by Saci Lloyd
After they’d gorged themselves, everyone sat down in a big circle. Loud Dad’s children played a disgusting tune on recorders, and a group of men who I’d only ever seen washing their cars brought out a load of bongos and started to jam, their skinny white arms flashing in the moonlight. To finish they all did a hunt reenactment, with Shiva in the middle, miming the fox.
I left a message for Mum. It’s got to be better where she is.
Tues., Sept. 8
Yes! We got water back in the house today. I stood there at the bathroom sink for a minute, watching the water swish down the bowl like it was a miracle. Which I guess it is.
Wed., Sept. 9
I went to Camden market with Adi today. Told him about my grades.
He stopped dead. “You gonna tell your parents?”
“Why would I do a stupid thing like that?”
“True.”
“I’m just going to have to fix up this term. For real. No more messing.”
We walked in silence for a bit.
“Adi, what are you going to do after school?”
“Dunno. I was gonna study media at a university, but my dad says there’s no jobs in that now. He wants me to do medicine. Like (1) that’s ever going to happen with A-levels in English, History, Art, and Media, and (2) I don’t wanna be a doctor—I hate sick people.”
We paused in front of a row of sneakers. “But rationing’s not going to be this bad forever,” I began. “It’s just super intense now, maybe for a decade . . . but then green engines and fuels’ll sort us out.”
Adi picked up a trainer. “Remember the Olympic stadium?”
I nodded.
“How it went a hundred million over budget, wasn’t ready till six days before the games began, and that poxy wind turbine collapsed on it?’
“Right.”
“So . . . that’s like a few thousand tons of concrete and they messed it up. This is a total global fuel revolution.” He looked across at me. “Better face it, this is at least our lifetime, maybe our kids’, too.”
“Kids? You want to bring kids into this?”
“Sure. Someday. I don’t know how it’s gonna work any more than you do, but I’m not going to stop living my life just cos of some shitty greenhouse gas.”
I looked at him slyly. “And what’s Sarah say about kids?”
“Dunno, I don’t talk about this shit with her.”
“But she’s your girl, if you don’t talk to her . . .”
He shrugged. “Just don’t is all.”
“All right, all right . . . but don’t you get scared? I mean, what else is gonna go?”
“We’ll adapt. I mean, what about the angels? We could really go somewhere now. Before we were just a bunch of losers with guitars—but now we’re a bunch of losers with guitars with a message that people actually wanna hear. Radical is becomin’ mainstream, my friend.”
“You should go into politics, Adi.”
He gave a half smile. “Maybe I will.”
When I got home I found Dad asleep with his arm around the pig in a pool of sunshine, his trousers held up with bits of string. He is turning into an old tramp. I’ve started to do most of the cooking now; otherwise we’d all be living on cold beans and old bits of bread. Kim never helps. She’s either in her room working or out at Carbon Dating nights.
Mum still hasn’t got back to me.
Thurs., Sept. 10
Ravi knocked on my front door dead early.
“What?” I groaned.
“Coming?”
“Where?”
“Er, to finish your education so you can get the hell out of here . . .”
I slapped my forehead. “Today?”
“Jump to it, girl.”
An hour later I was sitting in the main hall with the girls. I scanned the room; everyone looked bad—a long, hot summer all around. Bob Jenkins did a big welcome-back speech from the stage; how proud he was of us, and what an immense privilege for him it was to work with such a fantastic group of young people blah blah. And then he hit us with it. It turns out the school went way over rations last term and there’ll be no heating until the spring term and no hot water. On the upside though, the air pollution in Greenwich is down by 22% and we’re 6 times less likely to get run over in speeding traffic. He finished by saying our generation would be thanked by all those to come—it was us who finally made the choice to change our lives and save the planet. Loads of students clapped and cheered.
