by Saci Lloyd
I walked all the way to Offenders tonight only to find it canceled. I nosed around for a bit, but there was no sign of Kim or Tracey. Maybe I did overreact that time. So I stomped all the way home. Chickens running around the kitchen and my dad disappearing thru the back door with a bucket of pig food. Animal Farm, basically.
“Could you carry that water out to Larkin?” Dad cried over his shoulder.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Larkin is one cool little pig. When I poured the water into his trough, he flipped his head back and grinned before pushing his hairy snout thru the bars of the sty toward me. What could I do? It’s not his fault. I bent down and rubbed behind his ears and he scrunched his tiny eyes up into creases of joy.
“Hello, Laura.”
My hand jerked back.
“Oh, hi, Ravi.” I tried to keep my voice as normal as a girl-scratching-a-family-pig-talking-to-a-boy-who-she-is-maybe-or-maybe-not-dating can manage. “How’d your exams go?”
“Yeah, good. Finished yesterday . . . So—what’s with the porker?”
I shook my head. “He’s Dad’s—it’s a long story.” This huge longing to be normal swept over me. Behind me Larkin suddenly did a kind of pig backflip, squealing at maximum volume.
“So, what—your dad’s setting up a farm?”
“Traded in the Saab for all this.”
Ravi let out a low whistle. “Mental.”
“And it’s not only him—haven’t you seen your rabbits?” I jerked my thumb toward his shed.
His face darkened. “Where? No!” He stomped up to the shed and flung the door open. 8 pairs of ears twitched from within.
“Where’s my stuff?”
“Ah, Ravi.” Shiva stood on the doorstep. “I did not wish to disturb your exams . . . As you can see, we—”
“What’ve you done? Where’s all my kit?”
“—are now having some new friends, the rabbits.” Shiva smiled. “Very nutritious, very productive.”
“Screw nutritious, this is my place.”
Shiva frowned. “Do not speak with such language to your father. Your equipment has merely been relocated for this exciting family project. . . . Ah, sorry, darling.” He moved to one side as Mrs. Datta appeared with a sack of vegetable choppings.
“Oh, right, a family project. Then why’s Mum doing all the work again? You make me sick.”
“I don’t mind,” said Mrs. Datta with a tired smile.
“You see, she is not minding. Men do not peel vegetables, but when killing time comes, that is the man’s time. And you, boy, should watch your words. I am the father in this house, the man.”
Ravi just shook his head. “Whatever.”
Sun., July 5
Mum came home for about 10 minutes this morning.
“Where is he?” she whispered.
I nodded toward the garden.
“Good!”
She started throwing clean underwear into her bag. “Have you had a good week, sweetie? I missed you.”
“Then why are you packing your bag again?”
“Special Sunday, darling. Must dash, can’t explain now.”
“Mum, you haven’t quit work or anything, have you?”
She glanced scornfully out the window. “Course not. Somebody needs to work in this family.” And then she kissed the top of my head, zipped up the bag—and disappeared again. Is she having an affair?
Another e-mail from Amy.
I don’t know what to say to her. I’ve got nothing. I feel like I’m drifting down a river toward that . . . whatsitcalled? Oh yeah, Heart of Darkness.
Mon., July 6
So good not getting up. I love holidays.
Mum is back and my parents are being weirdly polite to each other. I overheard them in the hallway this morning.
Dad: “I’m installing solar panels on the roof. It might be a bit messy in the house for a few days. Terribly sorry.”
Mum: “Don’t worry, darling. What’s a bit of mess? Ha, ha!”
When people go polite you know it’s really bad. She’s got a new haircut; it’s dead short with loads of gel. I said it was nice.
She did a little twirl. “Thanks, honey. I felt I needed a change.”
Personally I am relieved. She’s definitely not having an affair with that mop.
Tues., July 7
I was sunbathing in the garden this afternoon when Ravi came out. I pretended not to see him, but all the time I could feel him checking me out, and then finally I couldn’t stand the tension anymore and I looked over—only to see he was reading Carbon Times, this pukey-green manufacturing magazine Dave Beard gets for Design Tech.
