—You the father you reckon?
—Yes, said Jasper. Yes I think so.
—Good for you.
—Thanks.
More silence.
—She sick in the mornings is she?
—Yes, said Jasper. In the mornings she’s sick and moody. In the evenings she’s tired and moody. In between times she’s moody and off at work. Thank god.
—Tell her to try a teaspoon of cider vinegar after meals.
—Alright, said Jasper.
—And tell her it helps to go for a walk in the evenings before bed.
—I will, he said.
—And tell her to. Tell her to. Oh bollocks to it I’ll come over and tell her myself.
Jasper grinned and I stood up from the table and went into the bedroom and took off my dressing gown and put on my grey trackie bottoms and a grey Nike T-shirt. I mean maybe Petra was right maybe Helmut Lang had moved on but we never saw much of him down Barnet Grove anyway.
When we were leaving the flat I shouted at my boy to be good and I slammed the front door behind us. Jasper gave me a look.
Over at Jasper and Petra’s place they were having the same power cut we were having in the Wellington Estate I mean you can talk as posh as you like it doesn’t bother electricity. Petra was sitting on the floor in front of their sofa and she looked the way you’d love us all to look Osama. Black-eyed. Hollow. Knackered.
I knelt down and I put my hand on her tummy like you do even though there wasn’t anything to feel yet. I closed my eyes and I did try so hard to feel happy for her. I mean you’re meant to feel pleased aren’t you? You’re supposed to pretend those babies are coming into a world where no one’s trying to burn them. That’s the trick that lets you be pleased they’re going to be born. That’s the trick that lets you stop worrying and start knitting tiny boots isn’t it?
Well I tried ever so hard but it wasn’t any good I just couldn’t do that trick any more. With my eyes closed I saw the unborn life in Petra’s tummy. I felt like you knew its name before it was even born Osama. The child was doomed it floated there very lonely in the dark. It didn’t know London yet but you could tell it was already nervous. It heard its mum’s heart beating and each beat made it flinch like a nail bomb going off in the distance. Its little fists were closed tight and the umbilical cord was pumping it full of petrol. It was an incendiary child and when it dreamed it dreamed of sparks. I saw its face and it was my dead boy’s face. It spoke with my dead boy’s voice. Mummy it said. Mummy they knew. MUMMY THEY KNEW. I stood up very quick and went over to the end of the sofa and looked down at the floor till I got my head together.
—How you feeling?
—Awful, said Petra. I’m just so bloody tired all the time.
—Yeah well you better get used to it. When your baby’s a toddler you’ll think these were the good old days.
—Oh thanks, said Petra. Very encouraging.
—Sorry. Don’t listen to me. Honestly. It’s all worth it.
Petra just sat there and stared at me. It went on too long I didn’t know what to do with myself.
—Listen is there anything I can do to help?
—Yes, said Petra. You can get us some hard evidence that the authorities knew about May Day before it happened.
I looked at her.
—Actually what I meant was I’ve got a book on pregnancy if you want and lots of maternity clothes I don’t know if they’d be your style but they’re all clean and folded and then for when the baby comes I can give you all the bottles and sterilisers and that sort of thing I mean it’s all up in the flat in boxes you’re welcome to it.
—An audio tape would do, said Petra. But a video would be better. Get your little policeman to confess to you again. It has to be something we can show as evidence.
Jasper stepped right up to Petra and yanked her up to her feet and talked right into her face.
—Petra, he said. Bloody well stop it. We discussed this and you promised not to do it like this. I’d never have got her over if I’d known you were going to do this.
—Ha, said Petra. If you were the kind of father who did a little less coke and a little more investigative journalism then maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.
—That’s not fair, said Jasper.
—Fuck fair, said Petra.
She turned to me. I was leaning hard on the arm of the sofa. My brain felt like the icing on those buns all soft and pink from the booze and the pills.
