Incendiary Page 6
I felt like I’d fallen through the hole. Day and night didn’t mean anything it was all just buzzing neon. I was right at the back of the ward farthest from the windows with only fluorescent strips and green lino and the stink of disinfectant. I couldn’t count the days all I could count was the bodies. THE NUMBER OF CONFIRMED DEAD FROM THE MAY DAY ATTACK HAS RISEN TO 966 they said on the radio. WITH DOZENS MORE STILL MISSING OR IN CRITICAL CONDITION. The ward sister brought me a nice mug of tea.
Did one of your men bring you tea that morning Osama? In one of those little glasses? Did you look him in the eye and wonder if you could trust him? I suppose you must wonder that all the time. 966 is a lot of Gunners fans to blow up if you don’t want it to come back to you one day. Did you drink your tea while you looked your man in the eye? Then did you walk out in the hot sun and breathe in the smell of dry goat shit and wild thyme? Did you turn on the radio and hear them say 966 dead? Did you turn to the east? Did you put your mat down over the rocks and kneel down to pray? Well I prayed that morning Osama. Maybe we were praying for the same thing. I was praying for the death toll to go up to 967. God forgive me but I was praying for the BRAVE 82 YR OLD GRAN across the ward from me to die and leave me in peace.
I marked the days off by scratching little lines in the guardrail of my bed like they do in the films. Each time the nurse came to give me my sedatives I reckoned it was a new day and I made a new mark although now I come to think of it the nurse might of come round twice a day. So maybe it was 16 days after May Day or maybe it was only 8 when the death toll finally reached 1,000. I think the whole country had been secretly hoping it would get there. It was like a relief when it happened. It felt like we’d got somewhere we’d all been headed for a long time.
I must of wished very hard because it was the singing granny who made it a clean 1,000 god bless her. I woke up very early one morning and it was all nice and quiet so I pushed myself up on the pillows and I looked across at her. It was obvious she was dead. The bandage had slipped off her eyes. There were just 2 holes there. The holes were packed with bloody gauze. The poor dear looked like a dirty old doll losing her stuffing. I was thinking YOU’RE NOT SINGING ANY MORE. I started laughing I never knew I was so funny. The doctor came running. He shone a light into my eyes and suddenly I was back on the pitch with the floodlights shining down on me through the smoke. I started screaming again and the doctor gave me another injection.
When I woke up again the radio said 1,003 dead and they were playing a song Sir Elton John had just written called ENGLAND’S HEART IS BLEEDING that was going to be number 1 probably forever or at least until the sun and the stars burned out like cheap lightbulbs and the universe ended for good and it couldn’t come soon enough if you asked me but nobody did.
The death toll didn’t go up any more from 1,003. They started to work out what had happened. I listened to the BBC every morning. They reckon you sent 11 suicide bombers. I don’t know if that was on purpose but you fielded a whole team. Nobody knew why you made them be Arsenal fans. Does Allah hate the Gunners even more than he hates the West in general or was it just a coincidence? Maybe you decided it on the toss of a coin the same way the 2 captains decide which team’s going to kick off.
They reckoned what happened was that 11 of your men got into the ground with bombs under their Arsenal shirts. They had season tickets for seats in the East Stand. When van Persie took his shot on the volley everyone in the East Stand jumped up. The real Arsenal fans were shouting YES! but your men were shouting ALLAH AKBAR! The police played the TV pictures back frame by frame so they could read their lips.
Your men pulled the triggers on their bombs. 6 of them were wearing fragmentation bombs and the other 5 were wearing incendiaries. It had never been done before the experts said they were the most terrible suicide bombs ever used in the history of the world. They must of looked huge under those Arsenal shirts but nobody would of said anything except maybe oi you fatty guess who ate all the pies. There’s a lot of beer bellies in the Gunners fan club you see. Well I suppose there’s a lot less now.
They reckon maybe 200 people died straight away blown to bits by the fragmentation bombs. I hope my husband and my boy were part of that 200. That’s a funny thing to say isn’t it Osama? When I was growing up in the East End me and the other girls used to push our dolls around the streets in tiny little prams and pretend they were our real babies. I don’t recall us ever wishing they would get blown to bits by fragmentation bombs. I don’t think that was how the game ended ever. But that is what I hope. I hope my chaps died straight away. One second thinking YES! and the next second thinking nothing much. Because the 200 people who died straight away didn’t have to suffer. 803 other poor sods didn’t have it so easy.
After the first blast anyone who could still run did run. There was a stampede. People were legging it in all directions. Even the ones who had small bits blown off them like noses and hands and whatnot. There was phosphorus raining down all around. It set fire to the seats. To the stands. To the clothes and skin and fat of the fallen bodies. There was an inferno. They reckon maybe 500 people were crushed and burned to death while fire rained down on the East Stand. And that left 303 people still to die.
The hospital porters said that after the first ambulances started to arrive they had to borrow rubber boots from the operating block. They would swing open the ambulance doors and the blood would be an inch deep on the floor. They said some of the things that arrived on the ambulance stretchers didn’t really look like anything.