I lay back down, dead disgusted. Suddenly Arthur turned up his solar radio and shouted, “Weather forecast!” and loads of neighbors came swarming around him, like a tribe of Aztecs praying for rain. There’s no grass anymore, loads of leaves have dropped from the trees, and the Heath looks like the moon.
Wed., July 8
Europe is starting to cook. Old people dying, again. It’s hot and dry here, but it’s basically okay—seems like whatever we get they get twice as bad. They’ve got to go on rations soon. I mean, they’ve just got to.
Thurs., July 9
I went to Kim and Kier’s bloody focus group this evening. Talk about a bunch of randoms.
Kieran—former hairdresser
Kim—evil witch
Donna—gorgeous, works in advertising
Miles—media boy about town
Jules—used to work in IT-support; retraining to be a plumber
Tabitha—florist
Phil—Aussie surfer dude
Laura—teenage mutant girl
Kieran cleared his throat. “So, welcome to the focus group session! Thank you all so much for being here. The purpose of this thing is for everyone to give their angle on dating—y’know, how it’s changed, what are the issues, what you want from the new scene, basically. So who wants to start?”
Everyone went dead quiet.
Kier took a big gulp of wine. “All right then, I will. The reason we’re setting up Carbon Dating is that we don’t think anybody knows the rules of dating anymore. I’m hearing the same thing from everyone—a general loss of confidence—”
“Tell me about it,” interrupted Surfer Phil, running a hand thru his golden mane. “Useta be, I’d step into a bar, flex me arms, and the chix’d be clambering all over me. Well . . .”—he smirked—“that bit still happens, but now . . . they wanna know what I do before they’ll take it any further. Like, they wanna know what I do for a living! What am I supposed to say, I bum around the world and catch big waves? I’m a surfer, for chrissake. Useta be enough.”
“And even if you’ve got a job, the question is, are you making any money out of it?” Tabitha added. “I’ve run my shop in Blackheath for fifteen years. At the classy end. I sell exotics, you know—bamboos, callas, orchids—but now I simply can’t afford them—the carbon rating is sky high. So I’m down to roses, daffodils, pansies!” She shuddered. “Who’s going to buy pansies in Blackheath?”
“And your point?” asked Kieran.
“My point is, there are a lot of people like me now, y’know. Struggling. I used to love eating out. Well, even that’s gone. There’s no flying in fresh lobster from Norway or organic pomodorinos from Italy. Today’s menus are a travesty—a sort of dreadful new carbon fusion, sourced from inside the M25.” She sighed. “It’s like all the glamour’s gone out of my life, poof, in a cloud of smoke.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Miles loosened his tie. “Well, my problem’s kind of different. Y’see, I work in film, so there’s loads of freebie parties happening, but the problem is my old lines don’t work anymore. Before, I was always traveling. I could take a girl away for the weekend, spin her around in the company Merc, whatever. Now it’s like I’ve got nothing to offer. I’m bankrupt. All I can say is ‘Hi, I’m Miles.’ ” He put his head in his hands. “Do you know how lame that sounds? I’m rea
lly starting to lose it—not gone out for a month. I’ve even . . . been reading 19th-century novels, looking for old-fashioned pickup lines, pre-electricity! How tragic is that?”
“I’ll give you tragic,” the gorgeous Donna snorted. “The other night I got off with this guy. He’s been chasing me for a while and, well, you know, the time had come . . .” She crossed her 200-mile-long Armani legs. “Anyway, the point is, the next morning, right, he said what about a cooked breakfast, beautiful?” She rolled her eyes. “Like I know how to cook breakfast! So I just laughed and the next thing I knew, he just upped and left. I mean, we had it all going on and then he never called me again. Over breakfast. Have I got to turn into a bloody housewife now if I want to keep a boyfriend?”
There was a pause. Everyone lost in a world of pain.
“What about you, Jules?” asked Kim.
She shrugged in her baggy T-shirt. “I’m doing okay—retraining to be a plumber.”
