By Jenny England

I took my sparkling mineral water and a bowl of deep-fried locust wings from the bar and rejoined Bailey in the quiet Beer Garden, remembering how it once used to buzz with chatter, laughter and music. It was one of my favourite outings: a brief catch-up with my gorgeous grandson.

“This is my last one here this month,” I said as I sat down. “I’m now out of ration coupons.”

“Me too,” he replied, holding up his half-finished glass of beer.

I offered him some locust wings. He shook his head.

“I know,” I began, “they are an acquired taste, definitely not the same as a bowl of peanuts or a packet of potato chips.”

It was hard getting used to the only foods that were available since The Dry began to wipe out most of our agriculture. Thank heavens there were some local far-thinking farmers who began to substitute their traditional crops of fruit and vegetables and livestock to more drought-resistant varieties.

“I’m still angry with the government for what they let happen to our food supply,” Bailey began to rant. “They should have done much more, much earlier. There were plenty of warning signs of the potential devastating effects of Climate Change many years before The Dry.”

I took a few sips of the refreshing mineral water and nodded in agreement. Despite the efforts of the far-thinking farmers, any kind of meat, even from those we once thought of as vermin. The diminishing stocks of feral camel and goat were difficult to obtain and oceanic fish supplies were getting desperately low. It was the same for most fruit and vegetables and other, once stable, crops.

“How’s the job hunting?” I quizzed him, changing the subject, as any discussion these days concerning climate change could become quite intense even between friends and family.

“Slow,” he replied. “There isn’t much demand for landscape gardeners these days. It was the only thing I ever wanted to do.”

“I’ve heard the Desalination Plant is recruiting again as they expand to meet the never-ending demand for clean drinkable water. The shifts are long but they pay well and you get extra water vouchers,” I suggested in an effort to be supportive.

“I’ll look into it,” Bailey replied, but he sounded and looked despondent. “Hold on,” he suddenly added. “It's time for tomorrow’s weather report. I’ll get it on my phone and turn it to speaker so we can both hear it.”

It soon began:

The Regional Weather Report for Wednesday 20th October 2032. It will be a sunny, hot, dry day with temperatures ranging from 35 degrees to 28 degrees during the day, dropping to 26 degrees overnight. Moderate winds are expected. Precipitation will be extremely low with a 2% chance of rain.

We both sat quietly for a few minutes only to be interrupted by Brad, the Hotel Owner.

“Are you two nearly finished,” he began politely. “I am closing early as you can see there are very few customers here today. If it wasn’t for the small subsidies I get from the government, I would have closed the hotel down by now as most of the others in the region have been forced to.”

“Yes,” Bailey replied. 

We both watched in silence as he proceeded over to the other few patrons there that evening.

“Well, I’d better get going then,” I said, breaking the silence. “Pa expects me home by 7pm.”

“Yep, me too. I’ve got heaps of stuff to do tonight besides checking job vacancies.”

We picked up our now empty glasses and the bowl with a few locust wings left in it and dutifully placed them on the bar on our way out to the car-park. It was still hot but we were used to that. Bailey headed over to his battered old car.

As he only had a short distance to drive and hadn’t had much to drink he was fine to go. He was still able to use his car occasionally when he could get fuel but it was beyond his means to afford to convert it to electric. I made my way to the bicycle rack and released my electric tricycle from its lock, but with so few people around it probably didn’t need to be secured.

“One positive in all this,” I called over to Bailey. “At least the roads are much safer for cyclists like me without as much traffic as there used to be.”

“Trust you to think of something positive about The Dry,” he called back as he jumped in the driver's seat of his car. “Love you, Gran!”

“Love you too, Bails!”

It was hard for us oldies to get through these difficult dry dusty days, but so much harder for the young.