by Saci Lloyd
“So, sweetie, you’ll never guess what!” Kieran walked in with a bowl of microwave popcorn. “I’ve been to the edge of the precipice; I’ve looked over and returned a changed man! Shall I tell you about it?”
“Mhh-hmm.” I crammed a fistful of popcorn into my mouth.
And so he did. It turns out that Kieran spent all of January going to bars, trying to pretend that everything was normal—but when he ordered a Smirnoff Ice and it came back warm for the 18th time, he realized he was living a lie. During the month, every time he’d gone out to Soho something else had disappeared—the chill cabinets, the decks, the lighting, the late hours.
“It was awful, Laura, nobody knew what to do . . .” Kieran hugged his chest. “And that’s when I realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again, that the very act of dating was under threat . . . and that’s when I started to think about the bigger picture—it’s a new world out there and everybody’s dating rituals are under threat.” He jerked his thumb at the balled-up paper lining the floor. “So that’s what all this is about.”
I picked up a piece at random.
Hetero/homo/inter/sexual = (orthodoxy)
–CO2 = fractalization
Kieran sighed. “Deep, huh?”
I nodded and re-crumpled the paper in silence.
“I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. Been lost in a vortex. . . . And then, suddenly, it came to me!” He flung his arms wide. My hand jerked, scattering a handful of popcorn across the room.
“Love, relationships, dating—they need a new form, a new language, a new set of rules—and I, Kieran, have the answer. Carbon Dating!”
We stared at each other in silence for a few moments. And then burst out laughing.
“Fabulous, isn’t it?”
“Kier, that’s so good!”
“I know, but I need to think more . . .” He started to scribble on a piece of paper. “Think, think, think, think . . .”
I let myself out. It’s not pretty watching a hairdresser think.
No RD. So much for hooking up over the weekend. I called Adi, who said I have to go to school tomorrow and act like I don’t know him cos being mean works with boys.
No traffic moving in London. No fuel. So quiet.
Mon., March 23
2 A.M. I’ve just been woken up by a huge crash from downstairs. I jumped out of bed and peered down the stairs to see Dad slumped on the floor under a pile of coats and umbrellas. Mum shot past, wrapping her bathrobe around her.
“Honey, are you all right?” She bent over and lifted a fleece off his face. He just shook his head from side to side.
“What is it, Nicky? Tell me!”
He lifted his head. “Been fired.” His face crumpled. “Leven years and they jus’ fired me, Ju.”
Mum straightened. “Come on, there’s no need to do this. You’ll be fine.”
“How?”
“When one door closes, another one opens . . .”
“Oh, for cryinoutloud iss not time for pos’tive Prozac bollocks. Wha’bout mortgage? Can’t get ’nother job. Evry’un outta work now an travel ’n’ tourism’s dead.” He finished with a slitting-throat gesture and flumped his head back down to the floor.
Mum tried to get him up, but he wouldn’t move. He just lay there moaning, “Lack of cuss’mers for the Trav’l ’n’ Tus’m courss hav’ render’d your p’sition redun’nt . . .” over and over again.
But the thing is, he really hated that job, anyway.
No Ravi in school today for me to ignore.
Tues., March 24
When I got home Mum was wiping the hallway from where Dad’s wet coat had marked the wax floor.
“You okay, Mum?”
She looked up with positive, laser eyes. “Yes! Super! Why shouldn’t I be?”
I went into the kitchen and turned on the TV. This time the prime minister was doing a speech saying no one had the right to take London hostage, blah, blah. Why are politicians so stuck up? He said unless the drivers back down he’s going to send in the army.
Still no R.
A zillion truck roadblocks have spread over the country. Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool, and Bristol totally surrounded. Traffic jams for a 100 kms. People are just leaving their cars on the highways and walking. They interviewed one man. He went, “That’s it, I’m done with driving. That car can rot in hell before I get back in it.”
My dad hasn’t got out of bed all day.
Still, still no Ravi. Maybe he’s dead.
