The Carbon Diaries 2015
Page 8
“It’s so wonderful to see young people taking on such responsibility.” Elise held out some papers for Mum to look at, but Dad suddenly sat up in his chair, reached out and closed his fist around the papers; the forward movement releasing a thin drizzle of drool from his lips. We all watched in fascination as it spiraled downward before coming to land on Kim’s report.
“My dad’s been pretty stressed out lately,” said Kim.
Elise turned away, disgusted.
Wed., April 22
Things have gone bad. My dad’s 15 years of silence have shattered. CRACK! That’s the trouble when you keep things locked up inside—when it finally breaks, oh boy. He stood out on the street in his Marks and Sparks’ boxers and matching socks, waving a bottle of JD at the sky like a madman. The whole street turned out to watch. Mum screamed, “Give me a break, Nick!” and my dad screamed back, “Why? Why? Why? When did you once, ever, ever give me a break?” and then he hurled his whisky bottle and it smashed into a thousand pieces.
My head went all numb and I walked out into the back garden. I stood there, cold and trembly, and then I heard the most disgusting sound. Thanzila Amar’s giggle.
“Oh, Ravi,” she drawled, “you’re so cute.”
Death take us all.
Thurs., April 23
We are officially the bad family on the street now, the family that other families call the cops on. Basically, the new Leaders. Dad didn’t come home last night. Mum went around to Arthur’s and said, “I hope you’re satisfied now,” and then came home and called the police. I made her up a cup of tea. When I took it to her, she was staring out at the garden, looking all little. I put the cup down and just stood there for a minute. Very strange: my mother and silence. I turned to go.
“Laura?”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t always like this, you know.”
When the policeman arrived he was dead kind, with gloomy eyes. He cleared his throat. “Is there any possibility that Mr. Brown might have caused harm to himself?”
Mum clutched his hand. “Oh, I knew it! You’ve got him, haven’t you? Take me to the body, officer!”
I had to take her upstairs. Then I came down and sat in the kitchen and described my own father as Caucasian, above medium height, hazel eyes, graying at the temples, possibly suicidal.
The policeman told me not to worry too much. “I reckon your dad’ll be fine. Give it a day or two. In my experience, everyone needs time-out sometimes, y’know?” he added, casting a quick glance upstairs.
3 A.M. I’ve got my Care Energy presentation tomorrow. I’m so going to mess it up.
Fri., April 24
Oh, God.
There’s no way any parent/guardian of mine is gonna find out about this. The school always sends suspension letters straight out. I’m gonna have to get up early and check the mail.
Mon., April 27
First day of Easter break and the suspension letter came right on time. I snatched it out of the mailman’s hand and marched around to the recycling cans. I was just about to throw it in when Delaney Leader appeared from the back of the white goods recycling crate with an old PC in his hot hands. I quickly closed the can lid, but not before he saw the school crest on the envelope.
“Nice one, Laur, best place for them tossers.”
Dad’s just called Mum. I don’t know what he said, but the conversation lasted for about 10 seconds before she hung up. At least he’s alive.
Thurs., April 30
I’ve been in bed for 3 straight days. It’s too complicated getting up.
May
Fri., May 1
This morning I made my mind up. I’ll have to pray I can cover up the suspension—but after that I’m not cutting or messing up anymore. I’ve got to get an education; it’s my only way out of here. And then I got up and went to the May Day march.
I met up with the others in Soho and we joined the crowds of people going up to Trafalgar Square in the dazzling sunshine.
“Urgghh, crusties! Away! Away!” Adi flapped his hands as a dirty girl on Rollerblades zigzagged across the pavement toward us. “Ra, why do radical people have to be so ugly? It’s the same with Straight X. Is there a law that if you care about shit you’ve got to get dreads and a dog on a piece of string and never wash?”
“C’mon.” Claire grabbed his arm. “If we’re going to be revolutionary, we’ve got to get hard to this.”
We caught up with the march by the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Stace nudged me. “God, remember when we came to that classical concert here with school? S’like another life.”
