Surprisingly, Dad laughed at this.
‘I’m a fair bit older than you all,’ he said, ‘so I can remember what it’s been like here the last forty years. It used to be hot. Ah, we had some great summers, didn’t we dear.’
‘Oh it was wonderful,’ said Mum, sighing.
‘I think it’s a shame,’ said Skye. ‘Heat is much more desirable. Why don’t they just pump more pollution in the air, that’ll sort it out.’
‘Well Skye,’ said Dad, ‘there’s a lot of important people arguing about what to do.’
Zak was getting impatient.
‘So Dad, have you got any more interesting footage, the North Pole’s getting a bit boring now.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Dad, as if he’d forgotten.
The desolate ice morphed into a lovely beach. The sun was beating down, the air was baking and there wasn’t a breeze. The sea shone a brilliant turquoise, and along the beachfront was a row of tasteful little cafés, with plenty of people, but not too many, relaxing in various ways. A couple of musicians played from under a canopy.
To his horror, Zak found himself wearing a multicoloured striped shirt and shorts.
‘Yessss!’ shrieked Skye, in a smart bikini. ‘We’re moving to Africa.’
Dad answered her from beneath a wide brimmed hat that cast shade over a beige shirt and trousers. ‘It’s a nice idea Skye, moving to Africa. But we can’t.’
Skye’s beaming smile quickly turned into a frown.
‘The problem is,’ continued Dad, ‘the Africans won’t have us. Neither will the South Americans, nor the Asians, nor the Australians.’
Skye’s frown became a look of disappointed surprise.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Have we not been very nice to them?’
‘Not really. I said it used to be hot. Well it was very hot. A large swathe of land around the equator became almost uninhabitable. Unfortunately, our predecessors in Northern Europe wouldn’t take in those people affected,’ explained Dad.
‘What! How selfish, I can’t believe that,’ said Skye.
