by Saci Lloyd
Thurs., July 23
There’s colossal forest fires all over France, but they’re down to 50% of their water and so they can’t put them out. Meanwhile our garden’s turning into a desert. I can hear the baby carrots’ little gasps of thirst. The shower water’s nothing like enough.
I’ve got to do a final Offenders presentation in 2 weeks, then I’m officially a good person again.
Fri., July 24
I saw Ravi in the garden and a big ball of fire flamed up inside me. I’m sick of being this stupid little girl who doesn’t know things. Before I knew what I was doing I was standing in front of him.
“Ravi, d’you like me?”
His eyes widened in shock.
“Sorry?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“What, like like?”
I nodded.
“Like on a date?”
I nodded again, all my courage burning off like gas fumes. Horrible pause, broken only by the sound of grinding rabbit molars.
Ravi smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are. Laura Brown, you’re really quite something.” And then he leaned over the fence and kissed me.
I’m in shock.
Sat., July 25
I cycled with Ravi in the blazing heat all the way to Oxleas Woods and we lay side by side on the withered, dead grass and stared up into the blue. The thing is, at first I didn’t want him to be all over me, but when he didn’t even try and kiss me, I really wanted him to, so I leaned over and kind of caught him off guard and our teeth clashed. Maybe it was better in my head.
Mon., July 27
Feel so good! Hung out with R all afternoon and finally, finally did some dead good kissing, but then I came home and watched the news and now I feel so bad. The prime minister’s called an emergency debate in Parliament about whether to bring in a 3rd-level Emergency Drought Order. If it gets passed the government will cut off private water and put us all on standpipes, public taps in the street.
Tues., July 28
The House of Commons emergency debate started at 8 A.M.
Wed., July 29
10 P.M. After more than 24 hours of solid talk, they’ve passed the emergency law. Big sections of the country are going to be cut off. We are first on the list. Thames Water’s cutting all London houses, borough by borough. There’ll be a standpipe for every 20 homes. The weird thing is when they announced it I didn’t feel anything. That’s starting to happen loads. Even with Ravi. I know I really like him, but I can’t always seem to connect.
Dad stood in the garden with Shiva, looking at the dried-up beds.
“All that work for nothing. I can barely keep it all going with our shower water. Once they switch us off, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He shook his head. “I’m going to join the march on Thames Water’s headquarters in Reading tomorrow. We’ve got to force them to do something, at least start building a bloody desalination plant. Y’know, for making clean water out of the sea.”
Shiva frowned. “How does it work?”
“Not sure—something to do with osmosis and the Thames.”
“But, Nicholas, the Thames is a freshwater river. Where’s the salt?”
“Well, a lot of it’s tidal, so I guess they do it closer to the sea.”
“But . . .”
“What?”
“It sounds like a big process. Isn’t it going to burn a lot of fuel?”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s the choice now—pollute or burn.” Dad stamped his foot. “There’s got to be another way to get water in this town.”
Thurs., July 30
Portugal’s gone up in smoke. Mum handed me the paper. “God, Laura, we only went there two years ago!”
Fri., July 31st
August
Sat., Aug. 1
I spent all morning doing research for my stupid Offenders presentation on effects of heat on the human body. Some bits are dead cool, though. Arthur’s letting me use his net for research cos he’s powered it by solar panels hooked up all over the roof. I’m down to only 3 blocks on my card. Everything I like burns so much carbon.
I started to read it out to Arthur, but when I got to the egg whites he bounced up out of his chair. “That’s quite enough, young lady!” he barked. I think he’s in denial about being old.
There was a knock on the door and Dad stepped in with a dirty old map in his hand. He flattened it out on the kitchen table.
“Look at this . . . I’ve been looking for alternative water sources. D’you know there are loads of underground rivers in London? The closest to us are the Ravensbourne and the Quaggy. See?” He traced the rivers with his finger. “The Ravensbourne rises in Keston then flows through Bromley, Lewisham, and lastly Greenwich, to the Thames. So does the Quaggy—and then it joins the Ravensbourne next to Lewisham Station. That’s only a mile down the road from here—we just need a way to access it.”
