Speaking of which …

Karen’s remaining brother had married the first of what with Allah’s help would be followed by a few more women, and had moved into her family’s apartment in London. Just until Karen’s brother was able to meet his obligations as head of a family. Until Karen’s brother realized that four wives meant providing for four women and the children they bore him. And satisfying them sexually. The women, that is. Karen’s mother went to the capital once a week to see the stupid fucker.

When Karen’s mother was in London, Peter, Karen, Don, and Hannah lay on the bed and looked at the internet. Everyone in a household on social benefits was entitled to a device. It was important for the future. What future? Doesn’t matter.

Outside in the hall

A couple of men had gotten deep into their cups and were drunkenly ranting. Water whooshed. People shouted at each other, and a woman had taken issue with it all. She’d gone crazy. Job gone, husband gone, apartment gone, moved onto the street, in winter. Dumb idea. Then a wound on her leg, inflicted by a rat, infected, collapsed at some point, taken to hospital, leg amputated. After the amputation they’d taken her to the homeless shelter, where she had a bed, with her one leg, and a social worker who brought her marmalade once a week. The woman, she sat on her bed and whimpered in a tone that didn’t sound human. Perhaps there’s a fuse in humans that blows when the level of humiliation crosses a certain line. Perhaps they keep a lot at bay, the adaptable people—loss of families, of flats, security, limbs, and sleeping on park benches—but at some point the limits of tolerability are exceeded and they start to rock back and forth and to cry out in grief. The children, who were barely children anymore, lay together like little hamsters. They peered through their devices at the world and were sure that something big was waiting for them out there. Now came the news. London

The city where

KAREN’S MOTHER