Chris Cleave - Incendiary

Since I got that letter I get nervous they’ll come for me next and take me off somewhere in the back of an Astra. Whatever it is that makes your writing go to scribbles I’m scared they’ll do it to me. I did get a visit from 2 plainclothes men quite early on but they didn’t stay long they wouldn’t even have a drink. I showed them my boy and said Look you can’t take me away what would become of him then? The men just looked at each other and then back at me and one of them said In consideration of the circumstances madam I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to press charges. I said Oh fair enough then. Then the other man said However madam it has been decided that you will no longer receive your widow’s pension. I said You’re joking aren’t you why’s that then? How am I expected to live? and the man said Perhaps you should have thought of that madam before you passed official secrets to the press.

There wasn’t much to live on after that. Jasper’s bank card was no use it was lost somewhere in the dark mud at the bottom of the Thames. I pulled up the carpet and got out all those fivers I used to stash when my husband was gambling. We had a high old time for a month me and my boy. He had choc-chip every day and I had vodka and not just the own-brand stuff either it was real Absolut but by the end of last month the money was gone. So I went out and I did the exact same thing you’d of done in my situation Osama I got myself a job stacking shelves at the Tesco metro on Bethnal Green Road.

I had to fill in an application form to get the job. It asked why I specially wanted to work at Tesco’s and I wrote BECAUSE MY HUSBAND AND MY BOY WERE RECENTLY BLOWN UP BY ISLAMIC TERRORISTS AND THIS HAS CAUSED A NUMBER OF PROBLEMS FOR ME BUT THE MOST URGENT NOW IS MONEY AND THAT IS WHY I WANT TO WORK AT TESCO’S ALSO BECAUSE IT IS CLOSE TO MY FLAT AND I WOULD MUCH RATHER STACK YOUR SHELVES FOR MONEY THAN GO ON THE GAME and then I threw that application form away and I took another one and wrote BECAUSE I AM A TEAM PLAYER AND I BELIEVE TESCO’S IS AN EXCELLENT COMPANY THAT RESPECTS TEAMWORK and they gave me the job just like that.

Stacking shelves is excellent Osama you shouldn’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It does not vex your brain very much and it is a great comfort taking the out-of-date tins off the shelves and putting new ones there till all the shelves in your section are very neat and all the labels face the front. If you got the job they’d give you a uniform so you’d never have to worry about what to wear and they’d give you lots of training I mean they even have a course in anger management and if you could get through the trial period without butchering any of the difficult customers and broadcasting their executions on the Internet then they’d give you a very nice name badge to pin on your red dungarees with your name printed out on a Dymo tape and your badge would say

The day I got this job was the day I started writing this letter to you Osama. I’m on 7 pound 20 an hour which is to say I can either afford food or booze but not both so it’s true what they say I suppose life is full of choices. Back at the flat I can’t afford the electricity to turn the telly on so after my boy goes to bed I just write. I’ve been writing to you till after midnight most nights and if it’s a quiet day then I write at work too. Part of this shelf-stacking job is that you have to walk up and down with a clipboard taking stock and so that’s just what I’ve been doing. I count up all the tins of beans and I write them all down and while I’m at it I write down what you’ve done to me Osama I just think you ought to know.

Sometimes late at night I get too tired or too sad to write any more and then I just sit on the sofa all wrapped up in blankets and watch my breath steaming in the lounge. It can be a bit sad just to see the telly sitting there all dead and blank so I Blu-Tacked some of my boy’s drawings up over the screen and I sit watching them. Sometimes I put music on or I make myself laugh very loud so the upstairs neighbours can’t start feeling all superior. You may think that’s funny Osama but you never can squeeze every last bit of pride out of a human being. It’s like a tube of toothpaste. You can twist it and you can crush it but there’s always a tiny bit left isn’t there?

Sometimes I fall asleep on the sofa. When I wake up it’s 5 in the morning and still dark. I go into my boy’s room and tuck the blankets more close around him. Then I pick up my biro and carry on writing to you for an hour or 2 until it’s time to get dressed for work. Is it any use Osama has any of it changed your mind or would you do the same things all over again tomorrow?

Just before I leave for work I walk over to the window in the early morning light. I look out and see my boy walking down the white line in the middle of the road. He balances on the white line with his arms out to the sides like the tightrope man in the circus. He’s concentrating. His tongue sticks out the way it always does when he’s busy. Sometimes black smoke pours off him and sometimes there’s just these little wisps.

In the evenings when I get home from work the first thing I do is look at the post if any’s come. I only ever get 2 kinds of letters in the post these days. The first kind says they’re going to repossess the telly and the second kind says they’re going to repossess the flat. Since the beginning of December both kinds have been arriving in red envelopes. I’ll tell you honestly Osama I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Sundays are a bit different from the normal routine. First thing in the morning I go out to the newsagent’s and buy the Sunday Telegraph . I take it back to the flat and lay it out very careful on the kitchen table but I don’t read it straight off. First I have a shower and then I go to the wardrobe and get the outfit Petra bought for me. I put it on very gentle so as not to stretch it. First the bright white underwear. Then the white silk slacks and the Herms tunic top. Last of all those lovely Fendi heels. Next I go to the bathroom and put Petra’s face on very slow and careful. It took me a long time to save up for that makeup.

My boy sits on the edge of the bath and bangs his heels on the side of it bang bang bang watching me get ready. When I’m done I look at myself in the mirror above the basin.

—You look lovely Mummy, says my boy.

—I am not Mummy darling. I am Petra Sutherland.

My boy giggles and we go to the kitchen and we sit down at the table and open up the Sunday Telegraph to the Lifestyle section. Petra’s column is at the front of it and there’s a little photo of her next to her name. My boy always touches that photo with his stubby little fingers.

—That woman looks just like you Petra, he says.

I smile back at my boy.

—Yes. Isn’t it adorable?

Then I read Petra’s column aloud. I haven’t forgotten how. I can still do her voice perfect. I flick my hair back when I speak. Just the way she does. For half an hour every Sunday morning Osama I am Petra Sutherland. I forget all about the cold and the dirt and my poor dead chaps. With my beautiful accent I tell my empty kitchen all about how I’m coping with my very public bereavement by focusing every ounce of positive energy on my pregnancy. How thrilled I am by the letters of support from ordinary members of the public. How I don’t think I’m being particularly brave. I’m just doing what any mother-to-be would do. One has to face the future.

Talking to the landscape gardener about my new house in Hampstead is a wonderful distraction and helps me connect with the eternal cycle of nature. And no I absolutely do not think one should be obliged to dress in a tent just because one happens to be pregnant. Chlo and Prada both have some terribly clever maternity frocks that make me feel sexy and glamorous.