fingers of growth. The sign above a phone store in front of him had slipped down from its mount above the shop’s front window at some point in the past and lay on the ground, cracked on impact with the street, weeds and grass growing around it.
‘We used to live in London.’
‘I know, Jay.’
Jacob turned to him. ‘Can you remember how streets used to sound?’
Nathan’s dark features clouded for a moment; he tucked a wiry dreadlock behind one ear and scratched at the meagre tuft of bristles on his chin. ‘Shit . . . not sure,’ he replied, the soft echo of Martha’s accent in his. ‘Where me mum ’n’ me was livin’, it was sort of always rumbly.’
‘The cars?’
Nathan nodded. ‘And car music. Sort of a boom . . . boom . . . boom . . . kinda thing?’
‘Yeah, I remember that.’
‘And police cars and fire engines sometimes. Me mum said it was a rough place.’
Memories from a younger mind flickered momentarily in front of Jacob. He remembered so little from before the crash. It was that chaotic week that formed most of his recall of the old world; the wailing of sirens, trucks full of soldiers on a gridlocked high street. People hurrying, not yet running . . . but hurrying; not quite ready to be seen panicking, but eager to get home and lock the door. Harried-looking newsreaders on the TV talking about oil, and food rationing and martial law. Images of Oxford Street full of people smashing windows and running away with arms full of stolen things.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I remember those siren noises.’
They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the fresh North Sea breeze hiss through the leaves of a young silver birch tree, growing out of a decorative island in the middle of the shopping centre’s thoroughfare. It had probably been little more than an anaemic sapling when the crash happened.
‘What do you miss the most, Nate?’
Nathan pursed his lips in thought. ‘Gonna have to be me game consoles. There was great games and graphics that was, like, real enough you could be in there.’ Nathan’s hands absent-mindedly cupped around buttons and joysticks in the air. ‘I guess I miss all that. And the telly,’ he said wistfully. ‘What about you?’
Jacob rubbed his eyes irritably. Since his glasses had finally fallen to pieces several years ago he’d had to make do without. It left him too often nursing a headache and tired eyes. His face creased with concentration. ‘I miss the orange.’
‘Orange?’
‘At night time,’ added Jacob, ‘the orange. Night wasn’t black like it is now. It was always sort of orange.’
Nathan’s face clouded with confusion for a moment, then cleared. ‘Oh yeah, man. It was, wasn’t it? You talkin’ about the street lights.’
Jacob nodded and smiled. ‘I remember even the sky was a dull sort of orange. And those lights always had a glowy fuzzy sort of halo round them. I remember there was one outside my bedroom window. It used to buzz every night.’
Nathan shrugged. ‘We lived up high. I was always lookin’ down on ’em.’
Jacob watched the evening shadow complete its slow crawl across the high street as the sun set, and begin to climb the deserted shopfronts. The setting sun, warm and blood-red in a vanilla sky, glinted off the few shards of glass that remained in the store windows.
‘I suppose I miss that the most - the night time lights.’ His face cleared, brushing away hazy childhood memories. He turned to look at Nathan. ‘And TV, too. I miss The Simpsons.’
Nathan’s face cracked with a broad grin. ‘D’oh . . . stoo-pid oil-crash apocalypse.’
Jacob doubled over. Nathan could do Homer’s voice perfectly. He could do all of them brilliantly. Many’s the time he had the mess filled with laughter, impersonating some old TV personality from the past. Just like his mum, Martha - very popular, because he could make smiles happen. And, fuck, you needed a reason to smile every now and then.
Jacob slapped his forehead Homer-style. ‘Duh!’
‘No, man, it’s d’oh !’
Nathan did it so much better.
‘Doh.’
‘Nearly, Jay.’
Chapter 5
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo Gas Rig Complex, North Sea
Leona sat on the accommodation platform’s helipad savouring the warmth of the evening sun on her back. Hannah, her best friend, Natasha, and several other children were chasing each other across one side of the open deck. On the other side, tomato plants grew in endless tall rows, sheltered beneath a large plastic greenhouse roof. The tangy odour of