Wed., March 25
A fuel battle’s started on the M1 motorway. Right now tanks are rolling up the hard shoulder near Watford toward a line of trucks. There’s panic buying going on everywhere. All the shops are jammed full of people clutching cans of pineapple chunks. I got home to find the kitchen loaded up with packets of food and Dad with a black eye.
I just stared at him. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got food for us, that’s the main thing.”
“But, Dad, you’re just acting like everyone else now!”
“I don’t care,” he muttered, putting jars of jam into a cabinet.
“The way things are going we can’t afford to be nice.”
Great. Now that my dad’s lost his job, he’s got to turn into some macho hunter-gatherer protector of the family. I preferred it when he was depressed in bed.
Thurs., March 26
The army attacked at dawn today in Northampton. Soldiers, 500 riot police, tanks, armored cars, and choppers vs 1,000 fat pig truck drivers.
Bob Jenkins got us all in the main hall at lunchtime and smiled. “And now I’d like to welcome a representative of the Carbon Department. He’s here to give you an important talk.”
What is it with adults? They haven’t got a clue what’s going on, so they do this weird thing where they pretend they’re in control, that they’ve got a plan. So we had to sit there while a grey-haired little man got up on the stage and opened up a flash presentation. He cleared his skinny throat. “Ah, hello, young people, I’m here to give you some information on What to Do in a Riot.”
Adi scowled. “Oh, man.”
“Firstly, stay indoors. Keep away from the windows. Listen for reports on the radio or television. If you think things are out of control or threatening your life . . .”
Stace nudged me. “What? Hide under the comforter.”
“. . . find a way to leave that’s secret. Exits could include windows, ductwork, or the roof.”
Nathan put up his hand. “What the f is ductwork, man?”
Everyone started laughing. Bob jumped to his feet and glared at us.
The skinny guy swallowed. “Secondly, try and travel as a group, particularly if you have to run across an open area such as the front of a building, a wide street, or a square. Gunmen will have several objects to focus on, not just one, and will not be as likely to target you.”
Adi put his head in his hands. “S’too surreal, man.”
Fri., March 27
It’s over. The drivers have given in. This shit really scares me. Not the protest and stuff, but just the fact that the government got so violent so quickly.
Finally saw Ravi. He caught up with me in the link and told me he’d had this evil flu and that’s why he didn’t get back to me last weekend. He was all pale and thin and I was totally believing him, but then Thanzila sneaked up behind him and whispered “Thanks for the present!” before strutting off, shaking her arse.
So, is he on the level? I dunno. I hate liking people. It hurts too much.
Sun., March 29
The sun came out this morning and it was warm, not just glaring winter sun. I cracked open a Coke and went and sat outside like a normal girl. And as I sat there, loads of neighbors started creeping out, like little animals coming out of hibernation. Arthur was digging his garden over, Loud Dad was playing with his kids, Mrs. Datta was sweeping up her backyard. Mum came out and sat on the back step. And then someone in the row put on a
real old skool Beatles track—it was Blackbird, I think—and everybody stopped what they were doing and turned their faces up to the sun, dazed with pleasure.
But then a really bad thing happened. Word got around that Brains Fitzsimmons had been found, beaten to a pulp, on our street. The gossip is that the Leaders did it, but no one knows why. Bet I do. They’ve done him for the H symbol on the Jeep.
April
Wed., April 1
Woke up this morning and someone had polluted the world so much that the climate was messed up and the UK went on rations and nobody ever, ever had any fun again. Ha, ha, ha. Messaged Amy back.
Thurs., April 2
GPJ definitely needs more sex. She marched up and down the classroom, introducing this new enviro-presentation like she was having a really good time. She cracks me up—all the other teachers are on total death row, but the more depressed they get, the more she cranks up her Timberland boots and tool belt.
Anyway, at the end I was waiting for Adi to pack up his stuff and GPJ saw me and asked me to help tidy up. So there I was, slaving around, straightening chairs and picking up bits of litter when I found this piece of paper near where Thanzila Amar had been giggling with her little girlfriends.
If she wants him, I ain’t got the ghost of a chance. I guess the big question, though, is does he want her?
