Chris Cleave Ebook Boxed Set (70 page)

—Oh no oh fucking Jesus Christ no please no you’re not going to murder me are you? she said.

I didn’t say anything I just got the Zippo out of my pocket and opened the lid of it and held it up and Petra Sutherland was squirming in her chair but she couldn’t stand up she was saying no no NO NO NO. My boy wasn’t taking any notice he was laughing and running round the office banging on the glass windows and looking out over the whole of London in flames underneath us. LOOK MUMMY he was pointing. WHAT’S THAT BURNING? It’s the new Swiss Re building darling. AND WHAT’S THAT BURNING? It’s St. Paul’s Cathedral. AND WHAT’S THAT BURNING? Shush now just for a second darling Mummy’s very busy.

I looked back at Petra I looked right in her eyes.

—God you’re fucking crazy, she said. There’s no one fucking there you’re talking to yourself oh god oh god oh you need help I can help you you don’t have to go through with this please oh please just put that lighter down and we can get you some help oh please and you won’t get into any trouble I promise.

I just looked at her I couldn’t believe she was promising again.

—Why are you doing this? said Petra. Please? WHY?

—It’s like you said yourself Petra. We must always do what’s best for our children.

Petra went very scared and pale then she was just trembling and whimpering. I took a couple of steps back towards the wall of the office so I’d be out of the way when all that petrol went up. I called to my boy. He had his nose pressed up against the windows gawping at the waves of flame rolling over London so all you could see was the very tops of the tallest towers crumbling in the heat.

—Come on darling come back here with Mummy out of the way.

I held up the Zippo and I put my thumb on the spark wheel. I stayed like that watching Petra cry for a very long time. My boy looked up at me.

—Mummy what are you waiting for?

Kids will ask questions won’t they Osama? I took a deep breath.

—I’m waiting till I don’t feel anything for her any more not even a tiny bit.

—How long will that take Mummy?

—I don’t know.

—Oh.

I just stood there and Petra was crying and I was crying too even through all the pills.

—Mummy I’m bored can’t you just do it anyway?

I sighed.

—Nah.

I looked at Petra Sutherland one last time with London burning behind her and then I took my thumb off the wheel. I folded the lid back on the Zippo very slow and careful and I put the Zippo down on the desk very gentle. I thought about it for a moment and I reached down and I took Mr. Rabbit out of the Nike bag and I sat him down nice and comfy next to the Zippo. Then I took my boy by the hand and we walked out of Petra’s office and we closed the door behind us.

* * *

That was this morning Osama and now I’m back at work I mean it’s not as if I’ve got anywhere else to go is it? I changed into my uniform and the manager had a go at me for being 2 hours late but it’s not as if she was going to sack me. I mean it’s Christmas Eve and they need all the staff they can get. I don’t suppose you know much about Christmas Osama so let me explain it’s the holiest day in our religion so half the East End is in here today stocking up on lager and fairy lights.

I’m on my lunch hour. I would of thought the coppers would of been here by now to take me away but they haven’t turned up yet so I’m sitting in the staff room eating Tesco’s Value mince pies and finishing off this letter. It’s nice in the staff room there’s Christmas songs playing on the stereo and some of the other girls are in here laughing and nattering. My boy is playing on the tabletop making claws with his hands and going RRRR! RRRR! he’s a prowling jungle tiger I think or maybe a JCB digger. There’s a little window in here and you can see out into the store and you can hear the Christmassy customer announcements over the loudspeakers. JOY TO THE WORLD. GOODWILL TO ALL MEN. KAREEM TO CHECKOUT 4 PLEASE.

You can see my section from here Osama. I am very proud of my section all the tins and packets are inside their sell-by dates and all the labels are facing front and everything is very neat and tidy. I wish you could see it. I think it is beautiful all that neatness. Tidiness almost hides the horror. This is love Osama this is civilisation this is what I’m getting paid 7 pound 20 an hour for.

The coppers will find me here soon and they’ll take me away and have me banged up. I don’t blame them I mean you can’t have people like me strolling around with petrol cans. They’ll put me in prison for a bit or maybe in the nuthouse although I think I’d prefer prison on account of the nutters would just upset my boy. Don’t worry about me Osama I’ll be alright I’ll just keep myself to myself and it’s not as if I’ll get bored I’ve got more letters to write like I said.

When I get out of prison Osama if you’re still outside too then I want you to come and live with me. Please don’t laugh please just think about it it could be a new start for both of us. We could get a decent place in the nice part of Hoxton or somewhere else if you prefer. Anywhere not too pricey would be alright although not South London if it’s all the same to you. Come out of your cave Osama and come to me I can’t hate you any more. I am weak from hate I don’t even have enough hate left to turn the little spark wheel on a Zippo. I know I’m just too stupid to know better but look at me.
I’m like a broken jukebox the only tune I play is looking after my chaps. Won’t you let me play it?

I will comfort you when you have bad dreams in the night. I will cook your tea just the way you like it. I will make our upstairs neighbours wish they’d never been born. I will try very hard to be faithful. I will hide you from the law and put all your CDs back in their right boxes with their labels facing front. We’ll make a new start the 2 of us. Everyone should be allowed a new start. Come on Osama my boy needs a dad and it’s about time you grew up too. I’ve told you all about the sadness of bombs so now you must give them up. I know you are a clever man Osama much brighter than me and I know you have a lot of things to get done but you ought to be able to get it done with love that’s my whole point. Love is not surrender Osama love is furious and brave and loud you can hear it in the noise my boy is making right now while he plays. RRRR! RRRR! he says I wish you could hear him Osama that noise is the fiercest and the loudest sound on earth it will echo to the end of time it is more deafening than bombs. Listen to that noise Osama it is time for you to stop blowing the world apart. Come to me Osama. Come to me and we will blow the world back together WITH INCREDIBLE NOISE AND FURY.