“So rationing has turned out a good thing for you?”
“Yeah. Everybody loves a plumber.”
The group looked at her with hatred in its eyes x 6.
“Laura?”
All eyes turned to me. “Oh, well, it’s like . . . dead confusing . . . all this stuff—”
Donna cut in. “Oh, God, yeah. Teenage love. Tough.”
“Can you be more specific, Laur?”
I felt myself blushing. “Uh, well, like there’s this boy at school, right? He’s kind of gorgeous, but no one used to really notice him cos he was a bit quiet, a bit techie—but now that girls know he can fix things up for them, they’re all over him.”
Kim smirked. “Is this a personal example?”
“No! Well—yeah, but that’s not the point . . . I mean, everything’s changed now. People are more political. You know, maybe dating isn’t the most important thing anymore—survival’s got to come first.”
Donna clutched my arm. “But what about the pretty girls? They’re still getting the boys, right?”
“Well, yeah, but they gotta have something else beside. It’s not good enough to just strut anymore.”
“So . . .” Kieran glanced at Kim. “What we’re getting is that Carbon Dating’s got to offer something different—people need a space where dating can be exciting. . . . It needs to be stylish, but not expensive, it needs to offer people a place where they can learn new skills without feeling like they’ve had a personality transplant, it needs to—”
“Find a way to make rationing sexy!” cried Donna. “Cos right now dating’s finished.”
There was a loud cheer.
“All right!” said Kieran, laughing. “Meeting over. We’ve got our orders!”
Fri., July 10
A group of housewives have rioted all over a golf course in Essex and chained themselves to the sprinklers cos the club keeps on watering the grass.
Sat., July 11
I just got a message from Mia Metziger:
u guys rock, wanna hook?
I said yes. We’re going to meet up at the Ollie, which is some backstreet, vegan skater café just off Covent Garden. Stace and Claire are away, and I’m not sure about Adisa. He might freak out and throw a scalding herb tea drink in Mia Metziger’s face.
Sun., July 12
About 6 clouds came into the sky and drizzled on London this afternoon. Rain stopped play at the Oval—England vs. Australia—for 10 whole minutes. The entire crowd stood up and cheered.
Tues., July 14
I took Adi to the Ollie for a laugh. We got there before Mia, so got a juice and hung around in front of the bulletin board.
Adi frowned. “These people are strange.”
“Shh, they’re not deaf.”
“Like I care.” He nodded at a row of notices. “I mean, what is this? Some kind of lonely hearts? Check this one out.”
We started to giggle. “What does that mean, at the end?”
Adi shrugged. “Who knows? But if you’re gonna be a radical you gotta stop etching your life away.”
“Yeah, but all edgers aren’t like that. I mean, Mia said some cool stuff at that interview, like how we’ve got to stop being so pathetic and passive.”
“I know—I wanna bring the system down, too. It’s just I wanna do it in style, not with mountain dew or pissy cats.”
The door banged back on its hinges and Mia skated in. “Yo, Laura! Howz it goin’?” She unzipped a bulging backpack and pulled out a wad of flyers before turning to a skinny geek standing by the juicer. “Baggy, is it okay to distribute?” She handed me a flyer. “Totally cool—dayfest in Camden. July 22—you should come down. So?”
“So—what?”
Mia is so speedy, she makes me feel like I’ve had a stroke and can only form words really slow.
“So, howz it all goin’?”
“Oh, pre-tt-y go-od.”
She grinned. “Hey, Baggy, what about a Mia special, to go? I gotta be south of the river by 3.”
He smiled and reached for an avocado.
“He don’t say much, but he’s the king of the smoothie. Wait till you see this puppy, it’s got organic soya pulp an’ all.”
Adisa smiled dangerously.
“Anyhowz, Laur, the point is I got something you guys might wanna get hooked up on. It’s a 7-day tour/showcase of politico bands in like, the west country . . . whatever. . . . Anywayz I’m hooked up with these booking people and this one band’s just dropped out and these friends of mine were like, hey, Mia, d’you know any cooooool bands, and I said, well, yeah, I totally do—thinking of you guys—and so I told ’em I’d get on to it. . . . So waddya think? It’s in September.”