I got home and Kim called me from the end of the hallway.
“Laura. You seen this?” She jerked her head toward the laundry closet.
I went over and she lifted up a stack of towels with three bottles of Jack Daniel’s hidden underneath.
“Dad’s. He’s turning into a total lush.”
“How d’you know they’re his?”
“Oh, I know. Disgusting. He’s not even trying to get another job.”
I don’t know where she’s got so moral from.
Fri., April 3
Brains Fitzsimmons is back in school with loads of teeth missing. Delaney Leader saw him in the link and spat in his face. “Hydro scum. You can’t prove nothing. Stay away from us.”
Claire caught up with me at lunch like nothing’d happened.
“Did you get that mail from the hydro? Y’know, the one about the demo at Heathrow on the 12th? They want to get on the tarmac and stop the A380 Airbus taking off.”
I frowned.
“Who’s got the points to fly now?”
“Some still do—if they save, or get it on the black. But that flight’s mostly passengers landing and refueling here from the Middle East to LA.”
“I’ve got nothing against Middle Easterners.”
“Laur, we’ve got to stop people flying, and we’ve got to stop it now. All those fat pigs flying to California burns as much carbon dioxide as a car driver in a year, two drivers if they’re using hybrids.”
“All right, Claire. Enough of the lecture. I’ll think about it, okay?”
She crossed her arms. “I know you’re upset about Fitz . . . I mean, I am, too. But what d’you wanna do about it? Are you up for telling the truth?”
I shook my head.
“Then stop being so moody around me like it’s my fault.”
And then a bad thing happened. Louise Foster came out and sparked up next to us. “Ooh, gossip!” She sucked a lungful of smoke down into her boots. “Thanzila’s dropped Samad for Ravi Datta.”
I went all cold.
Louise smirked. “Yeah, Samad had to sell his Beemer—he walks to school now. Thanzila’s not a girl who walks, you know.”
I shook my head. “But Ravi hasn’t got a ride, either.”
“No, but the boy knows his shit—everyone knows if you need a download or a crack code or your batteries chargin’, then Ravi’s your boy. Mhh, hhm. Wouldn’t mind him myself . . . Laur, you all right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, gotta go. History. Yawn.” Louise drew the last gasp of death out of her smoke and walked off. I turned to Claire.
“I don’t believe it. He was laughing about Thanzila the other day.”
“When?”
“At home—we started talking.”
“You didn’t tell us about any talking!”
I shrugged. “Don’t matter now.”
“Wait up, girl—let’s find out if it’s true or not. You know how rumors are.”
My cell phone buzzed. Nathan Giles.
“Hey, you heard the news—Ravi and Thanzila?”
“I heard, Nate.” I locked off and turned back to Claire. “Yeah, I know how rumors are.”
Sun., April 5
Adi’s ordered me to keep busy and calm while he investigates, so I went jogging with Kieran this evening; dead embarrassing cos he wears little jogging bottoms that are way too tight. Anyway, it was good to get him out of his apartment. His brain is in manic overdrive. It’s like one of those toads that live buried under desert sand for 30 years—and then when the rain finally falls, tunnel out and go crazy for one night before dropping dead next day. For years, Kieran’s brain has only been used for: What would you like today? and Yes, I really think highlights would bring out your natural tones and God, he’s got a nice arse. He’s gonna burn his cerebral cortex out if he carries on like this.
“Need, love, desire, craving . . .” he puffed as we turned onto Blackheath High Street. “It’s taken mankind millennia to develop sophisticated dating rituals . . . and now . . . do we have to go back . . . to the . . . bloody stone age . . . because . . . it’s survival of the fit . . . test again?” He stopped and bent over, gasping. Talk about irony—he’s going to have to give up the Marlboro Lights if he even wants to be in the survival race. Rationing’s turned everyone into bloody smokers again. I mean, it’s nearly illegal to smoke in any public place but everywhere I look people are dragging away, like it’s a way to say piss off to all the control.
