Chris Cleave Ebook Boxed Set (53 page)

—Tea please.

He walked up to the desk he picked up one of the phones I forget which.

—2 teas, he said. Biscuits.

He held the phone and I watched the muscles in his back through his shirt while he ordered us tea. It felt nice to have this big man do something small for me. It gave me the shivers. I wondered if Jasper Black would bring me tea and biscuits if I turned up at his office. It’s funny Osama the way you start to think when you’re a widow.

I reached down into my Asda bag. I got out one of my bottles of Valium and held it out to Terence Butcher on the palm of my hand. My hand was shaking so hard the pills were rattling. I blushed.

—Here. They’re tranquillisers. I got 2 bottles so you might as well have one of them if you’re having trouble sleeping.

He reached out his hand. He held the bottle so it stopped rattling but he didn’t take it out of my hand. He looked into my eyes.

—The wife doesn’t approve of these things, he said. Says they disrupt the body’s natural equilibrium.

—Yeah? Well so do bombs.

Terence Butcher was quiet for a moment and then he closed his hand around the bottle. I felt the tips of his fingers against my palm as he took the pills.

—Thanks, he said.

—You’re alright.

The tea came. It was just how you’d expect police tea to be Osama all lukewarm and milky. Terence Butcher put the bottle of pills in his trouser pocket.

—Listen, he said. A favour deserves a favour. I wouldn’t bother drinking the tea around here. It’s disgusting. I pour it into the plant pots.

He grinned and I grinned too. It felt nice. I hadn’t smiled much since they stopped that nurse Mena from coming. Then one of the phones on his desk rang. He looked at it for a moment before he picked it up.

—No Inspector, he said. Sector
Sierra
6. I’d spell Sierra for you if Sierra wasn’t already a letter of the phonetic alphabet.

He slammed the phone down.

—Poor bastard’s had even less sleep than me probably, he said. We should start a club. Insomniacs against Islam.

He smiled again but I didn’t. I was thinking of Mena. How she used to pop those blue pills into my mouth at the hospital. The mercy of her god that she stole from a jar for me so I could crunch it between my teeth and forget about things for one more day. Allah Akbar we used to say. Now I remembered that bitter taste of love.

—You really think it was Islam that killed my husband and my boy?

Terence Butcher stopped smiling.

—Well, he said. It wasn’t the Easter Bunny.

—I knew a Muslim. She was a nurse in the hospital. She was the gentlest woman I ever met. Her god wasn’t a bombing god.

—Yeah, said Terence Butcher, well it isn’t their god that bothers me. It’s the devils that sell them the Semtex.

—They’re not all like that.

—No, said Terence Butcher. And not every kid kicking a ball about in the park will get to play for Arsenal. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t all love a go.

—You’ll just make it worse talking like that. You want to try to understand them.

—I’m not paid to understand, said Terence Butcher. I’m paid to prevent.

—Yeah well you didn’t prevent May Day did you?

He looked at the floor.

—No, he said.

—So maybe you’re going about it wrong. I don’t see how you can stop the bombers if you don’t understand them.

Terence Butcher came round to my side of the desk. He stood behind the chair and put his hand on my shoulder.

—Look, he said. The Arabs are different from us. Don’t fool yourself you can understand them. In the Iran-Iraq war they sent children to walk across the minefields. To clear a path so the grownups could go and gas each other. They gave each kid a little metal key to paradise. The kids hung those keys around their necks. The grown-up Arabs told the little Arab children that there weren’t enough landmines to send all the kids to paradise. So the little children actually ran. Can you picture what an antipersonnel mine does to a human child? If you saw it I dare say you wouldn’t think it was getting anyone closer to god. But that’s what’s in Johnny Arab’s mind. He can’t get to heaven without sending you to hell.

—That’s not right.

—Isn’t it? he said. Can you think of another name for what you’re living through?

I looked up at him. He was all blurry with tears on account of I was thinking about my boy with his ginger hair flying in the wind running ahead to be the first boy in paradise. He’d of been the first to go. He was a bright boy but kids will believe anything you tell them Osama I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that.

