Imagine that youâ€™re a working class Cockney mother with a husband who detonates bombs and a young son who is four years and three months old. You stave off your anxieties about the uncertainty of your life through mindless sex encounters. Eventually, you meet a neighbor â€“ a journalist named Jasper â€“ and, while your husband and son are at a soccer game, you invite him to your flat. At the exact same time you are in the throes of sexual abandon, thereâ€™s a massive terrorist bomb attack at the London soccer stadium, vaporizing over one thousand people â€“ your husband and son among them. How do you go on? How do you live with the remorse?