My heart began to thud with excitement. “A tour? For the angels?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly. Two other bands, you drive around in this big old bus, pull up, and do your thing. Takin’ the message out to the country. It needs it, man.”
I turned to Adi. “What d’you think?”
He gave his coolest shrug, like he was sick of people offering him tour dates.
I smiled at Mia. “Er, okay . . . I guess I’ll have to ask the others—could take a few days. . . . Claire’s on holiday . . .”
Mia shook her head. “No can do, gotta tell me by tomorrow.
Hey, Bags, is that smoothie done? I gotta head.”
“Okay then, tomorrow. D’you really mean it, though—a whole tour?”
Mia grinned. “For real.” She skated over to the counter, picked up her drink, and then she was gone.
Me and Adi stepped out on to Neal Street. “Shit, Adi, what’s up with you? You could’ve been more positive.”
He scowled. “Do we got to chop vegetables for them?”
“Who?”
“The other bands.”
“I dunno. Why?”
“Cos I ain’t doing it, is why.”
I put my hands on my hips. “C’mon, this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. D’you want to stay in your mum’s garage forever?”
“No-o.”
“What about Stace and Claire, though? Can we say yes without asking them? I tried calling Claire last week but there was zero connection, not even voice mail.”
“Stace’ll definitely be up for it—anything to get out of the house. So Claire’s in, whether she likes it or not.”
“Can we do that?”
“You give that girl way too much power, Laur.” He burst out laughing. “And you’re right. Shit, if I got to chop, then I got to chop!”
Wed., July 15
I called Mia this morning and said yes, so she’s going to get back to me with the full details. Now all I’ve got to do is sell it to my parents. I talked it over with Larkin, who is definitely my closest family member right now. We reckon it’ll be cool—like he says, I’m not exactly the center of their world. He was just crunching down the last bits of some toast crusts, when suddenly there were voices from the Datta garden.
“So, what? You ditched me? You?”
I crouched down.
�
�Thanzila, we were never . . .”
“Oh, right. That’s not what you said in the café. . . .”
“Look.” Ravi’s voice went a bit desperate. “I don’t want to disrespect you, but this was never gonna work.”
“Yeah. You wanna know why? Cuz you’re a total loser, a real embarrassment.”
“You only hung with me cos I gave you cool shit.”
“Yeah, well I’m all done now, buddy. Why don’t you go crawling to that girl next door? She’s pretty much on your level.”
“I ain’t gonna go crawling to anyone. She’s cool and I like her.”
“Huh, I soo-oo knew there was something going on between you two.”
“Thanz, please, just leave it now. . . . And there’s nothing going on. Why would she even—”
Thanzila squealed. “What’s that disgusting smell?”
“It’s a pig.”
“Laura’s pig?”
“Well—it’s her dad’s . . .”
“Oh, gross! Yeah, well that so-oo sums it up. Good-bye, loser.”
Why can’t people finish sentences? Why would she even what?
Fri., July 17
A local water battle broke out on a river in Andalusia in southern Spain. It started with local Spanish people driving back Moroccan immigrants with sticks and stones. The Moroccans fought back by fencing off a mile of river—and now it’s totally kicked off. Bombs and rifles all along the banks and locals dressed like soldiers patroling the area.
Sat., July 18
Totally normal breakfast scene this morning. I was staring at a map of Devon, Dad was staring at the garden, Kim was staring at the back of a cereal box, plugged into her e-pod. Suddenly Mum slammed the milk down on the table. “Why don’t we ever talk to one another anymore?”
Kim pulled a headphone out of her ear. “Cos we don’t like one another. And now there’s no escape except silence.”
I hate to admit it, but I really admire my sister sometimes.
Sun. July 19
I’ve started to sneak into the kitchen in the night and open the fridge door so I can cool down. Man, I’d kill to sleep in there, next to the cottage cheese.