Part 5: 2037-2040

— 2037 —

Hi Jonah

It feels like a while since we've talked, so I just thought I'd let you know how I'm doing. You don't have to reply if you don't want to.

Birmingham is quite a nice place to live, although extremely crowded. Every second person you meet here is an ex-Londoner. The council is building new flats all around the edge of the city at an insane rate, and it's still not fast enough to cope with the exodus. I got lucky getting an apartment at all.

I'm working more than ever, but that is good for me at the moment. Mostly editing other people's articles these days, although I'm getting the itch to go travelling again. I'm hoping Fred will pull some strings and get me an assignment, although the profit margins for international articles are getting ever smaller.

Bertram has been in Russia for a few months, holed up in St Petersburg, I think. It sounds like a sensible place to be. I've heard of journalists being killed near the frontline in Romania and Poland. You know his family is German? They're all very worried, as you might imagine. WWord from Moscow is that the invasion will stop once they've reclaimed most of the ex-Soviet bloc. Nobody knows whether that includes the old East Germany… UK-Russia trade is going on as normal, which sounds like madness, but looking at the figures I think we would all starve if it stopped.

Anyway, you're probably not very interested in global politics at the moment. I'm not either, really, I'm just avoiding writing about the things that should be written.

Every day without her still feels so painful, I can't deny it, but less sharply, less unbearably than it used to. Exercise helps. I've joined a yoga class with Joanna and Christine. They are being very supportive. But it is still difficult to see light at the end of it all. What did we do to deserve this?

I hope you're doing OK too. Are the Croydon crew looking after you? I heard some of your news from Abby the other day, but it would be nice to hear directly from you, if you feel up to it. Please remember I don't blame you for what happened. I am sorry if it ever seemed like I did. I know, at the time, I said some things to you I now regret. Let's meet up soon?

Maria

Hi Maria,

Sorry I've taken a while to reply. Good to hear you're doing well. I'm glad you've landed on your feet in a new city. Send my best to Bertram and the rest.

As Abby probably told you, we've all ended up at one of these new housing co-operatives up on the high ground at Hampstead Heath. It's a strange living situation, but we're making it work. My housemates are as follows: Abby, Marcus, Jules, Jordan, Mum, Marcus's brothers, Abby's parents, Abby's passive-aggressive new boyfriend, two of Jules' mates from school, and Ferdinand the dog. It's sort of like being back at university, but far more bizarre, especially as most of us are in our mid-thirties now. I suppose it's nice that I've ended up with most of my nearest and dearest, save for one important person. Speaking to my colleagues, it sounds like this return to community living not such an uncommon circumstance. People remember what's most important to them in times of crisis, after all.

My company has essentially been subsumed by the civil service these days. As far as I can tell, we're mostly designing propaganda. All sorts of leaflets about reporting suspected immigration, benefits fraud or excessive water usage, that sort of thing. Troubling, I know, but graphic design work is so hard to come by these days we just get what we can.

I think about Bella every day, too, although sometimes I wish I didn't. Even though I'm surrounded by people, I still feel sort of empty. I've been going to therapy when I can get it, but demand is still through the roof and I just don't have the funds since we lost the house. I don't know if it helps anyway. Just reliving that moment her little hand slipped from mine, time and time again – it's awful. I know you don't blame me, but I do. How could I not?

I'm finding it difficult to write this, so I'll wrap up now. I will be in Birmingham in two weeks' time, visiting our project overseers in New Westminster. It would be nice to see you.

Jonah x

— 2038 —

Hi my love,

How are you? I'm feeling rough, picked up some kind of bug from the swamps. I'm just writing up my article from the hotel bed, and Bertram has headed into the Everglades to get some more pictures. Did you know he's an accomplished scuba diver? I had no idea until he did the photos for that Marshall Islands article last year. Sunken civilisations are a new specialty for him, it seems!

 Miami Beach was an experience I won't forget. A hovercraft took us down the streets – I could still see the road surface beneath us, only a couple of feet of water down. You know, it reminded me of Venice a little. All the streetlights sticking above the water, like those old gondola mooring posts.

You can still go in a couple of the buildings, even that hotel they short-sightedly built only ten years ago. The hovercraft comes with a couple of heavily armed guards, who accompany you everywhere. There are lots of people living here it seems, and you see signs of them everywhere: rowboats tied to railings, fishing rods in doorways, campfires high up in the skyscrapers. Not many of the original inhabitants – they could mostly afford to move inland – but squatters from all over, or so I'm told. Despite all the signs, the whole place is eerily quiet. I didn't see a soul other than the people on our boat.

A lot of it is also being reclaimed by nature already, which I had not expected to happen so fast. Mangroves have taken root along what was the main stretch of beach. There are egrets roosting in old drainpipes, and shoals of fish darting over the tarmac. We even saw an alligator lurking inside a flooded shop. It's sort of beautiful, in a sad kind of way.

There were mosquitoes everywhere too, and I think that's how I picked up whatever disease I've caught. I've been feverish for a few days, very nauseous, but now I think the worst of it has passed. I expect I'll be feeling fine by the time I get back on the plane.

