by Saci Lloyd
The Women’s Skills Group met at our house again. Mum locked the back door so Dad couldn’t get in thru the garden (their relationship is so healthy). At one point I opened my curtains and looked down. Dad was roaming around the garden with a bottle of beer in his hand. He looked up and waved the bottle at me.
“Laura! You too young, get ’way from sad, bad, evil, no-sex wimmin!” And then he fell into the hedge.
What’s next—carbon divorce?
Claire called. I let it go thru to answer. I can’t face that Heathrow demo.
Sun., April 12
House of badness. Dad’s banned from the bedroom and is sleeping on the floor in his study. I took him in a cup of coffee and he whispered, “Has it got any whisky in it?” I think I’m going to go into denial and pretend that everything’s super. It’s worked for Mum for the past 20 years. Oh, God, does that mean she’s been this depressed all that time?
Watched the news, but nothing on about Heathrow. I bet it was canceled.
Mon., April 13
It’s all around school that Claire got arrested at the demo.
Tues., April 14
Claire walked into the Yard like a superstar. A group of kids swarmed around her.
Adi stopped playing football, looked over at me, and grinned. “Why ain’t you worshipping?”
I growled deep in my throat.
“C’mon.” He took my hand, dragging me forward. “She’s your mate, remember?”
When we got there, Claire was in full rant.
“So, by eight we broke down the fence and got onto the runway . . .” She lifted her hand. “Oh, hey, Laur, Adi . . .”
Louise Foster tapped her on her shoulder. “And . . .?”
Claire spread her hands. “When we bust through onto the tarmac, I realized how massive the Airbus really is. It’s dead menacing. Just its wings are the length of a football field. Anyway, as soon as we got out there, we ran and got into position—we basically surrounded the whole plane and chained ourselves together.”
“How many of you?”
“At least a thousand people. It was dead weird cos you could see all the passengers inside, pressed up against the Airbus windows. Then Paul Rees, the bass player out of the hydro, climbed onto that ladder thing passengers use to board the plane, yeah? And he sprayed all down the side of the plane,
Climate Change = 250,000 deaths per year = 9/11 every week. Flying kills. Stop now.
“It was so cool. And then a load of protestors climbed up behind Paul onto the wings and sat there. The people inside were proper freaking out.”
“But where were the police?”
“Oh, they were there, but you know what they’re like, they only get into it when they got the numbers to win, yeah? We held out till 12, but then a frigging line of armored vehicles arrived—armed police, dog units, fire brigade. We didn’t stand a chance. The pigs started throwing people to the ground. They had this whole system going—two of them grabbed a protestor and then a firemen came in and cut the chain. One by one, they dragged us into a hangar and took everything off us.”
“So you got arrested?”
Claire nodded. “Held us in the hangar. No food, no water for twelve hours. Not even a phone call. Then they charged anyone over eighteen with aggravated trespass and entering a restricted zone. The ones who climbed onto the wings got charged with criminal damage.” She sighed. “Then finally they began to let us go. Women first. This officer got up and told us the bail condition deal—no one was allowed within 500 meters of any U.K. airport—and if we talked to one another outside, they’d arrest us again for breaking bail. Then they released each of us, five minutes apart.”
Adi clicked his teeth. “Who gave the police so much power?”
“Tell me about it. It’s all those antiterrorism laws. They can do what they want now.”
I frowned. “But I watched the news last night. There wasn’t anything on it.”
Claire turned to face me. “I told you, they took everything off us. Vids, cameras, cells. There was even a BBC cameraman who got arrested. They took all his gear and footage off him. Destroy the evidence and it never happened. Right, Laura?”
I looked down. Man, that girl gets to me. I’m so jealous and so mad at her all at the same time.
Wed., April 15
I skipped class this morning and stared at the wall for hours. There’s a big anticapitalism demo on May Day. I know the others want to go, but I’ve got this sinking feeling inside. I don’t want to be radical anymore, I just want my old life back.
