Dear Clare 

I’ve got my A-levels coming up in a couple of months, and even though I’m doing alright in school, my Dad’s making me have private lessons from a tutor that comes round to the house twice a week. It’s really embarrassing. 

I get that they want me to do well, but since I don’t want to go to university I just don’t see why I should do all this extra work for some results that I’ll never need anyway. I just want to go to India to find a place to buy gold, and then head off to New York and be just another of those waif-like whores who claim to be jewellery designers when all they’re really doing is looking for a banker to marry. 

How do I explain to my Dad that, per hour, this is the most profitable course to take, not least because he won’t have to sub my rent, allowance, and however much it costs to stick a picture of me in the middle of Country Life. I don’t even want to read History of Art or Soc Anth, so it’s not like I’m a stereotype. (Unlike my friends. Bunch of cows. Gems won’t even lend me her boots for the party on Thursday and Johnny’s going to be there so I’ve got to look my best!) 

I remain, quite staggeringly vapid, 

Mills 
 

Dear Mills 

I know everybody must be telling you the same thing: that it’s not a long time to work hard for; that you can never tell if you’ll need those straight As; that should you ever need a job then some employers look to A-level results to judge an applicant’s overall ability; that you owe it to your parents (and yourself!) to do the best you can. 

But they’re all wrong, and I’m right. How do I know? Easy – same way I know I’m right about Allah: sheer demented prejudice. 

You should go to India, a place of profound wisdom if questionable standards of hygiene. You should learn what you can from the Mullahs. You should go to New York, you should acquaint yourself with the evils of the Great Satan, and, if you find that life’s not working out, perhaps because your nose is not quite straight, you should kill them. The Great Cause is full of people who feel disliked by their peers or – even worse - who are entirely ignored by the world. Martyrdom is their way of getting a handful of people to watch a grainy video of them reading a poorly-prepared statement in front of what could be a flag that once had Bob Marley on it but now has some pretty squiggles on it like you get done on your hip when you’re in India. 

And though the world will within four minutes have forgotten them once more, and be watching Dirty Sexy Money, there will always be a couple of people who knew the unbelievers you killed and who will, due to the confusion they feel at the bewildering murder of their friend, probably feel really really sorry for the Islamic world and join us in our quest for the establishment of a World Caliphate. 

The cause needs vapid people. 

Clare