Incendiary (19 page)

Petra started grabbing things and throwing them at me. She picked up my husband’s football trophy from the time his lot beat the Flying Squad and she slung it and I ducked and it smashed against the wall behind me. The next thing she grabbed was an ashtray and she threw that too and it caught me on the arm and rolled off into the kitchen. I was getting scared on account of I was still weak from the hospital and it didn’t look like Petra was going to stop till she’d done for me. She was just grabbing up any old thing she could find and slinging it at me and shouting HARLOT FLOOZY JEZEBEL BITCH and then suddenly she stopped very still on account of she’d picked up Mr. Rabbit.

She stopped with her arm raised up ready to throw him and then she saw what she had in her hand and she just froze. There was something about Mr. Rabbit you see Osama. You wouldn’t of had the heart to chuck him. Anyone could tell he’d suffered enough. Like I say he was stained black with my boy’s blood and one of his paws was blown off and you could see the scars on him where his skin had burned through and his stuffing had roasted brown and hard as crackling. When Petra saw what she had in her hand she let out this little scream. Just a tiny surprised scream like the blip the scanner makes at the supermarket when it sees the bar code on your beans. Petra let her arm drop very slow and careful. She sank down on her knees and she laid Mr. Rabbit down on the floor in front of her very gentle in the middle of all her cut-off hair and then she just knelt there looking at him like she was in a daze.

I came round from the back of the sofa and I knelt down next to her and I put my arm round her shoulders. Petra was burning hot I could feel it through her jumper it must of been the vodka.

—This is all real isn’t it? said Petra. This is all really happening.

—Yeah.

—We can’t go back, she said. We can’t go back.

—Nah.

Petra raised her head up and looked around the lounge.

—Shit, she said. I’m sorry about the mess.

—You’re alright.

She looked at me.

—Your poor face, she said.

—Yeah well I’m going to wash it.

I went into the bathroom and filled the basin. It took a long time to get the blood off. After a bit Petra came and stood behind me and she stared at her new haircut in the mirror. She couldn’t work it out.

—It’s appalling, she said. No. No. It’s sexy and audacious. Um. No. Tell me honestly. It’s horrid isn’t it?

—It just needs neatening up. Do you want me to do it? I used to do both my chaps’ hair there’s not much to it.

—Do you really think you can fix it? she said.

—Do you really think I can make it worse?

Petra sniffed and went off to fetch the scissors and I sat her down on the edge of the bath and neatened her up a bit. I stuck my tongue out I always do that when I concentrate. It was nice cutting her hair it felt nice to have something to do. When it was done I stepped back and had a good look.

—There. That’ll get you as far as the hairdresser’s anyway.

—Thank you, said Petra.

She stood up to look in the mirror but she stood up too quickly and I had to grab her to stop her falling. She leaned on the basin.

—Oh dear, she said. I think I’d better lie down.

I held on to her arm and took her into the bedroom. She wasn’t too steady and the vodka on her breath was dragging my hangover back up from my stomach. The wardrobe was open in the bedroom and Petra’s mouth went wide when she saw inside. She lurched over and held herself up on the wardrobe door.

—Oh good god, she said. Why do you torture yourself like this? You ought to take all of this to a charity shop.

—Oh no. I couldn’t give my husband’s clothes away. They’re all I’ve got left of him.

—I didn’t mean his clothes, said Petra. I meant yours.

She started grabbing stuff out of the wardrobe and chucking it on the floor.

—Oh for goodness sake, she said. You’re a grown-up woman. Puma no. Kappa absolutely no. Nike. Gap. Reebok. NEXT. No. No. No. NO. Adidas a tentative yes but only for actually running in. Do you actually run in these?

—Nah. I don’t have the energy for running. I couldn’t run a bath.

—Right then, said Petra. Adidas no.

She threw my Adidas trackies on the floor with the rest of my stuff. Then she had a look at what was left on my side of the wardrobe. She held up my brown H&M skirt and wrinkled her nose.

—Alright, she said. I’ll let you keep this for schooldays so long as you never tell a living soul I said you could.

I smiled.

—Look at you, she said. You’d scrub up just fine if you took a little more care over what you wore.

—Yeah well when you have kids you give up on wearing anything smart don’t you? I mean not if you don’t want choc-chip sprayed all up it.

Petra took my wrist and put her other hand on my cheek and swayed so her face came very close to mine.

—Yes, she said. But you don’t have kids do you?

—That’s enough. Let’s get you lying down.

I shoved her towards the bed and she fell down face first on it with those stiletto boots sticking out over the end. She closed her eyes and groaned and her voice came out very slow.

—I’m not tired, she said. I just need a moment.

—That’s alright you just have a little rest you’ll be right as rain.

—What happened with Jasper last night? she said.

—Why don’t you ask him?

—Why don’t you tell me?

I just shrugged I was looking out the window. I was watching these nice white clouds blowing high above the balloons in the bright blue sky. There was a whole pack of them headed east out towards Stratford way and it looked like they were going to drift on and on all day. Not a care in the world those old clouds. I thought of them drifting till the city disappeared and then just floating on over the mooing cows and the buttercups. And when they saw the estuary mud underneath all speckled with gulls I supposed they’d just carry on drifting out over the flat grey sea.