Do you remember, when we were growing up, when things like this seemed inconceivable? Now it's unavoidable. Every coastline is peppered with ghost towns, every city full of migrants fleeing drought, wildfires and epidemics. Is this our fault – or our parents' fault, or their parents' fault? I remember when human suffering seemed something distant, something you looked at from afar. I don't even know who to blame. I can't feel anger anymore, just a deep, deep sadness.

Anyway.

What's new with you? Any luck finding a Birmingham-based job? It's difficult only seeing you every few weeks, but I can't go back to London. I hope you understand.

Love,

Maria x

My Maria,

How I've missed your letters.

I hope you're feeling better soon – nothing serious, I hope. I don't want to worry you, but there have been a fair few malaria cases in Florida in recent years. Do get yourself checked out if it gets any worse.

I wish I had something insightful to say about the state of the world. These days I just feel resigned to it all. It's my personal survival strategy. Is it really worth reflecting on the mistakes of the past? I somehow doubt it will lead us anywhere new. We struggle onwards, just like we have always done. I suppose that's something people are good at. We live through the mess we have created for ourselves with gritted teeth.

That's enough rumination for one day. I'm fascinated to hear about your travels! I've seen so many photos of Miami Beach, but being there in person must be something else. Your descriptions are also beautiful – as they always are, but these seem especially thoughtful. I'm glad to hear the squatters didn't give you any trouble – it's not a place to go alone, I've heard. And I'm relieved the alligators didn't get you either!

London is gradually filling up again, mostly with bright-eyed twenty-somethings fresh out of university. The barrier is fully repaired and refortified now, and the government is saying there is no risk of further flooding. All the ministers have stayed up in Birmingham, however, which makes me a little sceptical. They say it's because the Houses of Parliament are so damaged which, having wandered down there recently, I can say is certainly true.

It was last weekend I was there – I walked through central London along the river, all the way from Vauxhall to what's left of Tower Bridge. It's an odd time in the city. I'm not sure it'll ever be quite the same again. There were lots of people out, although fewer tourists than before, and plenty of cyclists too. Now they've banned cars from the centre the streets are just populated with electric double-decker buses. They glide around so quietly, it makes the whole city seem hushed. You can even hear the birds singing from Trafalgar Square. I've been using the bus a fair bit, since it doesn't look like the Tube is going to reopen any time soon. It's nice that life has slowed down here, everyone seems a bit more aware of their surroundings. Maybe the only good thing that has come out of this.

Our old house is back on the market too. They've repaired the flood damage – 'good as new', the estate agent's advert said. I haven't looked round, or even gone anywhere near our old neighbourhood, actually. I'm not sure I ever will. The co-op is still going fine, various people moving in and out, but we've established a nice routine. We've just collected a wonderful crop of courgettes from the rooftop garden.

No luck on the job front yet. Emma is letting me work from home a lot, which is nice as I can look after Mum a bit better. We need to have a proper talk about whether she comes too when I move up to Birmingham. Let's chat when you get back?

Love,

Jonah x

— 2039 —

Good morning my love,

I heard about the new rationing system, has it all been working out? I'll try and bring back a few bits of food from Shanghai, although I expect you'll tell me that things aren't that desperate. You know what the media is like, exaggerating everything. And don't worry about replying to this email if the Wi-Fi is limited too. I can wait till I'm home – flying back on a plane, no less! Fred said the tickets cost an absolute fortune, so we have to make this article a good one.

Things are as crazy here as you might imagine. Now that China has called off the invasion of India, all the troops are being transported up north as fast as possible. Russia has troops all along the Chinese border, in Mongolia and Kazakhstan as well as Russia itself. China was hit almost as badly as India by the spates of droughts, erratic monsoons and storms we've seen in the past few years. I think this is as much to blame for the country's sudden weakening as the collapse of trade with the US and Europe. That, and Russia is feeling confident after all its successful invasions.

Most of this passes by Shanghai, and life here goes on more or less as normal. The only signs I can see are all the recruitment drives, and the eerie lack of young men. There is much, much less air pollution than there was when I was here fourteen years ago. The roads are taken up by electric trams, rickshaws and the odd personal electric vehicle, with no diesel fumes anywhere in sight. Most of the factories on the outskirts have also shut down as China's industrial age comes to an end.

Fred is talking about moving me and Bertram up to the frontlines, but we're very sceptical. Neither of us have ever been war correspondents and nor do we wish to be. I'm far more comfortable interviewing politicians and other miscellaneous officials, although my journalist pass doesn't get me very far here. I'll let you know if we move, in any case.

So great to hear the Croydon crew will be paying us a visit up north. Make sure they all bring sleeping bags, as I expect all the hotels will be booked out at such short notice. We can fit them all in the living room, just about. And Jordan is welcome too of course.

On the subject of children… Let's try again soon? It will never completely heal, what happened to Bella, but we can't let it hold us back. We're still young enough, just about. The worst thing that could have happened to us happened, and we're still here. I still have you. You still have me. I miss her every day, believe me, but the pain inside me feels duller than it used to. I really love you, and I still want a proper family with you.