Er, excuse me, what choice? I ain’t old enough to vote. I feel dead ashamed of myself, but right now I really hate rationing. I want my old life back. I can’t tell the others, but I think I’m going dead right wing. Bob held up his hand. “So, just as a little welcome back to all you students . . . I think the ladies among your tutors have prepared you some cookies and snacks.” He flashed his capped teeth at the miserable women teachers lining the back wall. “Enjoy!”
“Ladies? Puh-lease.”
Bob looked up. “Er, excuse me?”
Gwen Parry-Jones stepped forward. “No, I won’t. I haven’t made a cookie since I was eight years old and I’m not going to start now, you sexist pig. You’re not going to use rationing as an excuse to eradicate eighty years of female emancipation.”
Deep silence.
“Aha, ha. I’m sorry, I’m sure. I stand corrected.” Bob smiled, stepping off the podium and striding along the central aisle. Once he got alongside her, I saw his lips form the words “My office, now.”
She just tossed her head. That woman’s got a certain style.
Fri., Sept. 11
Lisa Bell got stuck straight into us today. She swanned into the room with her horrible teacher tan. (Joined-up freckles, blotches, and strap marks.) “Right! First assignment is going to be very topical. What I want you to do is come up with a personal account of rationing from the point of view of an American teenager.”
Well that’s one homework done already. Just need to print out Amy’s messages.
When I came out of the lesson, I saw Ravi talking to this strange-looking group outside the school gates. When I went over they immediately stopped talking and walked away. Ravi didn’t even try and introduce me.
“Who were they?”
He shrugged. “Just some people I know.”
“Why you being so mysterious?”
He flicked his hair back irritably. “Why are you being so suspicious?”
Mum finally called me back tonight.
“Sorry, hon, everything’s been kind of unsettled.”
“Where are you? When can I come and see you?”
“Oh, soon! It’s just . . .”
“Mum!” I took a deep breath. The shame: begging to see my own mother, the woman I would’ve 100% traded in for a set of bass strings 6 months ago.
“Okay, okay, why don’t you come and see me tomorrow, at my office? We can grab some dinner.”
Big news from Europe, though. There’s going to be an all-nation vote on rationing in October. I almost cried when I heard about it. Like all that fighting was for something.
Sat., Sept. 12
Met Mum at her office. I’d only been in there 10 minutes when her organizer beeped. She glanced at the screen and slapped her forehead. “Damn. I totally forgot, I’ve got to go to this thing . . .”
I sighed.
She waved her hand. “I know . . . but it’s the first night of an intensive workshop course.”
“Fine!”
She picked up her phone. “Look, I’ll cancel it.”
“No, it’s cool.”
“I know! Why don’t you come? It’ll be fun! But just one thing.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to promise not to laugh.”
“Why? What kind of workshop is it?”
“It’s a women’s skills group—in the old Co-op Building.”
“What, down by our house? Thought that place was dead.”
“No-o, I don’t believe so. I think it’s being renovated. Co
me! It’ll be an adventure!” She pulled on her jacket.
20 minutes later we were picking our way thru a ring of trash surrounding the Co-op Building. I gazed up the stairs to the double steel doors. Mum stood beside me, hands on hips. “This it? Where’s the buzzer?”
“Try banging on that un-boarded bit of window.”
“Where?”
I pointed to a single dirty pane to the left of the door. She leaned across and rapped on the glass. Silence. She rapped again. Silence—and then suddenly a grille opened in the center of the door. A pair of brown eyes and an eyebrow bolt appeared.
“Yeah?”
“Ah, hello . . . I’m . . . uh . . . here for the Women Moving Forward workshop?”
“Name?”
“Julia—Brown. This is my daughter, Laura Brown.”
“Let me check the list.”
“You never told me it was WMF,” I hissed. “Mum, I can’t believe you’re going in there! Those women are—”
The door swung open and a tiny, nut-brown woman in karate pants and a dirty vest stepped out. She waved a piece of paper at me.
“She ain’t on the list.”
“Er, no,” said Mum nervously. “She’s my guest.”