I scanned the scene in front of me. All of Trafalgar Square and the surrounding streets choked up with a heaving mass of people.
At first it was rubbish. We got stuck with a bunch of protesters moving away toward the river. They were pushing a huge globe, with people popping out of holes in the top and sort of trying to dance. So lame. And even when we got past them, we got caught up with thousands of college students chanting “One Solution, Green Revolution!” like a bunch of wimps. Claire and Adi dodged to one side.
“Let’s get to the action. These ones look like they know what’s going on.” Adi pointed at a bunch of about 3,000 trade-union guys. They had a line of drummers and were really moving. We crossed the road and joined them. As soon as we slipped in behind the drums, I felt the adrenalin start to pound through my body.
The police were trying to get everyone to move down Whitehall, but our group kept turning right, away from the main march and back toward Trafalgar. The pigs were trying to block us, but there wasn’t enough of them. But when we got up to Charing X Station, another massive group of marchers suddenly appeared from the opposite direction. Lines of riot police came out of nowhere to stop us all coming together. They came right up alongside and started to push us with their riot shields. A couple of fights broke out, but nobody wanted any trouble, so we got pushed back down Whitehall toward Parliament Square. After 15 minutes it started to get scary. It was so packed, we couldn’t move any farther.
Adi tripped up in front of me and went down. He yelled out and then it seemed like everyone around us was shouting, getting angry. There was the sound of smashing glass—I looked up to see the entire plate-glass window of a McDonald’s shatter into a million pieces. A moment’s silence—then a voice shouting orders. I whirled around. Mounted police charging us from a side street. People started to lose it, screaming, shoving, shouting.
“Shit.” I grabbed Claire’s hand. Adi and Stace just behind. It was like being caught in a massive wave. Pushed forward, dragged back. After what seemed like hours, we finally made it to Parliament Square.
Once we got there, police wouldn’t let anyone leave, just kept us blocked in the square for hours. No one in or out. Officers went around, blatantly photographing everyone, taking names and addresses. After a while I kind of went outside of myself and watched the scene. The police confuse me. They’re supposed to protect us, but then they do this. Who do they really work for? And another thing, when I finally got home I watched the news. They said we hurled stones and sticks and blocked the streets with trash, but they never said anything about police on horses charging a group of teenagers.
Sat., May 2
Finally. Arthur’s brought my dad back.
Mum ran across the room. “You’re alive!” she sobbed. “Oh, Nicky, don’t you ever leave us like that again.”
“I won’t,” he mumbled, tears spilling down his cheeks. And then something weird happened. One minute they were really close, and then Mum just pulled away. It was like watching a door close.
“Well, that’s good.” She brushed at his coat. “Where’ve you been to get so filthy? Honestly.”
“Julia, I want you to know . . .”
But Mum was already halfway to the door. “I’m going to run you a bath!”
Dad stood there for a moment, looking so lost I couldn’t stand to see him. Arthur cleared his throat sharply. “Well, Nichola
s—I’ll be off.” He patted me on the head, turned on his heel, and marched out the back door.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a flood of moonlight pouring thru my bedroom window; it was all shivery and magical. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and found Dad curled up on the sofa. I just stood there for a moment, looking down at him.
“Laura?” he said, softly.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“My lovely girl.” He took my hand—and we just stayed like that for a bit.
Sun., May 3
Totally annoying thunk! thunk! noise coming from the garden this morning. I opened the window to see Dad attacking the nettle patch at the far end of the garden with a pickax. Kim stepped out across the grass toward him, balancing a cup of tea and plate of cookies on a tray. Evil witch.
I was so mad with her perfect little daughter act, I ran into her bedroom and punched her old teddy bear in the guts. It fell off the bed onto the carpet—and guess what was underneath? A mini cell phone, one of those new kinetic ones that go on your wrist. How’s she affording that? It lit up. I so wanted to answer it, but then the back door slammed so I ran out sharp. She is so up to something.