Arthur frowned. “What, by digging a well d’you mean? In the main road by the station?”
“Well, no-o. But there’s other places, parkland like Hayes and Bromley Common.”
“But are the rivers still there? I thought they were all covered over or turned into sewer tunnels now. And how on earth do you think you’re going to get away with digging down 10, 20 meters? The police are all over us if we as much as turn a garden hose on.”
Dad threw his hands up. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to find a way. . . . All right. If we can’t dig a well, what about opening up an existing one? The River Fleet was full of springs and wells, right across the city, until they covered it over. Look at this one, St. Chad’s Well. It was open till the nineteenth century, just behind Kings Cross Station, in an area called Battle Bridge.”
“Never heard of it.”
“They say it’s right where the final battle between Boudicca and the Romans took place and eighty thousand British were slaughtered. Anyway, hundreds of people used to go to the well every day and drink the water.”
Arthur sucked his teeth. “Well, we could try, I suppose. What about dowsing? I was a dab hand at finding water that way as a lad.”
“With a hazel twig? There’s got to be more scientific ways of doing it.”
“What’s dowsing?” I asked.
“It’s the art of finding water. Some people have got a gift. Traditionally, you use a fork-shaped hazel branch and you walk across an area. When you’re over water, the branch bends toward the source. It’s a bit unclear how it works, but it’s something to do with changes in magnetic fields. Basically, water conducts electricity and the human body is mostly made up of water, and so it is a sort of natural conductor. And that’s how you ‘feel’ the water. A lot of people swear by it.”
“What, so you’re going to wander around Kings Cross with a twig?”
Dad glared at me. “It’s just an idea. Have you got a better one?” He grinned suddenly. “Anyway, we might find a buddy for Larkin. When they covered the Fleet River over, there was this eighteenth-century London myth about underground pigs.” He pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is from a newspaper from the twenty-fourth of August, 1736: A fatter boar was hardly ever seen than one taken up this day, coming out of the Fleet ditch into the Thames. It proved to be a butcher’s near Smithfield Bars, who had missed him five months, all of which time he had been in the common sewer. . . .”
Ravi walked me up to Offenders this evening and then we kissed outside for ages. I don’t even know if I want to kiss him now, but I so want to feel normal that I’m doing it, anyway. Why is everything so complicated?
I went inside and saw Tracey Leader standing by the entrance. She was leaning up against a table, staring at me. I smiled. She didn’t. As I went past her she pulled me close with one of her meaty crab claws. “Tell your girl to keep going. No time for gettin’ cute.”
I just had to stand there with Tracey’s Big Mac breath all over me till she released her grip. And then I went inside and talked about eg
g whites.
Sun., Aug. 2
I walked into Kim’s bedroom this morning.
She turned. “What the—?”
“Yeah, exactly. Just passing on a message from Trace. She wants you to keep going, sis.”
Kim sat down heavily on the bed. “Shit, she’s a psycho.”
“Is that supposed to be news?”
“I don’t need another lecture from you, all right? I’m trying to get out, build something with Carbon Dating now. It’s serious.”
“Kim, look at what’s going on around us. How can you do the black mar—?”
“It’s just . . . she . . . won’t let me stop. It’s all messed up.”
“Maybe you should tell Mum and Dad.”
She snorted. “Those two? What a joke!”
She’s right about my parents, though. I wish they’d stop being so polite to each other. I think they’re doing it for the sake of the children, but I, the children, would like them to please start shouting at each other again. At least it’s real.
Tues., Aug. 4
I passed my Offenders presentation. I am now officially an ex-offender, but it don’t mean anything with what’s going on. The country’s starting to lose it. In Axminster, where my nan lives, they’re only giving people water every other day. It’s the same all over the South West. My dad is dead worried about her. He wants her to come to us, but she won’t. It’s bad in Yorkshire, too. The council’s been supplying half of the county’s villages thru tankers, but they don’t know how long they can keep it up, cos the groundwater tables are sinking so fast.