God, I sound like Kim.
2 A.M. Aargh! Just woken from wicked evil dream where Gwen Parry-Jones forced me to swim across a freezing lake in a fleece and I kept sinking under cos it was so heavy. I’ve got to face up to this Care Energy presentation.
Right then, problems of the elderly:
1. bad food
2. disease
3. dead friends
4. robbers
5. death
So depressing. No wonder Arthur don’t care much about rationing; it’s just another nail in the coffin.
Thurs., April 16
The angels met at Claire’s dad’s vet surgery tonight cos he was out on a call and Claire’s been grounded after the airport demo. She was mad as hell when I got there.
“Look at this,” she hissed, throwing her carbon card on the pet examination table.
Stace let out a low whistle. “Wow, you’ve used up three of your blocks already!”
“Oh yeah, you reckon? Take a look at my Smart Meter reading. And there’s more from last month.”
“But you don’t drive . . .”
“Or drink red wine or shop at bloody Wholefood Delights. My card’s been ripped off—and now I’m down to 4 blocks!”
“But you can get ’em back. I mean, this printout proves it wasn’t you.”
“It don’t prove anything. The Carbon Department don’t know I don’t drink Merlot. Don’t worry, I’m going to fight it—but I dunno if they’ll believe me.”
Adi frowned. “These are such weird rip-offs. I mean, this ain’t normal crime, is it? Rices and pulses. It’s like you’ve been robbed by a vegetarian hippy.”
“Tell me about it. It’s gotta be a black-market thing. All those middle-class pigs getting stuff on the black. Makes me sick.”
After she’d chilled out a bit we started to talk about Stacey’s friend’s cousin’s mate’s gig. It’s gonna be in the first week in June and we’re on with Monday’s child, dark force, fall of the rouble, potatoHead, and SlashFist. We’re on second for 15 minutes and we’ve got to get 25 people thru the door.
“I don’t know these bands—what kind of night is this?” asked Adi.
Stacey shrugged. “It’s run by this group called the New Punk Allegiance, at least that’s what my cousin says.”
“Definitely punky, right? Not Straight X?” Adi once went on tour with a group of militant Straight X vegans who terrorized him for a whole week. They worked him like a slave—chopping carrots for 16 skinny bastards every night. Plus no smoke break. Plus no phone calls to his girlfriend. They hurt him bad.
The flyer was totally lame. It had a blurry picture of a child with tears running down its face and Monday’s child spread across it in gothic letters. All the other band names were tiny and stuck in the corner. Adi said that we should have an angel with a crucifix sticking out of its chest for our flyer, but Stace said that was disrespectful, cos her family was Catholic. Adisa went, wasn’t that the whole point of the angels, to disrespect? Stace said, yeah, but couldn’t the angel just hold the crucifix? Adisa sucked his teeth and went, “Stace, you such a girl!” Then Stacey snatched up her jacket and walked out, shouting, “Right, I quit—see how much of a man you are without a drummer!” Adi turned to us and said, “She needs to chill way out!” and when we didn’t straightaway go, “Yeah, you’re right,” he walked out, too.
Then the phone rang. Claire picked up and I sat there under the strip lighting,
full of dark, dark thoughts, while she was going, “How long has Chu-Chu been vomiting for, Mrs. Bradley?”
Everything is falling to pieces: my home, Ravi—and now the band. Rationing has really dicked all over my life. Claire finally slammed the phone down, stormed out, and came back with her dad’s brandy decanter.
We ended up having a real laugh in the end. There was this poster about overweight cats on the surgery wall, and we changed it in Photoshop to being about my dad. She says hers is just the same.
Sun., April 19
Why did I have to pick the boy next door to obsess over? Like I’m some dumb girl out of a dumb movie. Plus now I’m scared to go out in case I see him. I was supposed to go into town with the angels this afternoon, but the fight between Stacey and Adisa messed up that plan. I sulked around in my room until about 2—and by then it was either go out or go crazy.