The sunshine’s changed everything. Our street’s come out of its winter slugdom big time. All day there’s been cleaning, planting, fixing, painting. I kept hearing laughter coming from the garden—and when I looked out, there was Mum and Mrs. Datta cackling together over the fence. I don’t know when they got so friendly.
Mon., May 4
Back to school. Grr. But we had ourselves a totally hard-core band practice at Adi’s. We’ve got a date for the gig now, it’s June 7. His mum’s given us extra practice time cos she’s saving carbon on heating during the warm weather. We’ve picked so funny, messed-up world, and death to capitalist scum. 15 minutes of pure venom.
death to capitalism
a new world waiting to be born
murder is capitalism
cast off the cloak of scorn
you selling us mercedes, nike, mp3
gucci, rolex, toys R us—
trying to sedate us—but the tragedy
is that in reality you are killing us
It’s sounding so hectic right now—especially as Stacey’s finally nailed her chorus harmonies on mp3 and tragedy.
In the break, Claire came and sat next to me. “How’s it going?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Just in general.”
“Yeah, good. Busy.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Well I hope you ain’t got too much on, cos I know someone who’s well into you.”
“Yeah, but I got so much on with the band and . . .” I paused. “Who, though?”
“John Clarke. You know, the drummer for Dogshit.”
My heart sank. “Claire, he paints his fingernails black.”
“Keeps good time, though. Steady.” Stacey nodded approvingly.
I shook my head. Is this the best they think I can do?
“No.”
“Just think about it, is all.”
“Would you go out with him?”
“Sure! It’s not all about fingernails, Laur. Thought you’d be more open-minded.”
It’s all right for her to say that, she goes out with gorgeous Sean with his gorgeous body and unpainted cuticles. I looked over at Adi, but he was deep into restringing his guitar.
Claire showed us the flyer design she’s done for the gig. It rocks. We all looked around at one another with shining eyes—we are the dirty angels . . . oh yeah!
Tues., May 5
Dad’s out in the garden 24/7 with Arthur and Shiva. I got home to find they’d pulled down the dividing fence and dug up loads of grass. Arthur called me over and put one end of a ball of string in my hand before setting off across the soil in a series of lines, unraveling the string and winding it around cane sticks.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Seeds, drills, new life . . . But no time for gabbing, Laura . . . Late start—all hands to the pump. Marvelous, isn’t it!” he cried, crisscrossing the garden like a giant spider. “Reminds me of my halcyon youth on the estate, don’t you know!”
Somehow I don’t think he means council estate. I must ask Arthur how come he’s living in Charlton—talk about riches to rags!
Ravi came out and sparked up.
“Hey, Laura.”
“Oh, hi!”
Cool as a cu-cum-ber.
I think I’m getting kind of obsessed with him. The more he ignores me, the more I like him.
Anyway, had the best night. Didn’t think once, just watched trashy TV with Stace and Claire in her dad’s surgery. He gets a special carbon allowance for screening this vet channel called Pet Aware! But Claire’s sorted out a crack code for tuning it to U.S. MTV. It was really mad, cos loads of it was teenage boy bands singing about girls and jetting around the U.S. all blinged up in a Ferrari. Things have changed so much for us in 5 months, it’s like watching sci-fi.
Oh yeah, last thing. I reckon I’ve got away with it. Tutorial was canceled cos GPJ’s at a conference, but, anyway, I reckon she’s forgotten about the suspension thing. Once you get over 40 you can’t remember stuff anymore. Whatever, I don’t care, I’ve been charged by police horses. What’s she gonna do . . . make me write an essay? Huh.
Wed., May 6
Mum called me down from my room this evening. When I got downstairs, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Gwen Parry-Jones was sitting at the kitchen table. Kim smirked as I walked in.
“Laura, is this true?” Mum asked.
“What?”
“Don’t what me, young lady—the presentation, the . . .”—her eyes began to fill up—“. . . the coffee?”
