The Carbon Diaries 2015

by Saci Lloyd

  At the end, Ravi turned to me. “Look I’ve gotta totally focus on my exams for the next two weeks, but I’d really like to hook up with you after then.”

  Was that a date? No idea.

  I talked it over at band practice.

  Stace said, “Well, I always said he’s a techno nerd. I reckon he’s using you as cover to mask his geekiness.”

  “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “Just a theory. S’better than him not liking you.”

  “Yeah, look,” added Claire, “can we get our priorities straight, Laura? We’re here for practice, not emotional counseling.”

  “Fine,” I said. I really, really, really hate her sometimes.

  Adi mouthed ignore her from behind Claire’s shoulder.

  When we were packing up at the end, I asked him what he thought.

  “About whether he likes you or not?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm . . .” He coiled up his guitar lead. “Honestly? I got no idea, but I do know it’s always like this with you—I guess you like it that way. I mean, who else would pick the emotionally unavailable boy next door to fall in love with? It’s not like he’s the only one—”

  “Only one what?”

  “Ah, nothing.” He grinned. “Face it. You got issues, Laura Brown.”

  I forced myself to smile, but only cos there was something wrong with his smile. It was only in his mouth.

  Wed., June 17

  No rain for 9 weeks and counting. Thames Water has applied to City Hall to bring in a 2nd-level drought order. That means no watering of parks and sports grounds, plus they want to put all of London on a water Smart Meter system, like the electricity one. The mayor refused them. He said it was their fault there’s a water shortage in the first place—that over the past 2 months they’d lost 50 billion liters of water in London thru leaky pipes—enough to fill a thousand of those stupid Olympic swimming pools every day. Makes me crazy. What’s the point in us dicking around with showers and not flushing shit down when that kind of stuff’s going on?

  Gwen Parry-Jones called me into her room today.

  “Ah, Laura! Just a quick check to see how the Offenders meetings are going.”

  I stared at a poster on the wall behind her.

  “Well?”

  “Fine.”

  She smiled. “Miss Brown, you remind me of myself at the same age. You don’t have to keep everything so . . . bottled up, y’know? I’m not your enemy.”

  “Can I go now?”

  “Of course. But I’d like to see one of your parents, just for an update. Could you ask your mother to come in?”

  “My mother?” I stammered.

  “Yes. She is a family member, n’est-ce pas?”

  Fri., June 19

  I spent tonight packing up medicine for America in Offenders. My packing group started singing some disgusting Girl-Guide song. They all knew the words. How? I always feel like there’s a bit of normality training that I missed or slept thru or something. Anyway, it made me feel kind of sick. People really love a crisis that’s happening somewhere else to someone else.

  Sun., June 21

  Got this from Amy.

  Mum came into Dad’s study, just as I was reading it. She peered over my shoulder. “Jesus, I always knew Eric was a jerk, deep down, but this is beyond . . .”

  Dad walked in.

  “Nick, have you seen this?”

  “What?”

  “My sister Carol’s Eric has gone Pentecostal. Joined the church and is blaming the hurricane on homosexuals and liberal society.” She began to laugh.

  “Well, maybe he’s got a point. I mean, if we’d stuck more to the basics then . . .”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know, things might not have got so out of hand, people would have had their own roles and been satisfied with less.”

  Mum stared at him, openmouthed. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

  Dad shook his head. “Ah, you’re a true liberal. Free speech for everyone, unless they disagree with you.”

  Mum headed out the door. “I’m not sure I know who you are anymore.”

  She’s got a point about Dad. He’s gone self-sufficiency crazy. Yesterday he gave me a whole speech about this new waste-bucket system he’s set up. Apparently now I’m not to chuck orange peel in the same can as cabbage leaves—it messes up the pH balance(??). I just zoned out and watched his lips move.