Pulling my hoodie over my ears, I dodged out onto the street and smacked straight into Kieran.
“Whoah! What’s up with you?”
I just stared at the ground.
“Your mum? Kim?”
I shook my head.
“Er, what else is there?” He scratched his chin. “Teenage pregnancy, drugs . . . oh—boys?”
I nodded.
“C’mon.” He hooked his arm thru mine. “Want to join me? I’m going to check out the Leaders’ warehouse opening. Mmm, I’m such a sex god!”
“The Leaders’ what?”
“Warehouse. They’ve set up a recycling business.”
“That explains it,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Brains and all that. Wondered why he was hanging around with them.”
“Who?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
Kier hooked my arm thru his. “Well come on then, mystery. You can tell me all about your love issues on the way.”
“Ooh,” he said, fifteen minutes of heart pouring later. “Complex.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I wailed.
Kieran stopped at the entrance to the warehouse. “Stop right there, Laur. I spent ten years thinking there was something wrong with me . . . and then one day I just woke up and stopped feeling so damn sorry for myself. All those wasted years! I know it’s a really cheesy thing to say, but life is what you make it. Now, are you a fighter or a quitter?”
I rolled my eyes.
“That’s no answer.”
“Don’t make me say it, Kier . . . s’embarrassing.”
“Go on.”
I looked up and down the street.
“Say it for me.”
“Imafighter.”
He punched me in the arm. “Shitty delivery, but co-rrect! You gotta be so damn cool that Ravi Datta’s gonna come crawling back on his hands and knees! Call those stupid people in your band now and get them all to join you in town. Things don’t just happen on their own, y’know. You gotta work it, girl.”
I glanced across at him. He’s started to talk in this weird, positive, American way.
Kieran was peering inside the warehouse. “Blimey, is this it? It’s like the Turner Prize!”
I looked over his shoulder into a huge basement warehouse space. It was piled up high with toasters, stereos, TVs, washing machines, microwaves, refrigerators, tea kettles—all with their guts spilling out all over the place—and crowds of people crawling over the whole lot.
“It’s recyclin’, Leader style,” came a voice from behind us. Tracey Leader. “Wot you reckon?”
Kieran nodded. “Pretty impressive.”
Tracey threw back her head and gurgled like a troll. “Yeah, weird, ain’t it? Leaders doin’ this stuff. But, mate, there’s money in this shit now—everyone’s got to buy the new energy ’ficient stuff, but they can’t do it all in one go, like—it’s too ’spensive—so they fix up the old, while they’re savin’.” She jerked her thumb toward a mound of white goods. “That dishwasher there’s only a year old, but nobody’d touch it now—it’d drain a month’s worth of points in a week. . . . All right, boys, chill out! Plenty more where that came from!”
She stormed off to break up a fight. Two men punching each other over an old Hotpoint.
Kieran nudged me. “Isn’t that Kim over there?”
I looked over and there she was, over in a far corner, sitting at a stall with a Carbon Advice banner draped over it. There was a crowd of people around her.
“Yep. Must be something to do with her Offenders Program.”
“I tell you what, though, for Lee Road, that’s a bit of a strange crowd she’s got around her.”
I looked again. It was true, they were all really middle-class looking, almost posh. And then I saw Tracey Leader look over at Kim and give her a sly nod. Strange.
We stepped back outside.
“So, what now?” asked Kieran.
I stood in the sunshine and looked about me. The cherry blossom was all out on the street, and I suddenly got this huge hit of spring. I took a deep breath and called Claire. After a few rings she picked up.
“Right. Let’s get the band sorted. You call Stace and I’ll call Adi—and I’ll see you in town in half an hour?”
“Good girl!” said Kieran. I kissed him before tearing across the road to catch the 53 bus. Sometimes I think I’d sink right under without him.