When I turned back from the window Petra was asleep. She had her hands under her face palms down. I took off her boots for her and she mumbled something in her sleep it sounded like I thought I told you no anchovies in the salad. I rubbed my eyes. My hangover was pulling me down like the concrete lump they tie on when they want your body to sink. I lay on the bed next to Petra and watched her sleeping for a bit with her face all scrunched up on her hands. Then I fell asleep too and in my dream I was drifting over the estuary and out to sea. When I woke up the clouds were thicker out the window and Petra was still asleep and her hand was holding on to my wrist very gentle. I stayed still so as not to wake her and I must of drifted off because when I opened my eyes again the sky was overcast and the bed was empty beside me.

*                  *                  *

It rained for 6 whole days. London was a city on a lukewarm rinse cycle there was water everywhere. The Central Line flooded and Bethnal Green Road ran brown as the Thames and the pigeons sat down in doorways all sulky and wet and they didn’t even bother flying off any more when you went near them. It was summer Osama what can I say?

I went to work in the rain and I came home in the rain. I did it again and again all week. Every day was the same except Wednesday there was thunder and Thursday it just rained harder instead. The wallpaper peeled in the flat and I couldn’t be bothered to go down the shops so I just ate what was in the freezer and when the freezer was empty I started on the Cup-a-Soup.

On the Friday I went down the pub again with Terence Butcher but it wasn’t the same. The crowd in the Approach was moody as the pigeons. I had so much Cup-a-Soup in my system the G&T tasted like minestrone. Terence was just banging on and on about caravans so I told him can’t you give it a bloody rest? We had words and I smashed my glass on the table and walked home through the rain with my clothes wet through and sticking to me. Back home I lay in the lounge in my bra and pants with the telly off just listening to the rain.

I was still on the couch when I woke up. There was this shocking bright light shining through the window I couldn’t remember anything like it. After a bit I worked out it was the sun. I stood up and opened the window and looked at Barnet Grove drying out with the steam coming off it and all the motors sparkling like new.

I had a shower and got dressed and the doorbell went. It was Petra and this time she was smiling.

—Isn’t it a gorgeous day? she said.

I shrugged.

—Are you going to ask me in? said Petra.

—Depends. Are you going to start throwing things?

Her face fell.

—I was completely out of line last week, she said. Jasper told me what he did to you in the pub.

—Yeah?

I turned and went into the kitchen. Petra shut the front door behind her and followed me.

—Another woman might have called the police, she said.

I was looking out the window with my back to her. I shrugged.

—Jasper doesn’t need the police does he? He needs to pull himself together.

—You could have made life quite difficult for us, said Petra. I owe you one.

I turned towards her.

—You don’t owe me anything and I don’t owe you. Forget it. Are you finished?

Petra stood there fiddling with her hands.

—Don’t be like that, she said. I came to make a peace offering.

—Listen Petra I don’t need a peace offering I just need peace and quiet.

I started the water running in the sink. Petra sat down on the corner of the kitchen table and watched me.

—You’re quite something aren’t you? she said. You just get on with things.

—Yeah well what would you do?

Petra thought about it for a bit.

—Me? she said. If I were feeling blue? Shopping.

—Yeah well there’s nothing I need is there.

—You could do with something nice to wear, said Petra. Go on. Let me take you shopping today.

The sink was full. I turned the taps off and started scrubbing dried minestrone off the insides of the mugs.

—I’m fine with the clothes I’ve got.

—No you’re not, said Petra. Trust me. You’re a pretty girl but the way you dress all you’re missing is the hairnet and you could be working in an abattoir. Your life isn’t going anywhere. You need a bit of luck but nothing good is going to happen to you till you can walk out of that front door dressed for it to happen.

—You reckon.

—Darling, said Petra. I don’t reckon. I know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from ten years in fashion it’s that good luck adores good shoes. So come on. We’re going to the shops.

I sighed.

—What if I’ve got something planned today?

—Well do you?

Well I thought about that one Osama and the truth was I didn’t have anything planned for the whole of the rest of my life that was the whole problem. I shook my head.

—Nah.

—Super, said Petra.

She flipped open her mobile and ordered a black cab before I could say it was stupid to waste my bus pass. The cab arrived quicker than I could change my mind so I just put on my Pumas and left the washing-up in the sink. Outside on the street the tarmac was still steaming and my hair was drying in the sun.

—Listen Petra does my hair smell of smoke to you?

I moved closer to her and she took my hair and pulled it into her face. She breathed in slowly and breathed out. I felt her breath cool on my cheek.

—No, she said. Your hair smells delicious.

She brushed her fingers down the side of my face and I shivered. Then she let her hand drop. I watched it fall onto the pavement. Her arm was severed below the elbow and the naked bone peeped out of the ripped flesh. Her pretty pale fingers twitched. I had to close my eyes and open them again before things came back right.

We got in the cab and I saw the cabbie looking at us in the mirror. He did a double take and I don’t blame him. We must of looked like one of those science experiments. You know. Where one twin gets the money and the other twin just gets in a state. I didn’t really know what I was doing out with Petra. All I knew is it was better than staying in the flat all day.

—Where to? said the cabbie.

—Harvey Nichols, said Petra.

—You’re having a laugh aren’t you? I haven’t got the money to shop at Harvey Nichols I’m an Asda girl.

—It’s not a problem, said Petra. I have money. It’ll be my treat.

—No Petra you can’t buy my clothes for me.

—Then we’ll just have to add it to my list of can’ts, said Petra. Can’t throw tantrums. Can’t let one’s boyfriend sexually assault the competition. Can’t slap said competition and vandalise her flat. Next to all that I would have thought treating you to a frock or two should count as a minor misdemeanour wouldn’t you say?

—I wouldn’t know I mean you lost me there.

—Then think of it this way, she said. I am Petra Sutherland. I can do whatever the hell I please.

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.