—Jasper and I have had a little talk, said Petra. We think it might be best if I took the story to the paper. After all Jasper’s a bit low on credibility right now. I want you to help me do the story.
—Why?
Petra shrugged.
—Because Jasper’s too craven to do it. Because they’ll promote me if I do it.
—I don’t mean why do you want to do the story I mean why should I help you?
Petra didn’t stop for a second.
—Because I’ll pay you, she said. Or rather the paper will. For your collaboration. It could change your life. It could be as much as 50K.
—Nah.
—100K even.
—Petra. Listen. You’re pregnant. It’s always a shock. Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll pretend this never happened?
—Oh come on, said Petra. Don’t tell me a woman in your position can turn down that kind of money.
—Listen Petra a woman in my position could wallpaper her flat with money it wouldn’t make a difference. It’s all just pictures of the queen to me. Without my boy to spend it on that’s all your precious money is Petra. Crappy little pictures of the queen.
I turned to go but Jasper took hold of my arm very gentle.
—Then you should do it for yourself, he said.
—You what?
Jasper put his mouth close to my ear and spoke very soft.
—You still see your boy don’t you? he said.
I looked at him I shook my head I made these big eyes that said WHO? ME? I mean I was in a state Osama I’ll give you that but I wasn’t mad enough to forget they lock you up when you start seeing people they can’t.
—It’s alright, said Jasper. I understand. I see things too since May Day. It’s normal. It’s called post-traumatic shock.
I shook my head again I was terrified. I whispered back to Jasper.
—Nah. I’m fine honestly don’t worry about me I’m right as rain.
—In your kitchen just now, said Jasper. I saw the way your eyes flicked over into the corner of the room while we talked. And then when we left you actually told him to be good.
—What are you saying to her? said Petra.
—You be quiet please Petra, said Jasper.
He leaned closer to my ear.
—You’re going to keep on having these troubles, he said. Until you do something to lay the boy to rest.
—I can’t lay him to rest I don’t have his body there’s just his teeth and I’m not going to bury his little teeth am I? I mean there isn’t a grave small enough.
—So do this thing Petra’s asking you for, said Jasper. But don’t do it for her. Do it for you. It’ll help.
—Why?
—Because you need to get the truth out, said Jasper. Because if you keep it inside it’s going to finish you off. I mean look at yourself.
I looked back at Jasper staring into my eyes very close and I looked at Petra watching me over his shoulder and I looked at my boy lying on his tummy trying to fish an ashtray or something out from under their coffee table. I didn’t know what to think I was holding on to my head with both hands to stop it falling apart. I stepped back from Jasper I went to the corner of the room farthest from them both.
—I don’t know. I don’t effing well know do I? Why doesn’t this thing ever just stop? Why won’t you two ever leave me in peace?
—Because you know you have to do this, said Jasper. It’s vital for you and it’s vital for the country.
—Oh you care about the count
ry suddenly do you?
Jasper shrugged.
—I’m going to be a father, he said. It changes everything. I don’t want my child to live in a place where politicians decide who dies.
I shook my head.
—I don’t know. I don’t know. What about Terence Butcher?
—What about him? said Petra.
—If I do this thing won’t he be in a lot of trouble?
—Do you even care? said Petra.
—I don’t know. I don’t know. He says he loves me.
—Loves you, said Petra. As much as you loved your boy?
—Well it’s not the same thing is it? It’s not the same thing at all.
Petra smiled and Jasper looked down at the floor.
—Ah, said Petra. Finally she gets it.
* * *
The Travelodge was near Liverpool Street and I sat in the bar waiting for Terence Butcher to come in from work. I was waiting for hours but that was alright. It was cosy and dark in the bar and they left me alone except when I asked them for drinks. I must of had 5 or 6 G&Ts and it was nice just sitting there in a bit of a fog while my boy scampered around in the lobby up to mischief I shouldn’t wonder. The girl at the reception desk was very helpful when I asked her to check if Terence Butcher was staying there and the barman was very helpful when I asked him to only serve me doubles in fact all the staff were very helpful Osama so if you ever find yourself needing to break a long journey in between massacres I reckon you could do a lot worse than a Travelodge.
