I never had the time I suppose. And now here I was seeing myself right after watching all those classy ladies and it was a bit of a shock. I looked like something you find at the back of the cupboard. I was ashamed. It’s funny what a bomb can do Osama I never used to care how I looked but now I blushed. I stared down at the carpet tiles.