Nut Brown shook her head. “Nah, mate. No name, no entry.”
“But . . .”
I nudged her. “I don’t wanna go in there, anyway. Why are you doing this?”
“Oh, don’t be so prejudiced.”
“In or out? Ain’t got all day,” growled Nut Brown.
Mum kissed me. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll definitely see you next week. Dinner. I promise.”
She turned and followed Nut Brown into the gloom, and the door shut behind them with a clang.
Well, so much for me staying with her.
Sun., Sept. 13
The whole street got together today to pick the veggies that survived thru the drought. Dad had me out there all day. I looked up at one point and honest to God I just thought how is this London? Actually, after a bit, I kind of liked it—and I’ve never seen Dad so happy. Ravi came out of his room and sat on the bench with me and we shelled peas all afternoon. The only bad thing was the way everyone kept hanging around the pigpen and drooling over Larkin. They are like a pack of vampires.
Later, when they’d all gone, I went over to his pen and found this pinned up! Bastards. Don’t they have any heart at all?
I reached between the bars of his pen and rubbed behind his ears.
“I’m not going let anyone hurt you,” I whispered.
He gave a great slurp of his tongue. I tell you, that pig understands every word I say.
Wed., Sept. 16
GPJ dragged us all into the main hall for a new Energy Saver thing at school. Something about picking cockles in Essex, like we haven’t got enough to do. Anyway, just as I was walking in she pulled me to one side.
“I believe you came down to the warehouse with your mum,” she began, twirling a spanner in her hands. “Sorry we couldn’t let you in—it’s just we need to do checks first, and nobody knew who you were. I guess it was a bit of a shock for you seeing your mum there, but don’t be too quick to judge, she’s—”
A sudden hot surge of anger flashed thru my brain.
“Don’t you try and explain my mum to me! You haven’t had 16 years of her,” I spit out. “You’re my teacher at school. I don’t tell you what to do and you don’t lecture me about my family. Clear?”
The spanner sat motionless in the palm of her hand. “Clear.” She smiled. “You’re your mother’s daughter all right.”
“Really?” I turned on my heel. “Mostly it feels the other way around.”
Sat., Sept. 19
Claire’s got us tickets to see the hydro again in December. I asked Ravi if he wanted to come, but he said no.
“Homework,” he muttered. “Gotta get that scholarship. There’s only thirty places for the whole country and there’s a chance they’re gonna start it early. Maybe November.”
I went all cold inside again. Doesn’t he care about me at all? And the horrible thing is the less he shows he likes me the more I like him.
Sun., Sept. 20
Women Moving Forward are now dead active in the area. They’ve started to patrol the streets in pairs, wearing big old tool belts and fixing things for people. Dad’s gone all weird, like a dad in a perfect-dad training video. All this week he’s insisted that we eat meals together and he keeps asking me how I am all the time. Breakfast is a nightmare; he’s got me on oatmeal and dis-gust-ing goat milk. Mousy Woman got 2 goats over the summer. Curse her.
I want to go and see Mum again. Maybe she’s calmed down a bit.
Wed., Sept. 23
Adi came with me after school to see Mum, cos I couldn’t face it on my own. When we got to the Co-op Building, Nut Brown swung the doors open.
“You again issit?”
I nodded.
“All right. Follow me.”
We walked behind her thru the empty halls.
“D’you guys live here?” I asked, panting to keep up.
“Some do. Them what’s in the collective, innit.”
“Shit!” Adi yelled. I spun around to see a huge rat leaping up the stairwell.
Nut Brown laughed. “Ah—don’t worry ’bout her, that’s Killer. Prime lady.”
Suddenly the sound of weird chanting filled the corridor.
“Nearly there.”
“What the . . .?” whispered Adi, but he had no time to finish cos Nut Brown yanked a heavy metal door open, to reveal a huge warehouse room, set up as a martial arts space. At least 30 sweatdrenched women were running laps around the wall.