I leaned against a wall, waiting for Kier to get his breath back, and then Karl Leader bombed past in the fixed-up Jeep. It was like scarfing a bag of chips in a starving person’s face. I don’t understand it, though, all the rest of us are obeying all the rules like stupid worker-ant drone things—and the Leaders have got a Jeep going. Bastards. I’m kind of proud of that scratch now.
Mon., April 6
No news on Ravi yet.
Tues., April 7
Still nothing.
Wed., April 8
It was better not knowing. Horrible day. To begin with, I got my Crit Thinking essay back—a D minus. Lisa Bell had written Bizarre but very original. You have, however, not really addressed the idiomatic norms of mealtime conversation as required by the brief. Keep trying! in her horrid handwriting across the top. She gave me this don’t-blame-me-I-don’t-make-the-rules smile as she handed me the essay back. Yeah, maybe she don’t make ’em, but she sure follows ’em.
I was pretty down so I went out to the Yard with Claire. One minute we were alone and then a massive crowd came running around the side of the building, and we got caught in the middle of a battle between these 2 Asian kids, Naz and Faiz—although the word battle is kind of extra in this case, cos Naz is about 4 feet tall with arms like pipe cleaners and a really girly voice, and Faiz was reading his rhymes off the back of a KFC napkin. Still, it was a laugh, especially when Naz rhymed that Faiz wore a G-string and his momma wore the boxers. Faiz’s mum runs the school canteen and carries industrial, mega-sized cans of baked beans around the building like they are feathers.
Anyway, me and Claire were right in there—and then I saw Ravi in the crowd, almost directly opposite. Naz saw him at the same time and he spat on the ground. Naz’s cousin is Samad, the boy Thanzila’s just dropped. Naz pushed thru a bunch of people and pointed his finger in Ravi’s face.
“Blood . . .
I see you done good
You stole my bro’s gash
Showed her a piece o’ flash
Blood, I don’t mean to make you sore
But you ain’t no place
That we all ain’t been before
She ta
lk pretty when she beg like a . . .
Blood . . .
She a 22-carat Gucci ho!”
There was a massive “Ooooooh!” Ravi froze for a second—and then he stepped forward and knocked Naz flat to the ground.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish. Unless you want more of this.” He stood for a moment over Naz, before turning on his heel and storming off across the Yard.
So much for rumors. I walked out thru the gates with Claire, numb. Adi was leaning against the wire.
“I heard. I’m sorry, Laur.”
Claire snorted. “She’s best off without that loser.”
I looked at her, spiky blonde hair and massive green eyes. She’s never been dropped in her life.
“Shit . . . there they are.”
I followed her gaze. Ravi, standing at the bus stop with Thanzila wrapped around his ribs.
Claire grabbed my hand. “Come on, he’s just a stupid boy. Let’s go on this Heathrow demo and kick some cop arse.”
I think it’s the danger she’s addicted to, not the carbon.
When I got home Dad was sitting in the back garden with Arthur, my Care Energy needy person, drinking beer. There were loads of empty cans on the grass.
“Laura!” cried Dad. “My luvv’ly, luvv’ly Laura . . .” and tried to hug me. Puke.
Watching Arthur finishing his beer can, I decided that I’ve got to do something to help him. He’s about a trillion years old—why’s he acting like this? His life must be so empty. I’m going to do my GPJ Care Energy presentation on the PROBLEMS OF THE ELDERLY, whether he wants me to or not.
I looked at myself in the mirror tonight for the longest time. I can’t believe he’s gone for her. I hate him.
Thurs., April 9
Went to band practice. Broke my E-string. Don’t care. Everyone was being really nice, which just made it worse. Dad is still drunk.
Sat., April 11
I woke up to Dad shouting the words to some back-in-the-days Bob Dylan song. He’s been drunk for 5 straight days. Basically he lies in his room till lunchtime, drags himself to the kitchen, fries up a burning mess, wolfs it down straight out of the pan, and then stumbles over to Arthur’s to gamble and drink. He’s never acted out like this before. I don’t think Mum knows what to do, either—at the moment she’s going for the ignore it and it’ll go away package.