  Wed., June 24

  It’s getting dead hot. When I got home I stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear and threw the bedroom window open just to cool down. I timed how much electricity my fan uses on the Smart Meter. It’s not good. I guess I’m gonna have to save it for when I really need it. Or get one of those tacky Spanish fans. The last one I saw was on my nan in Devon’s fireplace. With a dancing bull on it.

  Fri., June 26

  The mayor’s given in to Thames Water and approved the 2nd drought order. Guess who’s got the power there? He’s forcing a compulsory water-rationing system on us. Effective immediately. Basically everyone’s got to get a water meter fitted in the next 3 weeks. Government vans will deliver them street by street across the city and then we’ve got to put them in ourselves. The limit’s going to be 90 liters per person per day. That’s a cut of 60 liters. Go over and the taps run dry. The mayor said our current levels are unbelievable. He looked up from his notes and spoke directly into camera: “If you had to fetch all that water from a well, each person would have to carry over eighteen buckets of water home every day. Think about it.”

  Patronizing pig. Why don’t you think about the thousands of liters pouring away every minute cos you’re too weak to stand up to Thames Water?

  Sat., June 27

  I stepped into my house and heard howling coming from upstairs. I ran up there like a mad animal and yanked open the bathroom door. At first all I could see was Dad’s legs. The rest of him was hidden under a weird blue plastic bag.

  “Dad! What’s going on?” I screamed.

  He writhed about like a monster.

  “Goddamn bloody, bloody thing! Get it off me.”

  I bent down and ripped the wet plastic off his head.

  “Ewww. What is it?”

  “Infernal devil . . . toilet hippo,” he spat, struggling to his knees. “It reduces the volume of flush inside the lavatory system from nine to seven liters. And now I’ve got to put in the water meter. I . . . can’t cope.”

  Watching him panting on the bathroom floor, I suddenly really felt his pain. It’s living death being a dad.

  I’ve got my final Energy Saver exam this Friday. I’m supposed to be revising, but I can’t face it after the mess I made of the last one so I sat out on the deck in my shorts instead.

  “Laura! Hi, hi. Got a favor to ask you.”

  I looked up. Kieran leaning over the edge of his balcony.

  “I’m doing a focus group for Carbon Dating. Will you come and be my teenage spokesgirl?”

  “Er.”

  “Pleeeease.”

  I sighed.

  “That’s a yes then? Fantastic! Ooh, take a look at this. I just finished it!” He tossed a piece of paper down. “I’m going back to basics even on what a relationship is. We can take nothing for granted in the new world order.”

  Somehow, I don’t think Kieran’s basics and my dad’s are the same thing.

  Sun., June 28

  Exams are over. I’m free!

  July

  Wed., July 1

  I don’t believe it. Without asking Mum, Dad has traded in her car for a wheelbarrow full of tools, 5 hens, a cockerel, a scooter, a pig and a sty! He’s like a village idiot.

  Mum came back from work and stared, dumb, at the empty spot where the Saab used to be parked. Then she went upstairs and started to throw clothes into a suitcase. I followed her and leaned against the doorway. “Where are you going?”

  “Away from that man,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

 
“Are you coming back?”

  She hurled a Prada loafer into the bag.

  “I’m your goddamn mother, Laura, but if I don’t take a break from . . .”—she waved an arm toward the back garden, echoing with pig squeals—“. . . I’ll go mad, plain mad.” She zipped up the case and dragged it onto the carpet.

  “But at least he’s happy. You’re always saying that’s all you want.”

  She took my hands in hers. “Honey, I know what I am. I’m a difficult, neurotic, silly woman who bangs on about the past and pokes her nose into where it’s not wanted. I drive my husband and my daughters crazy, and I can’t make a soufflé or sew a button to save my life. But I do love you and I am trying. But right now, it’s not good enough, for any of you, or for me, either. I’ve got to get away. Now. D’you understand?”

  I had never heard Mum make sense like this. I just nodded.

  “Good girl,” she whispered.

  I sat on the bed, staring at the pattern on the carpet for ages after she’d slammed the front door shut behind her.

  “Laura!” Dad’s voice, panicky. “Where are you?”