A familiar voice shouted: “Women! Moving!”
All the women stopped dead, went into a tiger-style crouch and roared, “Forward!” back at her. I didn’t even have to look. Gwen Parry-Jones.
“No wonder she wouldn’t do cookies and tea for old Bob,” gurgled Adi, shoulders starting to shake.
“No laughing,” I whispered.
“S’too much.”
“Women, take a break!”
They all flopped down on mats in the center.
“No, Julia. You’ve only done forty-nine—one more lap! No shirking.”
I looked over and there she was. Poor old Mum lifted herself off her sweat mat and set off at a slow trot out toward the wall. She’d taken only a few paces when she came level with us. Our eyes met.
“Oh, hey, sweetie!” she drawled, coming to a stop. “What’s up? Wanna come and chill with the girls?”
I headed out the door.
“Laura! Come back!” Mum chased after me down the hallway, finally catching up by Killer’s stairwell. “Where are you going?”
“Out of here. This is just . . . not . . .”
She crossed her arms. “And you are being so . . . judgmental.”
“Look at this place! It’s a shit hole—and those women . . . Mum, you’re in a cult.”
“WMF is not a cult . . . it’s a valid expression of revolt on behalf of disenfranchised women in the rationing era. We are rediscovering our female strength, power—”
At this point, Killer made a strike for female rodent power by leaping out from behind some boxes onto Mum’s bare foot.
“Oh, Jesus!” screamed Mum, leaping up the concrete stairs.
“Yeah, Julia, you’re all about power!”
“You’re such a goddamn teenager!” she shouted from the flight above. “It’s all right for you to be Straight X—but if anyone else wants to make a state—”
A bell rang. Suddenly the hallway was swarming with wimmin.
“What’s that disgusting smell?” gasped Adi, catching up with us. “S’like drains or something . . .”
Gwen Parry-Jones smiled as she walked past. “Ah, Laura, Adisa—good to see you here. Grub’s up—why don’t you join us?”
“Lentils!” Adi spat. “Mrs. B, I applaud your radical stance an’ all, but no good ever comes from lentils. Pulses corr
upt. Trust me, I been there.”
“I appreciate your sharing that with me, Adisa—but I think I know what’s best. I am a grown woman taking back her power.”
Adi shook his head sadly. “Woman’s blind. She’ll have to get burned before she can get out. Let’s jet, Laura.”
I nodded. “Mum, we’re going!”
Mum took a step down toward us. “Already?” she asked in a little-girl voice.
“Yup.”
“But when will I see you again?”
“Er . . . you know where I live.”
Her eyes hardened. “You’re not going to guilt-trip me, young lady. This is a very difficult time for us all.”
“I know, Mum. Enjoy your lunch!”
Adi leaned on the wall outside. “Oh, boy. I guess you got to hand it to your mum, she goes for it. I mean, those women are like banditos. They ain’t taking things lying down.”
“I don’t want a bandit for a mum. I just want someone normal.”
Adi blew his cheeks out. “You always say that, but I reckon you secretly like it. I mean, it ain’t never dull around your house, is it?”
Fri., Sept. 25
Lisa Bell slapped my American rationing homework down on my desk in Crit Thinking and waved Amy’s e-mails at me.
“Is this some kind of joke? This teenager you’ve fabricated is completely unbelievable. The father figure is ridiculous. I was looking for genuine responses to rationing issues. Real-life people don’t behave like this. Really, Laura, it’s about time you took both your education and rationing seriously.” I didn’t bother to answer, just stared into her googly eyes.
Anyway, I don’t care. Going out with Rav tomorrow to the movies.
Sat., Sept. 26
Ravi blew me off! Said he was too busy with the scholarship. He’s revising every night with a bunch of geeks from school. So that’s who those boys were the other day. Basically it makes me dead sad to have my boyfriend snatched off me by a bloody greenhouse gas.