Our water gets cut off on Thursday.
Wed., Aug. 5
An underground water pipe burst last night all over the street and whole families ran out with buckets to collect the water. Mousy Woman from no. 6 leaned on her front gate and sobbed over the waste. Today all our water is dark brown. The forest fires are out of control in France, Spain, and Portugal. It feels like it’s never gonna cool down again. Why is it always old people who die? They found 20 dead in an old folks’ home in Paris. All of them with 41°C body temperature.
I went around to check on Arthur. He’s made a kind of tent in his kitchen out of layers and layers of sheets. When I walked in he was lining up a load of empty water bottles on the table.
“Ah, Laura! Come in.”
“Are you all right?”
“Perfectly cool. Secret is keep still, lots of fluid, lots of layers—lets the air flow. Learned it from the Bedouin. Glad you’re here actually . . .” He nodded toward a steaming pan on the cooker. “Can you check if that water’s boiling yet? I’m making safe water.”
I went over and lifted the pan lid. “Er, what’s this tin cup on the side for?”
“Catching the evaporation. Anything in it?”
I peered inside. “Yeah, nearly full.”
“Ah, marvelous . . . bring it over. We need to evaporate and distill the water to get rid of all the impurities.” He took the cup from me and poured the water into the nearest bottle. “And now we do it all over again. Hmm, how much do we need? A three-day supply at 1 gallon per person per day—a lot, basically.”
I looked around the kitchen. “You’re joking, aren’t you? It’s going to take forever. And anyway, things aren’t so bad—the standpipe’ll have clean water again.”
He glanced at me sideways. “Of course, of course. I’m just being cautious.”
I put the cup down. “They can’t cut all our water off. I mean, how will we . . . live?”
“By being prepared. And if you don’t want to do this, apparently you can drink toilet water.” He smiled. “Unless it’s blue. Then don’t.”
“How can you joke about it?”
“Because that’s the way you get through things. Unless you want to go under. Now if you wouldn’t mind filling up that pan with fresh water?”
Arthur should be the mayor of London instead of the idiot we’ve got.
Thurs., Aug. 6
It reached 43°C in Birmingham today. The hottest ever recorded temperature in the U.K. Our water goes tomorrow. Only hospitals and vital industry’s going to stay connected. Not that you’d want to go to hospital, they’re all packed out. Queen Elizabeth Hospital’s got a tent set up in the parking lot to deal with all the people collapsing in the heat.
Fri., Aug. 7
Totally forgot. Went to the bathroom this morning and no water in the taps. Had to spit out my toothpaste and clean my teeth off with a towel.
Later, me and Ravi stood at my bedroom window and watched all our neighbors crowding around a standpipe outside Arthur’s house. 2 buckets a day per person.
Ravi ran his hand over his forehead. “When’s this gonna end?”
I glanced up at him. “D’you get . . . scared, sometimes? I mean, what if we’re too late—”
He cut me off. “Nah, we can fix up. That’s what I want to do, invent stuff. Make things cleaner, better.”
I didn’t say anything. The way he’d said it, so positive. It sounded kind of fake. I looked down at Loud Dad standing in line with his kids. I wanted him to shout at them like normal, but he just stood there, looking dead worn out.
“You know what this reminds me of? Those old black-and-white photos of early settlers. Y’know, in America or Australia. I can’t believe we used to fly abroad to get hot weather. It’s only good when you’ve got showers and air con, otherwise, it’s like . . . hell on earth.”
Sat., Aug. 8
I went down to see Kier at the Leopard. The streets are all empty cos no one’s going out in the day now. All the shops are opening up at 6 in the evening, like in Italy. Kier met me outside this grand old Victorian pub just off Brewer Street. He’s dead mad cos they’ve just had to cancel their Carbon Dating summer festival. Kier shook his fist at the sun.