Only 2 people died not at the ground or walking away from it or in the ambulances or in the hospitals. Quite near the stadium they found a couple of Chelsea fans hanging from a big old Victorian lamppost. They were strung up very high with electrical cord around their necks. You must of seen them Osama. They were in all the papers swinging very slow and peaceful in their blue shirts against the blue sky once the smoke had cleared. They stayed up there for the whole of that long sunny May evening. The authorities had to clear away all the abandoned motors before they could bring in the cherry-picker crane to take them down. While they were waiting for the crane to come the police sent a marksman to shoot the seagulls that wanted to eat the dead men’s eyes. Nobody ever found out who strung those men up there.
* * *
It took a few weeks before it wasn’t just May Day on the radio. Then some of the normal programmes came back but even the normal programmes weren’t normal any more. Every day they put The Archers on in the ward but even The Archers kept banging on about May Day. It’s funny Osama but the first time I realised May Day was actually real was when I heard Eddie Grundy sitting on his tractor and moaning about it.
By that time anyone who was going to die had died and now it was time for us that were left to get better. I had a broken knee and a broken hand but the doctors said it was my internal injuries meant I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. So I lay there day after day watching the relatives coming on to the ward to visit their loved ones. Some of the relatives looked happy when they visited but some of them were heavy with sadness and you could tell their next visit was a grave. Then there was a third kind of visitor and they were the unhappiest of all because they weren’t visiting anyone in particular. They were looking for a relative that was listed missing. They came like ghosts outside normal visiting hours a
nd their eyes stared very hard at each of us ladies on the ward. You could see them patiently trying to turn our faces into the ones they were missing. Even through all the painkillers it made me cry Osama I would of given anything to look like their missing relative just for 1 second just to give us all a moment’s hope.
The day they told me my husband and my boy were definitely dead was the day Prince William came to visit. The nurses were excited. They ran up and down the ward changing our sheets. Men in suits came with mirrors on sticks. They went along the whole ward looking under our beds for bombs. A photographer came and he put a gadget up to my face.
—What’s that?
—It’s a light meter madam, he said. You’re too pale.
—My husband and my boy are missing. You’d be pale too.
The photographer ignored me.
—Please can you get this one some makeup? he said.
A leggy girl came over. She had a long plastic case like the box my husband used to keep his fishing tackle in. She put it down on my bed and opened it up. There was a whole makeup studio in there. She gave me some foundation and then she did my eyes and my lips.
—There, she said. You look lovely. Fit for a prince.
Now 2 men on ropes came down the outside of the building. They washed the windows so clean you couldn’t tell they were there. A doctor wheeled in some big shiny medical contraptions with lots of flashing lights. He put one next to each of the beds on the ward. When he plugged in the machine next to my bed I propped myself up on my elbow to look at it. The doctor blinked at me.
—What does that do?
—It shows that the NHS is fully equipped for the 21st century, he said.
—Are you going to connect me to it?
—Not unless you’re planning on having renal failure, he said. It’s a kidney dialysis machine.
The doctor nodded at me and went off to install the next machine at the next bed. The nurses were frantic by now. They kept popping off to the night station to do their own makeup. They forgot to give us our painkillers. 4 coppers in uniform came on the ward. They stood by the doors. They had curly wires going into their ears. Their eyes were all over the place. Everyone went quiet. Now we were just waiting for Prince William. Then a woman came. She walked straight over to my bed with everyone’s eyes following her. This woman wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. She was wearing an ordinary tweed suit it made me nervous. She pulled the modesty curtain around my bed.
—Hello there, she said.
—What are you pulling that curtain for?
—Well, she said. I’m doing it because I have some news I’m afraid. I thought you might appreciate a little privacy.
—Is it my husband and my boy? Have you found which hospital they’re in?
The woman shook her head. She was middle-aged. 50 maybe or 60. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
—They’re not in any hospital, she said.
—Well then. Just tell me where they are. I’m nearly better. I should think the doctors will let me go home soon. My boy’ll be missing me and I bet he’s not eating properly. I mean he’s a good eater but you have to cook his greens just right or he won’t touch them. Kids eh?
I laughed but the woman didn’t. She just looked at the floor. She swallowed. She looked back up at me. Now she looked 500 or maybe 600 years old.
—I’m very sorry, she said. Your husband and your son are dead.
—No. No I’m sorry but you’ve made a mistake. They’re just missing. If they were dead they would of told me so straight away.
The woman took a deep breath and spoke very softly.
—The identification process took a long time, she said. Because their bodies were so badly degraded.
—Degraded?
—Burned, she said. In the end we were able to establish their identities only by recourse to their dental records.
I lay there propped up in bed. I was looking at the green modesty curtain that hung all around us. It was nice in there. It was like being in our tent the one and only time my mum took me camping. The woman in the tweed suit squeezed my shoulder. I smiled at her.