I swallowed hard, I could feel the tears starting. Why do I let them do this to me?
Mum crossed her arms. “I simply can’t believe—”
But GPJ cut in. “If I may, Mrs. Brown . . . I don’t think that anger is always the appropriate response.”
Mum snapped her jaws shut, like a terrapin. GPJ turned on me with her nailed-on teacher smile. “Do you want to disappoint your parents? Do you understand the gravity of the situation? Do you wish to continue your studies or do you want to throw your life away because that’s where you’re headed, young lady . . .” Blah, blah, blah.
Dad tried to lighten her up a bit. “Well, if Laura doesn’t want to go to school, there’s plenty of work to be done around here.” He smiled. “I mean education isn’t every—”
“Mr. Brown.” She uncrossed her legs, planting her boots down hard on the rug. “I presume you are trying to be amusing, but it has taken womankind several millennia to escape the constraints of a patriarchal society operated by men, dominating women and oppressing them. Education is freedom.”
Dad looked down at his slippers. They looked dead small and girlish compared to hers.
GPJ cleared her throat. “However, the school is prepared to let your daughter continue with us, on the condition that she performs some, uh, community service in order to show how sorry she is.’
Kim’s smug grin widened. Gwen Parry-Jones turned to me. “Laura, the only way we can let you back to school is if you attend the Carbon Young Offenders meetings at the local Blackheath branch. We feel this is an appropriate space for you to put your, uh, creative talents to better use . . .”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But this isn’t fair—”
“It is more than fair in the circumstances,” GPJ interrupted. She looked around the table. “Are we all in agreement?”
Mum shook her head and sighed. “Oh, Laura. Why can’t you be more like your sister . . .?”
I glanced up at Kim. Her smile had gone.
“I think this is very harsh, I mean . . .” Kim started.
“It is the only way she can come back. Don’t you care about your yo
unger sister’s education?”
Kim looked at the floor.
“Well, that’s settled then.” She stood up and suddenly there was a weird groaning noise and the table tipped over, like it was exhausted with all the bullshit.
Mum jumped forward. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Nick’s been promising to fix that for months now.” GPJ ducked under the table. “I see the problem—leg’s warped. Just need a . . . little bit . . . shaving off with a chisel.” She reached for her rucksack. Two minutes later, the table was back up.
She smiled into Mum’s face. “There, that’s fixed. No need to ever wait for a man, Julia.”
“Well, thank you . . . I’ll . . . er . . . see you to the door then.”
Mum walked her out of the room with little panicky steps.
“Dad!” I began as soon as they’d gone. “You know this isn’t fair!”
“It’s all for the best, Laura. It’ll do you good. Look at Kim now. Much better.” He reached for a seed catalogue. I stared at him for a moment—it’s like he’s totally buried himself in this new garden project. And then I had this dazzling insight. He’s just like Mum. Keep busy and don’t think!
Thurs., May 7
Mum’s grounded me. Revision and 4 walls and watching Dad planting beans. There is no justice.
Fri., May 8
In this world.
Sat., May 9
Or the next.
Sun., May 10
Unbelievable. No rain since the beginning of April and they’re saying there’s going to be a water shortage. Turns out London’s had less rain this year than Ethiopia. Who makes this stuff up? All I can remember is rain and snow.
Mum is dressing like a teenager. She’s been all over Dad since he’s got all revved up in the garden. Today she was wearing low-slung hipsters, a baby doll T-shirt, platforms, and a silvery belt, and she spent the morning chasing him all over the garden with the hose. Puke.
Mon., May 11
Finally got out of the house. I went to school and welded a water-pump tube for Dad. He begged me to do it, cos the garden’s getting dry. Basically he wants to set up a system to pipe bathwater outside in case there’s a garden hose ban. And another thing—he’s not going to try and find another job. He told us at breakfast he’s taking six months off and living on his severance pay. He waved his arms. “It just feels great to be doing something I really believe in. Thanks for being understanding. And it’s not just me—I want everyone in the family to be happy.”