—You need to get this straight in your mind, Terence Butcher said. It’s us against them. War against terror. Fighting fire with fire.

—But you can’t.

—Yes we can, said Terence Butcher. It’s an ugly war and there’s no honour in it. But we will win because we have to. It’s a war we win by ditching our principles. By interning people who are high risk. By listening to private phone calls. And it’s a boring war too. A workaday war. We win by persuading the Brits to have balls. To stand up on the Circle Line and ask Does this bag belong to anyone? We win by following up on every single lead. However insignificant. We win by phoning our wife and saying Sorry darling. I’m not going to make it back till very late again. Give the kids a kiss for me.

He was looking at the photo of his wife and kids. His hand was still on my shoulder. I held on to his desk.

—Alright then. I want to fight.

—What? he said.

—You heard. If it’s a war then I want to fight. Give me a job and I’ll do it I don’t care how dangerous it is I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me a job where I can do something to help.

—No, he said. Let’s not go there. Trust me you don’t want to get involved in this.

—But there’s nothing else I can do is there? My husband and my boy are gone. All I want is to stop another May Day from ever happening again. So no mother ever has to feel how I feel now.

—I admire what you’re saying, he said. You’re a good girl. But you don’t need a job right now. I’m sorry but what you need is counselling.

His hand was heavy on my shoulder. I looked at him and I felt myself go tight inside. It was pitiful all that emptiness whimpering for something to fill it. I made myself sit still but my body was only half tame I could feel it pulling against its rope. I know what you’re thinking Osama but don’t you dare judge me you goat-watching bastard. You wouldn’t know the first thing about it you’re not a woman.

—No. I’m fine. I don’t need counselling. I’m completely back to normal. I’ve seen counsellors I’ve seen grief therapists I’ve even seen Prince William he’s taller than he looks on telly. It’s all useless I just feel empty it doesn’t get better it only gets worse. Please. You couldn’t possibly know what it feels like. I’ll do anything. I could be a spy or I could just do the cleaning or whatever. I could make a better cup of tea than you get around here. I’ll do anything at all. Just please give me a job to do. If I have to go back and just sit in the flat alone I know I really will top myself.

Terence Butcher stared at me and I felt his hand slide on my shoulder. His fingers were beginning to sweat. I felt his breath on my cheek. Then one of the phones went. His hand was shaking when he picked it up.

—Yes? he said. Right. No you just stay there and get Anwar and Janet on a conference line. I’ll be right down.

He hung up.

—There’s something I have to do, he said. I’ll be ten minutes. Will you be okay to wait here till I get back?

—Alright.

—Don’t leave this room will you? he said. I’m not supposed to leave you here alone. But you’re on our side apparently. Aren’t you?

I smiled.

—Apparently.

When he left the room I turned round in his chair. It was one of those adjustable chairs with levers all over it. I swear that chair was more complicated than me. There isn’t all that much to me Osama and certainly nothing you could adjust. I’m sorry but I’m far too stubborn. I felt like doing something to cheer myself up so I pulled up my legs and spun round and round and round in Terence Butcher’s chair. I was singing La la la la Wonder Woman I always liked to do that ever since I was a girl.

I waited for a while. I don’t know how long because I lost my watch on May Day. I looked out over London and it was starting to rain and there were 2 grey pigeons on the window ledge doing the
nasty. The one underneath was thin and sick-looking. Her wing was scrunched up against the glass and you could see the feathers all bent. The one on top was pecking at her neck and flapping his wings to stay there. His feet were just raw pink lumps all the toes had gone off them. He finished his business and slung his hook. She just sat there for a minute not even looking where he’d gone and then she flew off too in the direction of Westminster Abbey. I sat there for a minute getting nervous and then I started to tidy up. I couldn’t help myself.

Most of the cardboard boxes were full of files. I took them out one by one and stacked them on the shelves. There must of been 40 or 50 of them. They were big box files with their names written on their sides in magic marker. They had brilliant names all those files. They were code names. My boy would of loved them. They were called
COUGAR
and
RED SKY
and
OPERATION THUNDER RESPONSE
you know what coppers are like Osama. I took all those files out of their boxes on the floor and I put them on the shelves that ran along the sides of the office. I put them in alphabetical order it was a great comfort. I wish I could put the whole world in alphabetical order Osama there would be Deserts and Forests and Oceans between you and my boy.