It was nearly 11 when Terence Butcher finally showed up. I’d chosen a seat at one of those low tables where I could see when he came in the front entrance but I needn’t of bothered because he went straight to the bar and ordered a double Scotch. I got up and I went over to him. It wasn’t a long way but things weren’t too steady and I had to hold on to the backs of the chairs to stop the Travelodge from wobbling. I tapped Terence on the shoulder and he turned round from the bar looking tired and ill but he smiled when he saw me. It wasn’t your ordinary smile it was sort of laughing and lost at the same time like when someone makes a good joke at a funeral.
—What are you doing here? he said.
—I thought you might need tea or filing.
Terence smiled and held on to my arm like he was worried I might keel over and I suppose he did have a point.
—You shouldn’t have come, he said. Why did you?
—I’m not sure yet.
It was true Osama my head was in pieces from pills and gin I didn’t know what I was going to do. Mr. Rabbit was in my bag and he had Jasper’s video camera sewn in his tummy with this tiny lens sticking out. All I had to do was sit the little feller somewhere he could see what was going on and press RECORD and get Terence Butcher to talk. But there was a bunch of old photos in my bag too. They were of my husband and my boy and me mucking around in the flat and in Victoria Park and one of us all with ice creams on the beach at Brighton. I looked up at Terence and I held on to his arm and I giggled on account of I couldn’t work out if I was there to stitch him up or talk him through the family album.
—Are you alright? said Terence.
—Nah. Are you going to take me to bed?
—Bed? he said. Last time I checked you were never going to speak to me again.
—Yeah well I’m not promising I’ll speak in bed.
Terence laughed then and drained his Scotch and signalled at the barman for another.
—You’re drunk, he said. Maybe you should just go home.
I blinked and rocked back and forward on my pins for a second I mean I wasn’t expecting that.
—Listen Terence Butcher I’m drunk cause I’ve been waiting here 5 hours for you and I haven’t waited 5 hours so you can tell me you don’t even care.
The barman brought the new Scotch and Terence looked down into it and swirled the glass round in his hand so the ice cubes rattled. Then he looked at me and those grey eyes were flashing pink with the neon from the bar.
—I do care, he said. More than you know. That’s why I think it might be best if you just went home.
—Yeah but I want to be with you.
—No you don’t, he said. You told me so.
Terence Butcher put his hand under my chin and turned my face round very gentle so I was looking straight up in his eyes.
—There, he said. Look right at me and tell me you don’t see a murderer.
I opened my mouth but I couldn’t say anything all I could see was fire in his eyes from all those neon reflections and I gasped.
—There, he said. Tell me it wouldn’t always be like that. Over coffee. Over drinks. Every night in the bathroom mirror brushing our teeth.
My legs went to rubber and I could feel the strength of him under his shirt and I knew if I kept hold of him I’d do us both wrong but I knew if I let go I’d fall down flat on the floor.
—Oh I don’t know Terence I’m lost. Please won’t you just hold me I’m completely lost.
* * *
There’s a lot of things we’ve got in common these days Osama but here’s one thing you’ll never do. I bet you’ll never let yourself be done in a Travelodge by the man who left your chaps to die. I bit my lip in case the pain would take my mind off the shivers that were racing up my back. I bit until the blood came but it wasn’t any use. In my head I was hating Terence but my body was still in love. I wanted to say I hate you you vicious lying coward YOU KNEW but you still left my chaps to die. YOU KNEW in that time we had together in the clouds. For months and months YOU KNEW. I was trying to make my mouth say all that Osama I swear to you but all that came out was moans.
