The Petitioners
Page 20
But when we finally made landfall in an improvised harbour between two high walls, a group of men approached us, and they didn’t look all that friendly.
‘You can’t leave that there boat here,’ said one of them, sounding a bit like a character in an Ealing comedy, but without the happy smiling face to go with it.
‘We’re not leaving it here,’ said Jeff, leaping off and confronting them. ‘The skipper’s going to take it away again just as soon as the passengers disembark. And by the way, I’m on a government operation and I’ve got authority to have all of you locked up and the key thrown away.’
He flashed some sort of electronic ID in front of the nose of the apparent leader, who backed off with his hands raised, muttering something like ‘Sorry mate, didn’t realise…’ as he went.
The others followed like sheep. I wondered if Jeff’s ID had somehow hypnotized them all into obedience. It would be a useful thing to have. I fantasised briefly about having a gadget like that of my own and being able to lord it over the rest of the family.
‘Come on, then,’ said Emma, giving me a little push. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
That’s all it was, evidently – an idle fantasy.
We encountered a few similar groups on our way to St Albans, and Jeff managed to get past them in the same way, not to mention obtaining an aged Land Rover for us to travel in. Apparently it had been converted to run on some sort of fusion energy, just as the boat had.
When I asked him about the electronic gadget, he denied that he was using it to hypnotise people. ‘They’re just generally impressed by someone in authority,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a lot of it about in these places. You wouldn’t want to go up north. They’ve reverted to the Stone Age there. I blame the Viking DNA.’
He had mixed up his historical references, but I forgave that under the circumstances.
‘It’s the same in the Borders,’ I told him. ‘We were driven out by raiding parties. And Mrs Swan, of course.’
‘Yes, Mrs Swan,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ll see if we have any intelligence on her, once I get round to it.’
We had to take it more slowly than we might have wanted, because of the state of the roads – muddy and full of potholes in many cases, inundated with flood water in others – but before nightfall we were approaching London from the north. I felt very nervous about the whole thing. Jeff, on the other hand, seemed to think our mission’s success was a foregone conclusion. He had already explained that England wanted reunion – or at least, the government did. Nobody seemed too sure about the people, but it didn’t seem as if that was a problem. We kept fairly quiet when we encountered other people in case anybody noticed our Scottish accents. It may not have been strictly necessary, but it seemed like a good idea.
I remembered Hampstead Heath from trips there years ago, when we had lived in London for a while. Its green open spaces had often felt like the only place we could breathe properly. It was quite different now, of course. As we approached, I saw lines of tents. A refugee camp, then. Well, that fitted our needs quite well.
‘I’m not leaving you lot in a tent,’ said Jeff. ‘Emma would have everybody organised to do something mad in no time, and Dan would probably start plotting to fight against the government or assassinate the King.’
‘The King?’ said Dan. ‘There’s a King?’
‘Of course there’s a King,’ said Jeff. ‘We hung on to him when you left. It wasn’t supposed to work like that, but we quite like him.’
This was among all the other things we hadn’t really paid attention to. If we were going to move back into a monarchy, I thought, it would be a bit of a culture shock but we could get used to it.
‘There he is now,’ said Jeff, pointing at a small figure that moved between the tents with a trolley. ‘He’s taking the evening meals round.’
‘You mean he’s not just sitting back in his palace counting his jewellery?’ said Dan, laughing.
‘He doesn’t exactly have a palace any more,’ said Jeff. ‘Unless you count Kenwood House. He and the government are based in there. But I believe he only has a couple of rooms.’
There was a dream-like, surreal feeling about everything. I almost expected somebody to gallop up on a tame unicorn.
‘It’s weird,’ said Jen, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of the King.
We walked down the line of tents, trying not to look at the people inside. I expected them to be huddled like refugees usually were, just waiting for the BBC reporters to come along and film them. Not that there was a BBC any more, as far as I knew.
‘It’s all very orderly,’ commented Emma. ‘Has there been any trouble? Riots or anything?’
Jeff shook his head. ‘Not around here. It’s all been quite well managed. People know we’ve done all we can for them. They’re just grateful they’ve got a roof over their heads even if it’s only a canvas one. For when the rain starts up again.’
There were army trucks in the distance, and a small cluster of men in suits.
‘They’ll be heading down to check the water levels,’ Jeff told us. ‘They do it every day. Everyone’s hoping for a miracle.’
‘Aren’t we all,’ murmured Emma.
He turned off and took us over a patch of grass towards a large house that stood apart from the encampment. ‘Kenwood House. It was an art gallery for a while, I gather, but the government spotted its potential for an emergency headquarters and requisitioned it. They moved in last year after studying the long range forecasts.’
‘Ha!’ said Emma. ‘I’m glad somebody did.’
I knew this was a comment on the failure of our own government to pay any attention to the climate and the weather until it was much, much too late.
‘Take a deep breath now,’ Jeff advised us as we climbed the front steps. ‘You’re going to be asked a lot of questions. And the King will probably join us when he’s finished his good work for the day.’
Kenwood House was like another world. It felt safe, for one thing. I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I last felt safe.
Emma’s hand squeezed mine as we entered.
‘We’ve got to do better than the last time,’ she whispered.
THE END