  I dragged myself off the bed, opened the bedroom window, and looked down into the back garden. He was covered in dirt, battling the pig in a headlock. I bit back a laugh.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, come and help me! Wo-ah. Good pig . . . no!”

  The beast threw up his pink head and strained toward a row of baby carrots. I went down very slowly to find Dad locking the sty gate on the pig. “Blimey! It’s got some balls that one.”

  “Dad, what’s going on?”

  “Ah! It’s the next logical step. This pig is no ordinary pig. It’s going to be the neighborhood pig, we’re all going to feed it our scraps and then it’s going to feed us. It’s not just me—Shiva’s got some rabbits.”

  “But what about Mum’s car?”

  “Oh, I know I should have asked her, but I was in the pub and there was this guy and it was too good an offer to pass up on . . .” He blew out his cheeks. “Look, she never drove it anywhere, it’s just been sitting there for months, losing money. She’ll calm down . . .”

  “She’s gone, Dad.”

  He turned, sharply. “What d’you mean, gone?”

  “She packed a bag and walked out the door.”

  Dad ran his finger along the wooden gate. “Your mum and I . . .”

  My heart began to thud, waiting for the sometimes people just don’t love each other in the same way anymore speech.

  “A pig! Marvelous! What breed is he, Nicholas?”

  I looked up to see Arthur leaning over the fence.

  “Oh—er . . . a Gloucester Old Spot.”

  “Well, let me at him! Go-oo-ood piggy,” he crooned, holding out a custard cream. The pig let out a small grunt of pleasure.

  Dad leaned over the gate to watch, face bursting with pride. “He’s a beauty, ain’t he?”

  I went indoors. What is happening to fathers? The way mine’s heading he’s gonna turn into one of those crazy American backwoods survivalists—you know, the ones they have to send the U.S. Marines in to hunt down and kill. His brain’s gone doollally. No way do pigs and shit add up to a Saab hybrid convertible. It’s just really bad math. I’ll come home one day and he’ll be chewing tobacco, dressed in old Vietnam vet uniform, timing himself as he strips down an AK47 and makes plans to sell me to his friend’s cousin.

  I messaged Aimz back. Told her my dad’s lost his mind, too. Just cos he can’t get a job don’t mean he’s allowed to lose all self-respect.

  Thurs., July 2

  Last few days of school. Oh yeah! We had our final Energy Saver session with Gwen Parry-Jones today. Nathan came in dead late. He was totally wiped out after trying to fit his family’s water meter. Basically, he drilled into a pipe and totally flooded the kitchen.

  “Man, it was hectic. My mum was bare angry, there was plates and carrots floatin’ around the room. She kep’ screaming where the stopcock, where the stopcock, you fool! Like I know! I ain’t no plumber.”

  GPJ spread her hands. “Yes, but soon you’re going to have to know. We can’t take water for granted anymore.”

  Nate sucked his teeth. “What’s wid that? All it do is rain, rain, all winter long—and then as soon as the sun come out I get me mum screamin’ at me.”

  “Well, the water industry got privatized in 1989, and since then Thames Water’s been taken over again and again. Right now it’s owned by a bunch of Germans—”

  “Yeah, man, they don’t care about us, it’s just business.”

  “But soon it’s going to be political. Water’s rapidly becoming the most serious social issue of this generation. You can see it starting already in Spain. There’s been no rain in North Africa for two years, and thousands of immigrants are flooding across to Europe through the Spanish borders.”

  “Yeah, yeah, world comin’ to an end. I know, miss,” Nathan growled. “But look at my trainers—all messed up.”

  So much for chilling out after the exams. Dad’s cockerel is one manic bird. It kicked off at 4 A.M. and crowed for 3 hours straight. At 6 I gave up, went into the lounge, and buried my head under the sofa cushions, only to have them ripped away moments later. I squinted up into Kim’s face.

  “What’s going on? What are all these wild animals doing here?”