I gasped and I twisted my head on the pillow and my eyes were rolling back in my head and then nothing. I lay on the bed with Terence on top of me and the flames flickered out in his eyes and there was nothing. Just grey smoke smouldering and my boy sitting on the edge of the empty bath next door and kicking his heels on the enamel bang bang bang.
Afterwards I let Terence lie inside me for a little while. Nice and quiet with his head on my shoulder while I stroked the back of his neck. Mr. Rabbit sitting watching us from the chair beside my bag.
—Lovely Terence. I missed you so much.
—Mmm, he said.
Silence.
—Terence. I’ve been thinking. If you had another chance to decide what to do on May Day. Would you make the same choice again?
Terence sighed and I felt his muscles go all tight again.
—Do you really want to think about it now? he said.
—I have to know.
Terence Butcher pulled out of me and rolled on his back. He reached over for his Marlboro Reds and he lit one and I lit one too.
—It’s hard to say if I’d do the same again, he said. There were so many factors.
—Tell me all about it.
He nodded and gave a little smile and took a drag of his ciggie and blew smoke out very slowly up towards the ceiling. He turned towards me and gave me such a sad look then. I think he knew what was going on. He looked at me like our old dog looked at me and my husband the day we reckoned the kindest thing we could do for him was give him his favourite food and wrap him up in his favourite blanket and drive him one last time to the vet in the boot of our old Astra.
—Do I have to? he said.
I couldn’t look at him and my voice came out very quiet.
—I have to.
Terence Butcher nodded. Then he lit another ciggie and sat up in the bed and told me everything very slow and careful and clear like his voice was typed in capital letters. When he’d finished he didn’t even look at me he just lay down and slept like I reckon he hadn’t slept since May Day and there was this strange expression on his face while he slept very sad and calm like the stone men you see in churchyards.
* * *
It was 5 a.m. when I left it was still dark. The courier was waiting outside the Travelodge just like Jasper and Petra said he would be. I gave him Mr. Rabbit with his camera inside and
the courier got on his bike and I got on the number 23 bus. I got off at Piccadilly Circus and I checked in at the Golden Square Hotel. I chose it because I saw it once when I took my boy to the Trocadero and I thought it looked quite fancy. Actually it’s a filthy place Osama but it is cheap. I stayed there for 4 days just waiting for Sunday and no one knew where I was not even Petra and Jasper. Jasper said it’d be best that way.
I stayed in my room and ate crisps and sandwiches and drank the rusty water from the hand basin. It was weird just stuck there doing nothing. Knowing I could never go back to Scotland Yard again. I tried to sleep as much as I could so I didn’t have to think about it all. Every day I dozed on the bed and watched flames licking up the wallpaper and every night I lay awake listening to the backpackers laughing and shouting in the corridor. In the early mornings when there wasn’t anyone about to watch I crept out of the room and walked through the piles of cold puke to the bathroom at the end of the hall. It was a lonely 4 days Osama but I didn’t mind because after a while my boy turned up and we had a good talk.
—Mummy, he said. Where are we?
—We’re in a hotel darling.
—Why are we? he said.
—We’re hiding.
My boy’s eyes went wide.
—Why? he said.
—Because it’s safest that way. Mummy helped Petra to write a story for the newspaper where she works. The story is going to be published on Sunday. When that story comes out it’s going to be very bad for the men that hurt you and Daddy. Lots of people are going to want to talk to your mum.
—So we’re hiding! he said.
I smiled at my boy. It was so nice to have him there. He was beautiful with his bright ginger hair and his stubby little teeth. There wasn’t a scratch on him. I said he could eat all the crisps he wanted but he wasn’t very hungry.
On Sunday morning very early I checked out of the hotel and walked out onto Piccadilly Circus. I had one of those travelling suitcases on wheels that Petra lent me. I was dragging it behind me with the boy riding on top of it. He looked up at the huge electric billboards with his eyes all wide and his mouth open and his breath steaming in the cold morning air. The poor chap was only wearing his jeans and his Arsenal away shirt.