—Dental records eh? That’s funny. My boy used to love going to the dentist. He got all excited about the special chair. The dentist used to give him toothpaste to take home. You want to take care of your teeth the dentist said. You might need them one day.
I looked at the woman.
—And he was right wasn’t he? The dentist I mean.
The woman looked at me.
—You’re in shock, she said. It’s going to take a while to sink in. What I’m going to do is I’m going to fetch a chair and bring it next to your bed. I’ll sit right here with you and be with you and we’ll talk it over.
—Alright. He always had such lovely teeth. My boy.
Then the woman reached up and pulled back the modesty curtain and there was Prince William stepping into the ward with the photographer walking backwards in front of him. There were a dozen people in suits walking all around him.
—Oh, said the woman in tweed.
She took a step back. I watched Prince William looking up and down the ward. So tall and handsome. We always liked the royals in my family Osama I don’t care what people say about them. I wasn’t thinking about anything much except maybe oh look there’s Prince William. I grinned at him and he walked over to my bed. He stood over me. Doesn’t he have his mother’s eyes? I thought. He looked bigger than he seemed on telly but then we always did have quite a small telly.
—Hello there, he said.
He was smiling. He was RELAXED BUT SINCERE. Well that’s what it said in the Sun the next day. In the caption underneath the photo the photographer was taking from the end of my bed.
—How are you feeling? said Prince William.
I looked up at him. Prince William had nice teeth very bright and even. I was remembering how I used to sit our boy on the edge of the basin to clean his teeth. They’re only your milk teeth darling I always used to say. But we’ve got to get into the habit of brushing. Then when you’re my age you’ll have teeth like Mummy’s. Zero cavities. Well we did get into the habit of brushing. It was fun. I never did imagine that teeth was all that would be left of him. I mean you don’t imagine such things do you? I looked up at Prince William. I knew it was my turn to speak but I couldn’t. I felt a huge misery welling up inside me. It was physical. Prince William frowned. Relaxed but sincere.
—How are you feeling? he asked again.
I leaned my head out of the bed and puked all over his shoes.
I puked again after Prince William had jumped back. It was like my whole life was coming out of my mouth and spattering on the green lino floor. When it was finished I felt so empty. Prince William stared at me while one of his men wiped my puke off his shoes. He had this strange expression on. It wasn’t cross. It was far away and sad. You could see him thinking to himself well I suppose I am the prince of all this then. I am the prince of this poor blown-up kingdom and one day all these blown-up people will be my subjects and I’ll be able to do nothing for them. I’ll live in palaces pinning medals onto lawyers and architects while these people watch their tired faces get older each morning in dirty bathroom mirrors. It was that sort of an expression.
I stared back at Prince William. I felt so bad. The smell of my puke was rising from the floor. He smiled at me but you could still see him thinking I am the prince of puke and one day I shall be king of it.
—I’m so sorry your royal majesty.
—Please don’t worry, he said. It’s quite alright.
But we both knew it wasn’t.
After Prince William was gone they unplugged all of the kidney dialysis machines and they wheeled them out but they left us where we were.
* * *
That woman in the tweed suit was a grief counsellor. All the time I stayed in hospital we met twice a week to talk through my loss. She honestly thought it would help. She’d never lost anything more serious than car keys. One
day she said I might want to join a group of other mothers who lost their children on May Day but I said nah I mean I’ve never been much of a joiner.
In the end the view out of my window did me more good than talking. They moved me to a bed by the window where there was day and night again and I could look out on the whole city. The hospital I was in was Guy’s. Maybe you know it Osama? Maybe you’ve studied just how to blow it up?
Guy’s is tall and grubby and full of poorly people. You can see it from all over London if you ever need reminding you’re going to get very poorly and die one day. From my window at the top of Guy’s Hospital I could see everything from Canary Wharf to St. Paul’s with the Thames cutting under it all like a fat slow wound.
London and me healed slowly. They worked on the city to make it stronger and they worked on me too. How they fixed me up was they put plaster casts on my broken hand and knee and stitched me up inside to stop the bleeding. I had 4 operations and then that was that. There was nothing to do except lie there and wait for myself to get better. For 6 weeks I just stared out of the window watching them fortify London.
Mena was my favourite nurse. She was a nice girl. She lived in Peckham but her family was from the East. Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan or one of those Stans anyway. She told me 2 or 3 times the name of the place but I never could recall it. I remember she said it was much nicer than Peckham but that doesn’t rule out much of the world does it?
Mena’s shift was earlies. She took my temperature at 5 a.m. every morning she always started with me because I was always awake. Then if the other ladies on the ward were still asleep she’d sit on the end of my bed and we’d watch the sun rising up over the docklands. First the towers glowed rosy pink. Then the sun rose huge and dirty orange like a soft warm egg yolk. It wobbled up through the haze getting smaller and harder and brighter until you couldn’t look at it any more. Mena used to hold my hand while we looked out over the city. Her hand was small and hard like the sun.
—So many people down there, she used to say. So many people under this sunrise. So many people waking up right at this moment. And all those people want is to get through today.