Chris Cleave - Incendiary

There were helicopters buzzing around between the balloons. One of them was doing a circuit and it kept coming down low over the park. You could see the pilots in their big helmets just like my boy’s lego men. I waved at them but they didn’t wave back. I suppose it isn’t easy when your arms don’t bend at the elbow. As if the chopper wasn’t enough there was a police boat on the water. It was only a small rubber boat with 2 coppers in short-sleeve shirts. I don’t know what they were in aid of. I suppose if you had been planning a raid on the ice cream van on the north shore of the Serpentine Osama then you’d of had to call it off. When the police boat went past it made our little boat rock.

It wasn’t very relaxing out there but everyone was making the best of it. That’s the British way after all. The Serpentine is half full and all that. We started drinking the wine out of plastic cups. It was hot in the sun and the wine was cold and it went straight to my head. Petra sighed. She was trailing her hand in the water making little ripples.

—How do you feel now? she said.

—Better. I still don’t feel right though. I’m trying not to panic.

—I know what you mean, said Petra. Listen. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. However long it takes for you to get better in your mind.

—Thanks.

—You’re welcome, said Petra. Anyway I’d much rather spend a nice sunny day with you than with bloody Jasper. Frankly he’s turning into a bit of a bore. He used to be such an extraordinary boy. There was nothing he wasn’t interested in. He could talk for hours about pop music or plutonium or chicken pox it didn’t matter. It was always fascinating because he was always fascinated. All that’s finished now. Ever since May Day he’s been depressed. He’s been seeing quite a bit of Charlie at weekends and it puts him in a mood all week.

—Charlie?

—Coke, said Petra. Cocaine. The pale mistress. How is a girl to compete?

—I wouldn’t know. The worst my husband ever took was 2 Alka-Seltzer in a small glass of water.

Petra laughed and poured us more wine into the plastic cups.

—Coke’s not the big deal, she said. Not in itself. I know lots of perfectly glamorous people who seem able to dispatch tons of the stuff without feeling compelled to follow girls into the lavatory.

Petra let her head fall back against the wooden side of the boat. Thump. The helicopter went over again very low. The wind it made sent dark little waves rushing outwards from the middle of the Serpentine and it ruffled our Lady Di hairdos.

—You shouldn’t of done that to your hair. It was nicer before.

Petra’s head was still resting against the side of the boat. She closed her eyes.

—True, she said. Still. Jasper likes it.

—Does he?

Petra opened an eye and squinted at me.

—Yes, she said. We have better sex when I look like you.

—Oh.

—Yes, said Petra. It’s so ironic. You’d think I could come up with some other look to turn him on. Considering my job is to inform millions of people how to render themselves more attractive to the gender of their choice. Considering I’m Lifestyle Editor of the Sunday Telegraph and you’re. Well.

—Drunk.

—Yes, said Petra. Oh me too. What is it with booze and boats?

She laughed and poured out the last of the bottle. Then she swallowed. She twisted the hem of her skirt between her fingers.

—I think I might even be drunk enough to say what I’ve been thinking now, she said.

—What?

Petra sat up straight. She held on to my wrist with both hands and the boat wobbled. She moved her face close to mine. Her eyes were shining.

—Move in with us, she said.

—You what?

—Move in with us. Take a holiday from that depressing flat and your awful memories. Come and spend some time to recover.

—Recover? With you?

—Yes, said Petra. It’ll do us all some good. Jasper especially. It’ll take his mind off the coke.

—Nah. You’re having a laugh aren’t you? This time last week you were throwing things.

Petra blushed and looked away over the side of the boat.

—That was before I saw you in Herms, she said.

—You’re not in your right mind.

—No, said Petra. But the entire planet isn’t in its right mind since May Day so for pity’s sake let’s just roll with it. What the hell is the use in the whole world going crazy if we can’t do the same?

I was looking out over the water. People were doing nice normal things in their boats. Teenagers were snogging in their life jackets. Dads were teaching their boys to row. Everyone was laughing and putting on a brave face and sun cream. I wasn’t like them any more. I didn’t have a boy to teach how to row. Apparently I had a chap to distract from cocaine there’s a difference. I started to cry very quietly. The tears slid off my cheeks into the Serpentine.

—I couldn’t Petra. When I see Jasper I see the explosion. Again and again and again.

—Yes, said Petra. But tell me. Honestly. What do you see when you’re sitting home alone?

I looked up at Petra I felt sickness rising in my stomach. I wished it was over I wished I could be far away in a caravan at sunrise I wished I’d never argued with Terence Butcher.

—This isn’t fair.

Petra brushed the tips of her fingers through the tears on my cheeks and put her fingers to her mouth.

—So be brave, she said.

Our boat drifted into the shadow of a barrage balloon. It was cold out of the sun. I shivered. We never did eat that sushi. I mean why would you? All seaweed and raw tuna sushi is. More like a fishing boat accident than lunch. Petra fed hers to the pigeons. I dropped mine over the side. I cried and watched the big white rolls of rice fall out of sight in the muddy brown water. I was thinking bombs away.

Before you bombed my boy Osama I always thought an explosion was such a quick thing but now I know better. The flash is over very fast but the fire catches hold inside you and the noise never stops. You can press your hands on your ears but you can never block it out. The fire keeps on roaring with incredible noise and fury. And the strangest thing is people can be sitting right next to you on the Central Line and not hear a sound. I live in an inferno where you could shiver with cold Osama. This life is a deafening roar but listen. You could hear a pin drop.

Dear Osama I could of been Petra Sutherland.

I looked at myself in Petra’s dressing table mirror. I was putting her Sisley Lychee Glossy Gloss on my lips. I pressed my lips together mmm mmm. I am Petra Sutherland I said. I wouldn’t need to work if I didn’t simply adore my job. I can do whatever the hell I please.

I looked at myself and I tried to think what earrings she’d wear with those lips. I was watching the clock. 7:45 a.m. There was still an hour before I had to head off to Scotland Yard. I opened the drawer and I took out Petra’s pearl earrings. I hooked them into my ears and they felt heavy and perfect. I turned my head to the side and the earrings followed like well-trained money.

I held my chin up just the way she did. I was almost there. Just my eyes to do and I was her. It was still half dark outside and there was rain beating against the window. I took her mascara. Yves Saint Laurent False Lash Effect mascara. It came in a lovely thin gold bottle. It was cold and heavy in your hand like the barrel of the gun the hit man screws together in spy films. I put it on my lashes and blinked at myself. My heart was racing. I was her. I was her. I am Petra Sutherland I said into the mirror and I smiled just so.

The real Petra was in New York. It was just me and Jasper in the house and he wouldn’t be awake for hours. The poor chap was dead to the world on their bed behind me. I was all alone in Petra’s life and I was thinking wouldn’t it be nice if I didn’t ever have to give it back. I was pretending if I could just get ever so good at being Petra then one day she’d come back from her week with American Vogue and I’d be all like WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING LETTING YOURSELF INTO MY FLAT LIKE THAT? and I’d send her packing to the Wellington Estate.