The work was carried on with diligence, and London is restored; but whether with greater speed or beauty, may be made a question
.

—Inscription on the Monument to the Great Fire of London, south side

With grateful thanks to those whose skill and kindness have helped me in this work
:

Jessica Abell

Aileen Boyle

Rebecca Carter

Niki Castle

Kristin Cochrane

Suzie Dooré

Sophie Epstein

Jennifer Hewson

Henry Jeffreys

Jennifer Joel

Martha Leonard

Sharon Maguire

Nicola Makoway

Maya Mavjee

Sonny Mehta

Victoria Meyer

Andy Paterson

David Rosenthal

Marysue Rucci

Laetitia Rutherford

Wendy Sheanin

Louise Sherwin-Stark

James Spackman

Peter Straus

Anand Tucker

Leah Wasielewski

Alexis Welby

And with love and thanks, as ever, to my family and friends
.

Chris Cleave, London

S
IMON
& S
CHUSTER
R
EADING
G
ROUP
G
UIDE

Incendiary

A distraught woman writes a letter to Osama bin Laden after her four-year-old son and her husband are killed in a massive suicide bomb attack at a soccer match in London. In an emotionally raw voice alive with grief, compassion, and startling humor, she tries to convince Osama to abandon his terror campaign by revealing to him the desperate sadness and the broken heart of a working-class life blown apart. But the bombing is only the beginning. While security measures transform London into a virtual occupied territory, the unnamed narrator, too, finds herself under siege. At first she gains strength by fighting back, taking a civilian job with the police to aid the antiterrorist effort. But when she becomes involved with an upper-class couple, she is drawn into a psychological maelstrom of guilt, ambition, and cynicism that erodes her faith in the society she’s working to defend. And when a new bomb threat sends the city into a deadly panic, she is pushed to acts of unfathomable desperation—perhaps her only chance for survival.

1.
Incendiary
opens with “Dear Osama,” and is framed as a novel-length letter from a devastated mother of a terror-attack victim to Osama bin Laden. How does the epistolary structure impact your appreciation of the narrator’s plight? Is the narrator’s run-on narrative style intended to be indicative of a semiliterate upbringing, or to convey the urgency of her situation, or to suggest that she is psychologically unbalanced?

2. “And when I get nervous about all the horrible things in the world I just need something very soft and secret and warm to make me forget it for a bit.” (p. 9) How is the narrator’s sexual promiscuity connected to her anxiety? To what extent does her sexual encounter with Jasper Black on the day of the stadium attack seem reprehensible?

3. How does their shared awareness of class differences establish an immediate boundary between the narrator and Jasper Black? What is it about their social and cultural differences that makes them especially attractive to each other?

4. How does the setting of
Incendiary
in London resonate for you as a reader? Does London function as a character of sorts in the novel, as it undergoes changes as a result of the attacks?

5. “Well Osama I sometimes think we deserve whatever you do to us. Maybe you are right maybe we are infidels. Even when you
blow us into chunks we don’t stop fighting each other.” (p. 50) How does the narrator’s disgust with some of the Arsenal and Chelsea bombing victims reveal her own awareness of her society’s failings? Why does the author choose to include details from the attack and its aftermath that are unflattering to the victims?

6. How did you interpret the narrator’s interactions with her deceased son? To what extent do you think the author intended these glimpses of the boy as evidence of the narrator’s post-traumatic mental condition? How might they also function as a kind of magical realism?

7. “I am someone who is having a surreal day,” she said. “This afternoon I had a light lunch with Salman Rushdie. We drank Côte de Léchet. We discussed V. S. Naipaul and long hair on men.” (p. 107) To what extent is Petra Sutherland a caricature of a self-involved snob? Does she transcend that characterization through her involvement with the narrator? What does her behavior in light of the narrator’s discoveries about the May Day attack suggest about her true character?

8. In the text of her letter to Osama, the narrator imagines newspaper headlines that comment directly on her experiences. How is this propensity connected with the narrator’s sense that her life offers the kind of spectacle that others only read about? How does it relate to her relationships with the journalists Jasper Black and Petra Sutherland?

9. “Yes,” she said. “We have better sex when I look like you.” (p. 163) How is Jasper Black’s love triangle with the narrator and his girlfriend, Petra Sutherland, complicated by their similar appearances? How does Petra’s pregnancy change the narrator’s relationship with her? Does Jasper Black’s staging of a dirty bomb in Parliament Square reveal his social conscience or his stupidity?

10. How does Terence Butcher’s revelation about the truth behind
the May Day attack impact his relationship with the narrator? What does his decision to tell the narrator the truth suggest about his feelings for her? To what extent do you feel his behavior before and after the attack is justifiable?

11. “A thousand City suits die and it’s good-bye global economy. A thousand blokes in Gunners T-shirts die and you just sell a bit less lager.” (p. 188) How do the social concerns introduced in
Incendiary
hint at the tensions between working class and middle class London in the twenty-first century?

12. Why doesn’t author Chris Cleave give his narrator a name? To what extent does her anonymity impact your ability to identify with her as a reader?

You drafted
Incendiary
“during six insomniac weeks” after the birth of your first child. To what extent is this kind of creative torrent typical of your literary output? Why did this book come to you so quickly, do you think?