“Thirty years of rain, rain, rain—and now I’ve finally got something good happening I’ve got to cancel cos it’s too frickin’ hot. Unbelievable. Anyway, can you help me with these? We’ve got to get all our stuff out of the festival tents.” He loaded me up with candlesticks. “Just go around the back and up the fire exit steps, you can’t miss our floor—it’s the one with the Welcome to the New Era of Style banner draped across the doors.”
I crossed the cobbled stones and was halfway up the steps when I heard this huge, terrifying human growl “Rrrraaagghhh!” coming from the building next door. It was followed by total silence, then a single female voice.
“Feel—the—Power—Within!”
I stopped and peered across into a large, lit-up room. It was full of sweaty women standing in a circle, and in the center, standing tall and proud—Gwen Parry-Jones!
“Come on, slowpoke, no time to waste,” puffed Kieran, trotting up behind me.
I jerked my thumb toward the building. “What the hell?”
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Women Moving Forward! They’re wimmin—you know, like in the seventies. Hairy armpits, no bras, hard-liners.” He grinned. “Super scary, huh?”
I nodded.
When I got home I found Mum on the stairs, crying. “God, I need to get out of this city. It’s driving me crazy.”
Sun., Aug. 9
Thames Water has cut off the standpipes where Adi lives in Lewisham. They’ve said it’s for emergency repairs, but everybody thinks the water’s run out. Shops everywhere are packed out with people buying water, milk, any drinks they can get their hands on.
Mia Metziger called with the dates for the angels tour. It’s the first week of September.
“But we can’t go anywhere in this, Mia.”
“You’re canceling? The country needs this message.”
“Mia, the country don’t need a message, it needs rain.”
I went to my room and felt so bad. But the angels don’t mean shit when people are dying. Adi texted me to say he was okay. Is he telling the truth?
I’ve got a blister low down on my back. It really hurts.
Mon., Aug. 10
I went
around to Adi’s and rang on his bell for ages, but no answer. Man, it’s like a police state. There’s a 24-hour patrol all over the city—and a hotline for grassing up your neighbors. It’s prison for stealing water—what happened to drugs and mugging? My blister’s getting worse, spreading, but I don’t want to tell anyone cos there’s no way I’m going to hospital.
Tues., Aug. 11
38°C. And after 3 days of no water Lewisham exploded. Huge crowds marched on City Hall on foot to demand drinking water. The mayor responded by bringing in the riot police, who sprayed them with tear gas and fired shots into the air, but for the first time this year, people didn’t back down. The news spread across London and thousands went down to the Hall to back them up. It started to kick off; and then a really bad thing happened—the police shot directly into the crowd with live bullets. They killed 5 people. I’m so scared about Adi. I’ve been calling him all day, but no answer.
Later, when it was all over, the mayor did a broadcast, explaining why he gave the order to open fire. Protection of democracy, blah, blah. It’s a load of bullshit. People are literally starting to die from the heat. I’m starting to get scared in a way I never have before. We’re in crisis and nobody knows what to do. Adi finally called me at 3 A.M.
“Are you okay? D’you want to come here?” I asked.
“We’ll be all right. They’ve promised us water by tonight.” His voice sounded weird. Like something’s changed inside him.
Wed., Aug. 12
I woke up with a really bad pain low down in my back. Mum’s scared it’s my kidneys and wants to take me straight to hospital, but I’ve refused. She says she’ll give me one more day at home. She’s given me her water ration. I feel so bad. Her lips are all cracked.
Mrs. Brown, the hen, staggered into the house and collapsed.
Thurs., Aug. 13
Feel dead light-headed, but no worse. Mum’s given me another day. But the real news is that thunderstorms are sweeping across Europe. They came in from the Atlantic overnight. Spain, Portugal, and western France have got torrential rain. Please, please let it come here, too.