When Adi and Stace first saw each other it was like a nature program where the animals do the pecking-order thing and kind of circle each other warily, then bit by bit they calmed down and pretty soon they were sharing a burger.
It was mad getting into town, though. There was just no traffic on the roads, and my bus zoomed along at about 2,000 miles an hour. Those drivers need to go into retraining to deal with their new freedom. And another thing, when I got off the bus at Westminster, I heard a bird singing in a tree.
Mon., April 20
It’s hot. I know this is really bad, but I kind of love this side of Warming. I lay in the garden and finished the elderly persons’ checklist for my presentation. Later I took it around to Arthur’s. God, his lifestyle is so far off from what’s normal it’s a miracle he’s still alive. His house is full of cigarettes, even though it’s been illegal to smoke in the home for the past 6 years. Why didn’t I pick an easier needy person?
Tues., April 21
Mum came into my room and asked me to “retrieve your father” like he is a bad dog. I was just about to say no, but then I took a look at her aging face. She is like the bad example woman in a makeup ad, the one who hasn’t moisturized daily.
I went out the back to look for him, then I heard Arthur and Shiva Datta’s voices coming from Arthur’s porch. I peered over the hedge, and Dad was there, too, slumped in a deck chair holding a can of beer. I was just about to call out to him when Arthur went, “Yes, but what’s wrong with the modern marriage is a woman doesn’t know who’s in control. It’s all muddled up nowadays.” Arthur patted Shiva on the arm. “Look at old Shiva here. No doubt who wears the pants in his house.”
Shiva nodded. “Yes, we each have our designated path in life. My wife’s path is to serve me.”
Dad slapped the arms of his deck chair. “Huh, fat chance. It’s all right for you . . .”
Shiva shook his head. “No, Nick, every life is looking greener. Me, I come from Hyderabad—you know it? Famous for cow project, turning manure into gas for the people’s homes. So, my family, three generations of cow shit and finally, finally, I get the chance to escape, come to England, God Save the Queen, long-distance truck firm with my wife’s brother. Then working, working like the dog—getting TV, stereo, good German car, kids going McDonald’s and drinking Coca-Cola—all 100 percent Western style—and then they do this to me. Rationing! Business gone! Hyderabad number two.”
Dad slumped again. “Yeah, but at least you wear the pants.”
“Pants are not everything, Nick. I told you, old boy, rein her in. Women are like hosses, need to know who’s the boss. Makes ’em happy—trit, trot.”
I couldn
’t take hearing this crap anymore. I stood up sharply. Dad’s arm jerked as he turned toward me, spilling beer down his shirt.
“Mum wants you.”
“Well . . . I’m busy.”
I looked from his stubble to the can of beer in his shaky paw. I was trying to be angry with him inside, but really I quite like this new dad. Not the stone-age woman crap, but just that he’s stopped being such a walkover.
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t tell you.”
He gave me a shy smile. “I won’t.”
I can’t work Arthur out. He’s totally corrupting my father, but he is also very kind and posh.
Elise Penatata came this evening for our final Procedure Review Checkup. Talk about role reversal from her last visit. Dad stank of booze, so just before she arrived Kim poured a mug of black coffee down his throat and put a fresh fleece on him to hide the scum that lay beneath. Then we propped him up on the sofa and sort of balanced him with cushions.
“We’ll pretend he’s got flu,” said Kim, re-bending his left leg to make it look more normal. Dad’s head lolled over to one side, like a stroke victim’s head.
“Flu? Ebola more like,” my mother snarled from her chair.
Elise took one look at Dad then totally blanked him and went and sat at the kitchen table, flicking thru our government file. We are so the property of the state.
“Hmm, hmm—yes, definite improvement. The family has met its March and April targets . . . and exceptional improvement from you, Kimberley.” She held up some papers and flashed her pointy teeth. “I have received excellent reviews regarding your participation on the Youth Carbon Offenders Rehabilitation Program.”
Kim sat there with this mock humble smug face.