Love,

Maria x

My lovely Maria,

Don't go to the frontlines, whatever you do! I saw the news when I woke up this morning. Thousands dead already since fighting broke out, it said, mostly civilians. And Europe and the US are doing nothing about it! But maybe that's wise… It's definitely out of your job description to put yourself in that kind of danger. Stay safe in Shanghai, won't you?

The ration system is okay. I actually might prefer it – now all the prices are standardised at least, which beats having to pay through the nose just to get a fresh aubergine. There's enough every day for three decent meals, never much to spare but that's probably good for me – slows down that middle-age spread. It does make me miss the community garden a little – although don't worry, the benefits of living with you again outweigh the costs by a mile! And the energy rationing is fine, too. I guess things might be different when winter comes around, but currently we get enough to light the place, to use the oven once a day, and even to catch up on emails. The days of streaming TV might be over, but it has meant I've finally got started on making a dent in my reading list. Mum was complaining she couldn't watch that awful sitcom she likes, but I got her a big book of sudoku and that seems to have helped pacify her.

Yes, the whole Croydon lot will be getting here the same day you get back – what a welcome return that'll be for you! It'll be nice to show them the city, and maybe we can see if we can persuade any of them to move up here.

Jordan's actually just turned eighteen, so none of that 'on the subject of children'. But on a serious note, I think we need to have a good talk when you get back. I don't know if the pain has got any less for me. I've just got better at not giving in to it. But that doesn't mean I've healed.

And then on top of that I look at the world outside, on the news, and I'm just not sure it's the right sort of place to bring children into anymore. We're being rationed, for God's sake. I couldn't lose another. I don't think I can take that chance.

Sorry, this isn't the place for this sort of discussion. Let's talk about it when we're together. I do love you, just as much as ever.

Jonah x

— 2040 —

Hi my love,

It doesn't look like I'll be able to get back home anytime soon. The UK Embassy has closed down, and the queues at the immigration office are getting longer every day. This morning I woke up at 4am, and by the time I got there the queue was already out the door. The heat is ridiculous – I remembered to bring a bottle of water, but I saw several people faint. I got to the desk after six hours, explained about the stolen passport, and was immediately told to go stand in a different queue. Then I was given some nonsense explanation that because I was born in Spain, I am a 'Spanish citizen' and the UK wouldn't let me in. I showed him my passport, but he didn't seem to care. What can I do??

Water deliveries are still going ahead for the time being. It's being trucked in from France as per usual, but with all the troubles on the border it's uncertain how long it'll continue. I have noticed guards appearing anywhere that sells it, even little corner shops. I have talked to Mum and Dad about moving for a while, but where would we go? The border is a nightmare, and the Mediterranean is full of pirates. Barcelona, as troubled as it may be, is a relative safe haven. We have food, after all, as long as you're not fussy about what you eat.

Anyway, don't despair. I'm sure we will be reunited soon. Mum and Dad are both OK in their doddery way. The air conditioning in their house is still working by some miracle, so the kitchen is usually full of neighbours trying to escape the heat.

Internet access is sporadic, so I'm going to send this now while I can. Just remember I'm thinking of you.

Love,

Maria x

My darling Maria,

I have been to all the relevant offices trying to see if they can help you, and just like you have ended up in a web of bureaucracy. I don't think border controls have ever been this tight. Everybody is cancelling their foreign holidays – those that could afford them in the first place – just in case they can't get back in. I can't even tell if this is government policy or not – there's nothing in the news about it.

We have enough water here, although I hear parts of the south of England are suffering. Food is also continuing to trickle in, especially now that new Russian trade deal has finally come through. We send them troops in return for bread, can you believe it! The next storm is due any day: all the Croydon crew are back up here, just in case the barrier breaks again. The authorities say there's no chance, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Plus, it's great to see them all again.

I am coming up with a plan to get you out of Barcelona. Abby has agreed to look after Mum for a while, so I'm going to come down and get you. It's terrible to say it, but my British accent will help. And plus, if we can't get out, at least we are together.

That is something that I've really come to realise over the years. We have seen so many hardships, some on our own, some in communal or even global suffering. The world is a grimmer place than it was twenty years ago, that's for sure. But it has made me really appreciate what matters most in my life. Having a car, or a nice house, or even a pension doesn't seem to matter so much anymore. What does matter is that we are here for each other – still here for each other, despite everything that's been thrown at us. Me, and you, and our families, and our friends – we are so strong.

I remember, years ago when we first started writing these emails to each other, that you wrote me a beautiful poem. I tried to find it yesterday, but I think the email was deleted in the last wave of server damages. But I still remember how it made me feel, so I thought I would write you one of my own.

I'll see you soon.

All my love,

Jonah x                                  

When the times seem dark, I think of you.

When the world seems cold and cruel, I think of you.

When I am in pain, and seek remedy, I think of you.

When the embers of hope begin to fade, I think of you.

And hope returns.