Young Mother

Yes you did. Now in you get. Tomorrow we're going to the sea-side.

So, if I'm going to show you my life, better start here. My boy, in Camber Sands. Why this and why now? I'll come back to that.

A force of nature was what the midwife called him when he came howling into this world four years ago. And he hasn't stopped since.

Me and him spend a lot of time together on account his Dad is a right miserable bugger. To be fair, he wasn't always miserable. Or maybe he was and I just didn't see it. I wouldn't be the first one in my family to have her knickers charmed off her by some fellow in the Army. Any way, for better or worse, I got my boy and he got me.

I remember my Mum took me to Camber Sands once. The one day she was sober. It was drizzling then too. "Gets you out of the house, don't it?", she said.

And that quiet rain fell all the way home.

My gran told me that Adolf Hitler did us a favour when he bombed London. His incendiary bombs made the hole in Barnett Grove that they built our tower blocks in. And London burned with incredible noise and fury. It was on account of Adolf, she said, that we get a nice view with the Georgian Gems on the other side of the street, where the bomb missed.

Careful. If you think I can't see you in there, you're mad.

We bought our flat off the Council. Smells of chip fat. But Lenny says it will be a good investment one day, because it's within a stone's throw of the city. Third generation of tower block dwellers, we are. If you're interested just type in Chav, Pikey or Ned, and you'll find us in council estates all over London. Favourite food: Chicken Kiev, favourite TV programme: Top Gear, Religion? Arsenal Football Club.

People thought it was the end of the world. But the world didn't end. So they rebuilt the city in 3 years, stronger and taller. London is a city built on the wreckage of itself, Osama. It's had more come backs than the evil dead. It's been flattened by storms and flooded out and rotted with plague. Even Hitler couldn't finish it off. Death nor flame was like hell, my grandmother said, just one endless sea of flames. But we built on the rubble, and we kept on coming like zombies. I *am* the city, Osama. I am the whole world. Murder me with bombs and I will only build myself again, and stronger. I'm too stupid to know better.

The Sun says you are an evil monster, but I don't believe in you, and I know it takes two to tango. I know you're vexed at the leaders of the western world. Well I'll be writing to them too.

I know you're a clever man, Osama. Much brighter than me. If I can make you see my son with all your heart for just one moment, I know you would stop making boy-shaped holes in the world - it would make you too sad. Love is not surrender, Osama. Love is furious and brave and loud. You could hear it in the noise my boy made when he played with his cars.

I wish you could have heard him, Osama. That noise is the fiercest and the loudest sound on earth. It will echo 'til the end of time. It is more deafening than bombs. Come to me. Come to me and we'll blow the world back together with incredible noise and fury.

I wonder, did you celebrate when you heard my boys got killed? Did you turn on the radio and hear them say a thousand and three dead? Did you put down your mouth over the rocks and kneel down to pray? I prayed. I prayed for the deaths toll to go up to a thousand and four and take me too.

I've heard it said that grief is like an animal to some. With a life of its own and we are at its mercy. I don't know about that. Grief is the stillness of the world the moment my boy left it. It's that quiet rain that never stops falling. They say that grief transforms us. I know it's transforming me, but into what?

Do you think it's possible to love someone and betray them at the same time?