Chris Cleave - Incendiary

My husband stared at me like he was seeing something for the first time. The ciggie landed where the carpet was soggy from the broken glass water and it hissed out. I suppose that’s when my husband made his mind up.

—You know what I’m going to do? he said.

—No. What are you going to do?

—I’m going to quit the force, he said. I’m going to get out while I’ve still got my health and you’ve still got your marbles.

—Oh god love. That’s brilliant do you really think you could? What would we do for money?

—I know a doctor, said my husband. A police doctor. I did him a favour once back when I was in uniform. His boy got arrested for drugs. It wasn’t anything really. Just a few pills. The lad was no worse than anyone his age. I flushed the pills down the khazi. No sense in making trouble for them. They were a nice family. Anyway. This doctor. If I go and see him and tell him my nerves are shot. Well. He owes me a favour. He can write me a ticket.

—Ticket? What do you mean a ticket?

—Well, said my husband. A ticket means you go on sick leave indefinite. I’d still get 3-quarters pay so there’d be no pressure. I could find another job.

—Oh god love could you really?

—Yes of course I could, said my husband. I’m 35 years old I could retrain.

I smiled in the dark. My husband. Leaving the force. I couldn’t believe it. It was so wonderful.

—Oh god love imagine it no more call-outs no more stress. You’ll lay off the bookies and we’ll move into a nicer place and we’ll laugh all the time and watch the telly together in the evenings. We’ll watch whatever you like okay? And we’ll make a brother or a sister for the boy. Okay?

—Okay, said my husband. Yeah. Okay.

I smiled at him.

—Come on love.

—Come on where? he said.

—Just come with me.

I took him into the lounge and I pulled him over to the stereo.

—Come on love. Help me choose a CD that’ll drive the neighbours mental. We’ll turn it up really effing loud. Give ’em a taste of their own medicine.

My husband started laughing.

—Oh you crazy cow, he said. I love you. How about Phil Collins?

—Phil Collins. Yeah that would wind them up alright but I was thinking of something even more annoying how about Sonny & Cher?

—Christ love, said my husband. We only want to piss them off we don’t want to make them lose their will to live.

—Okay then. How about Dexys Midnight Runners?

—Perfect, said my husband. You are an evil genius.

We took the speakers and we turned them on their backs so they pointed straight up at the neighbours. My husband switched on the stereo and he turned the volume to max. My husband knew how to pick a good secondhand stereo. Ours was a monster. It used to be in a police pub in Walthamstow. Just the roar it made without a CD in it was brilliant. It was like a plane taking off. We giggled at each other. The upstairs neighbours were in for it alright.

—Ready? said my husband.

—Ready.

—Contact! said my husband.

My husband put the CD in. He pressed PLAY and we ran into the kitchen. We held hands and crouched on the floor. It was scary. It was like an earthquake the way the plates rattled when Dexys Midnight Runners sang COME ON EILEEN.

When the song was over we went back in the lounge and we switched off the stereo. Everything went very quiet. Then one of the neighbours shouted from upstairs.

—Don’t ever try that again you bastards, he shouted. Or I’m calling the police.

—They won’t do nothing, my husband shouted back. The police love Dexys Midnight Runners and I should bleeding know. I’m a copper myself.

The neighbours went quiet after that and they didn’t turn their music back on.

—Ah peace at last, said my husband. Thank fuck for diplomacy.

Then I remembered something. I put my hand up to my mouth.

—Oh god. We forgot all about the boy. All that racket. He must of been terrified.

We went to his room we opened the door we thought he’d be howling but he wasn’t. He was just lying there fast asleep. He’d kipped through the whole thing hugging Mr. Rabbit I swear the ordinary rules of sleep did not apply to that boy.

We went next door and lay down on the bed. It was lovely and quiet now. My husband went to sleep straight away. I lay awake for a little while just feeling so happy. My husband was going to leave the force. No more waiting up for him watching Holby City . No more worrying my boy was going to lose his dad. It was so wonderful I couldn’t believe it was true. I shook my husband awake again.

—Oh Christ what is it love? he said.

—Did you really mean it? What you said about leaving the force?

—Of course I meant it, he said. You ever known me not to do what I said?

—No. When are you going to do it?

He looked at me and sighed.

—First thing Monday morning, he said. Now will you let me sleep?

I smiled. I started to fall asleep myself. You can see I had my downs but I was often so happy in those days. I’ve gone through a lot of changes since then Osama but if you looked very carefully and the light was right I expect you could still see the memory of that happy time in me. Hidden but not quite invisible like the POLICE letters down the side of our old Astra.

They say you visited London when you were young Osama. I suppose you saw the nice bits did you? Did you see the Houses of Parliament? Did you walk down Knightsbridge on a sunny Saturday afternoon? Did you shop at Harvey Nick’s? Did they politely ask you to leave your Kalashnikov at the cloakroom?

And I expect you watched the homeless in the squats and the subways? Did you see the crack girls on the game? Were you amazed how cheap the girls sell themselves in London? They’ll let you do them for the price of a Happy Meal for their kids most of them. Does it worry you like it worries me?

So if you saw both Londons Osama then tell me this. Which London is it that Allah especially hates? I’m asking because I don’t see how a tourist could hate both Londons. The SNEERING TOFFS London and the EVIL CRACK MUMS London I mean. Sorry Osama for calling you a tourist I don’t mean to cause offence I’m just saying I don’t see how you can hate the whole of London unless you actually live here on less than 500 quid a week.

One thing you start to hate when you live in London is the way rich people live right next to you. They’ll suddenly plonk themselves right next door and the next thing you know your old street is An Upcoming Bohemian Melting Pot With Excellent Transport Links which means there are posh motors boxing in your Vauxhall Astra every morning. My husband always noticed the motors.

It was the morning after he promised to quit the force and he spotted a really nice one. We were outside in the street in front of the estate. It was May 1 and the sky was blue and it was nice and warm just like you want it to be on May Day. My husband was carrying the boy on his shoulders and both of them were grinning like idiots. They were wearing their Arsenal shirts because it was Saturday and it was the big day. Arsenal were at home to Chelsea. The upstairs neighbours were out too and they were wearing their Chelsea shirts. We were walking to our Astra and the neighbours were walking behind us. They were giving it the old mouth but we ignored them.

The good motor was parked in front of our old Astra.

—Look at that, said my husband. Aston Martin DB7. Hell of a vehicle.

He took our boy off his shoulders so he could look in the windows. The little chap pressed his nose up against the glass. It was all black leather in there.

—0 to 60 in 5 seconds flat son, said my husband. 400 horsepower. Take her up to 170 maybe 180. The force don’t have anything that goes that quick. If a villain wanted to give us the run around in one of these things we’d have to go after him in a chopper.