When all the files were arranged I took the cardboard boxes they’d come out of and I broke them down flat and stood them against the wall. It felt so nice making everything neat and clean I wanted it to go on forever.

I’m that sort of person Osama you could give me any sort of mess and I’d straighten it out for you. I’d be happy to. Let’s say you’d had a party and your flat was a state. Well I could come round in the morning and put all your glam rock CDs back in their right boxes and take the ciggie butts out of your plant pots and clean up the sick that had missed the toilet bowl. I’d be fine with it. Or let’s say your kitchen was on the small side and you couldn’t find anywhere to put anything. Let’s say all your cupboards were stuffed so that saucepan lids fell out when you opened the doors and all your work surfaces
were covered with bomb parts and tins of beard wax so there wasn’t anywhere to stack the dirty dishes. Well I could come round and sort it all out with you. I’d go through your drawers and hold things up one at a time and ask if you really needed them. And what I’d do is I’d put all the things you hardly ever used into a box and put the box under your bed and that would leave you with space in the cupboards to put away everything you actually used. See?

When I’d finished arranging all Terence Butcher’s files I started taking the rest of his stuff out of the boxes. Some of it could just go straight into the desk drawers. Things like pens and Post-it notes. Then there was a box of magazines. I thought maybe I shouldn’t look inside in case they were glamour mags but I couldn’t stop myself so I opened the box. Actually the mags were only
Caravan Club Magazine
. There must of been 6 dozen of them. It was quite sweet really. It was nice to think of Terence Butcher driving his family down into Essex in a big blue Vauxhall Cavalier. Getting farther and farther from his city full of bombs. The kids needing to stop for a wee and his wife wearing Dunlop Green Flash and him peering in those big mirrors you strap onto the side of the car so you can see round the back of the caravan.

I put Terence Butcher’s magazines up on the shelves and I emptied the last of the boxes as best I could. It was just coffee mugs and football shields and stuff. The sort of things you’d expect. When everything was tidied away and all the cardboard boxes were flat up against the wall I sat back down on Terence Butcher’s chair and took 2 of the Valiums washed down with the cold police tea.

When Terence Butcher came back in he looked at his office all unpacked and he just started laughing.

—Wow, he said. I don’t know what to say.

—Don’t mention it. I’m used to tidying up after boys.

He stopped smiling then.

—Listen, he said. If you’re serious about coming to work here I think I could find something useful for you. You’ve just shown me you can be handy around an office. How are you with paperwork?

—I don’t know. I can read and write if that’s what you mean. I’m not thick or anything just don’t ask me where the commas go.

Terence Butcher smiled again.

—No problem, he said. You might need to type up incident reports from time to time. They read like
SUSPECT WAS APPREHENDED AT
0630
WIELDING A SHARPENED SPOON
. That stuff needs commas like Covent Garden needs a gardener. Anyway we’re not writing literature here. We’re trying to stop people bombing people.

I saw how Terence Butcher would look with his forearms blown off and tumbling across the turf at Ashburton Grove.

—I like you, said Terence Butcher. I like your spirit. I want people on my team who have a reason to care about the work. I want people I can trust. There’s a lot of highly sensitive information floating around this place.

—You can trust me I’ll keep my mouth shut it’s not as if I’ve got anyone to tell anyway is it?

Terence Butcher looked out of the window for a while and then back at me.

—I could offer you a job on my administrative staff, he said. You wouldn’t be a police officer. You’d be assisting the officers. Taking on some of their administrative burden. Freeing them up to perform their duties. It’s an essential role and you’d know you were doing something for the effort.

—Right. When do I start?

—Whoa, he said. Steady. I can’t just appoint you like that. This is the Met. We’ve got procedure. First you have to get approved by Personnel. And before we let you anywhere near Personnel we need to get you a haircut and the kind of clothes that have their labels on the inside.