  “They’re Dad’s,” I moaned. “He traded the Saab in for them.”

  “Oh, you got to be kidding! What’s Mum say?”

  “Packed a bag and walked out.”

  Kim sat down heavily on the sofa. “Well, that’s it. They’ve finally lost it.”

  “She said she was coming back. It’s just a break.”

  “Yeah, right. But where would she go, anyway? The Hamiltons?”

  I shook my head. “Didn’t say.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “Yes, but he’s too into that pig to care. I think this might be it, Kim.”

  “I’ll give him pig. He’s not treating her right!”

  I stared up at her in surprise, realizing that we were actually talking and not fighting—maybe for the first time in 2 years. She looked dead tired, dark circles around her eyes.

  I struggled to sit up. “Are you just home now?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Right, we’ve got to find out what’s happening.”

  “Since when did you care?”

  “Look,” she snapped, “if they wanna get divorced that’s fine, but it’s not going to be over a pig. It’s too humiliating. And besides . . . there’s something dodgy about this. Mum wouldn’t leave unless she had somewhere to go to. Oh, hi, Dad!”

  I glanced up. He was gazing at us from the doorway. His daughters awake at dawn, plotting.

  Kim smiled. “Want some coffee?”

  “Er, sure.”

  She went over and filled the kettle. “So, we starting up a farm?”

  “A pig, some chickens . . .”

  “A pig! That’s so cool!”

  “Really?” Dad looked hopeful.

  “What’s he called?”

  “No name yet. Any suggestions?”

  “Hmm. What about Larkin? Y’know, like the poet. Philip Larkin.”

  “Oh, right. A poetic pig.” Dad smiled. “Why’s that then?”

  “You know how he wrote about your parents messing you up.” She fixed him with her blue eyes. “Forever.”

  Damn she’s good.

  Dad slammed his hand down on the kitchen counter. “Look, young lady, I’ve had just about enough—”

  “Where’s Mum?”

  His voice went quiet. “I don’t know.”

  “Haven’t you called her?”

  “Look, she’s probably with Marcia Hamilton.”

  “Probably? Way to go, Dad. Care factor zero.”

  “Right, that’ll do. I don’t need to be lectured by someone who’s been acting like a killer zombie for the last year. Have you ever thought about that? She might be sick of you, too.”

  “I didn’t trade
her car in for a lousy pig!”

  “No, you didn’t,” muttered Dad, “I did. And I’m not going to apologize. I’m a forty-six-year-old terminally unemployed man. I hated teaching, anyway, I don’t want to go back to it, and I don’t want to go back to being bossed around and treated like a pet dog in my own home—and if you or your mother have a problem with that, then . . .” He kicked at a bucket of vegetable scraps. “And you know what else? I’m really enjoying myself out there. I could be good at this, buy some land and get some bloody peace and quiet!”

  “And what are you gonna buy it with, bacon rashers? You aren’t exactly bringing in the megabucks.”

  Dad rapped the kitchen wall with his knuckles. “Oh, there are ways and means.”

  Kim gasped. “You wouldn’t sell this place . . .”

  He picked up the bucket. “It’s a new world out there. London isn’t everything, you know. You’ve had it easy for way too long, young lady!”

  He strode out thru the back door. “Here, piggy, piggy! Here, Larkin boy!”

  Kim gazed at me across the room. “That’s it. He’s lost it big time.”

  Fri., July 3

  Last day of school.

  Mum called this morning.

  “Hello, darling, it’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  There was a scuffling sound followed by that old-fashioned phone booth pips noise.

  “Mum?”

  “Got to go, no more money, all’s well, back Sunday—”

  Where still has those old red phone booths? Outer Space?

  Just downloaded the new hydro release, deathscum. It rocks.

  Sat., July 4

  Living chicken torture. Plus it’s so hot. I got so angry trying to find a cool place on the bed that in the end I dragged my comforter over to the open window and lay there looking at the night sky. It’s full of stars now that they’ve cut the streetlights after midnight.