Authors: Sheila Perry
‘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