Cover Page

ALSO BY DIANA MCCAULAY

Dog-Heart
Huracan
Gone to Drift
White Liver Gal

Title Page

DIANA MCCAULAY

DAYLIGHT COME

Copyright

First published in Great Britain in 2020
Peepal Tree Press Ltd
17 King’s Avenue
Leeds LS6 1QS
England

© 2020 Diana McCaulay

ISBN 9781845234706 (Print)

ISBN 9781845234751 (Epub)

ISBN 9781845234720 (Mobi)

Their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work.
1 Corinthians 3: 13

“… the dark ages would arrive within one generation of the light – close enough to touch, and share stories, and blame.”
The Uninhabitable Earth, David Wells Wallace

Daylight come and mi waan go home, Day-O (The Banana Boat song), by Irving Burgie

To Adam, Tim, Nick and Brooke
whose children will face this kind of world
unless…
And to Michael Schwartz (1947-2018)
I miss you, Mike

FLIGHT
2084

CHAPTER 1 – BANA CITY

“Did you sleep? Tell me you slept.” Bibi was at the bedroom door. The light that crept under doors and through cracks in walls and windows had gone and it was night. Sorrel shook her head, impatient with the question, which began most nights. You couldn’t light-proof a house no matter what you did. You couldn’t light-proof a world. Bibi came into the bedroom and sat on the end of her bed. She touched her daughter’s shaven head, just beginning to grow out. Sorrel pulled away.

“I don’t know how to help you.” Bibi’s voice shook. “You have to sleep.”

“I can’t. I’ve told you,” Sorrel snapped.

“Pills tomorrow, then. The green ones.”

“I don’t want them. They make me feel dooley, like I’m asleep when I’m supposed to be awake, which is the whole problem, right?”

“What about that tea we tried?”

“Grammy’s bush tea? I don’t remember it helping. Just leave me alone, Bibi.”

“You’ll get sick if you don’t sleep.”

Sorrel met her mother’s eyes. “I want to sleep now.”

“It’s time for school.” Bibi held out her hand. “Get up. It’s dark and you have to eat.”

Sorrel ignored the outstretched hand, but she rose to her feet. She was almost her mother’s height now.

“Your hair needs the razor,” Bibi said.

“Razor’s dull.” She ran her hand over her head. She liked her hair to feel prickly, like it was alive and pushing outwards, even if it was dirty most of the time.

Her best friend, Sesame, had told her that old-time white people had washed their thin hair every day, but nobody had hair like that anymore on Bajacu. You could be arrested for having the kind of stubble Bibi was pointing out. You would certainly be judged antisocial and have your water ration reduced.