BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

Getting to my feet, I look for an idea of where I am. There are no streetlights, and the road is uneven, with lumps of black tarmac around raised iron manhole covers and drains. There are dim outlines of houses a little way back from the road. They look odd, empty. Behind them is a beaded line of street lamps, softly orange. Did I come from over there, or am I going that way? Slowly it dawns on me that I must have wandered into the new estate they’re building up the hill. I’m not far from home at all – maybe a mile – but a lot further away than I should be. I just need to get back to the main road, so I set off to find a way through between the shells of houses.

It’s not easy going. The ground, although it hasn’t rained for a while, has been churned into jagged teeth by the heavy machinery, and I fall twice more in the first hundred metres or so, each time finding a shallow puddle at the bottom of a long tyre-track. I aim to get closer to the houses to my right, thinking there won’t have been as much traffic around there, but pretty soon I’m cut off by metal fencing. I use this like a handrail, hanging from it by my fingertips as I tread carefully over the ruined earth, or letting it take all of my weight as I lean in to it, avoiding a huge puddle right along the fence line.

When I get to the houses, they’re terrifying. The smell of concrete dust makes them seem more like ancient caves, and all of the windows are just empty spaces. Through the upstairs openings, you can see the sky. They look like skulls lined up, peering down at me. For a second I get the idea that Dad is in one of them, watching me. I wretch, and a tide of hot vomit springs suddenly up my throat and onto the clay soil at my feet.

I have to get away from here. I see a narrow gap between two terrace blocks and head towards it. It’s a tight squeeze. When I get to the end of this makeshift alley, the ground starts to level out and I can move more easily. But it’s not long before I get to another fence. This one is a wooden hoarding and it must be the edge of the developer’s land. There’s mud splattered about halfway up it, as if – like me – it is trying to escape. It’s too tall to climb, and I rest against it for a while, leaning my forehead against the rough, warm boards.