Rory's Proposal (29 page)

‘
I don’t believe it,’ I say, trying to keep up with Sandy as she marches to Rory’s. I can barely keep up. Ryan hurries behind me. We finally reach the store and I stand panting as Sandy points at the supermarket window. I gasp, how can that be? A big poster hangs in the shop window and I read it with a sinking heart.

Join us today in supporting our local suppliers.

All local produce sold at Rory’s at discount prices.

To show your support for your community take part in our raffle.

All proceeds to go to St Mark’s Hospital. Win a hamper worth £100 and vouchers worth £25.

Shop at Rory’s and be part of your community.

‘I … I mean how?’ I splutter.

‘
They stole our idea. It makes us look stupid as usual,’ says Sandy, angrily sticking her nose in the air. ‘They’ve deliberately done it on the day of our protest.’

‘
Bloody hell,’ says Ryan.

How did they know we were going to have a raffle for St Mark
’s? It doesn’t make sense. Unless, oh my God, unless we’ve got a mole. Someone in our organisation is betraying us to Rory’s. There is no other answer is there? I look at Ryan suspiciously, my eyes narrowing.

‘
What?’ he says questioningly. ‘Why am I getting the stare?’

‘
We’ll just have to make the best of a bad job that’s all,’ says Sandy, waving to my mum who approaches with Devon and Rosalind.

I look for Adam. Is he the mole? When did it start happening
? Was it after he joined us? Did Thomas Rory plant him in the flat above me? Oh, that’s ridiculous. I’m not that much of a threat surely.

‘
I don’t get it,’ says Rosalind rocking Sadistic Harry in his pram. No it can’t have been Rosalind. She’d never have found the time. She’s so busy changing, washing and buying nappies that I’m surprised she has time for anything else. Devon looks mildly shocked but not as shocked as I would have imagined. Surely not, Devon and I have been friends for years. How did Tom Rory get to her?

‘
You don’t seem very surprised,’ I snap at her. ‘Someone must have told Rory’s what we were doing. We’ve got a mole,’ I say bluntly.

Ryan gasps.

‘A traitor in the ranks, but that’s awful.’

‘
Are you saying it’s me?’ asks Devon.

Mum shakes a tablecloth and spreads it neatly onto a table.

‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ she says, before I have even accused her.

‘
The Royal Opera House, a box, remember?’ I say sharply.

She sighs.

‘Are you going to be throwing that in my face forever?’

‘
Probably.’

‘
Hiya,’ calls Adam as he swaggers towards us. ‘I’ve got the poster done. It looks good I think.’

He hands one end to Ryan and they unroll it.

Say NO to Rory
’s and Save our Small Businesses

B
uy a raffle ticket and win a hamper of fruit or bouquet of flowers.

All proceeds to St Mark
’s Hospital.

Support our local businesses and boycott Rory
’s

Honk if you support us

‘
You’ve obviously not seen that then,’ says Sandy caustically, pointing to the shop window.

Of course it could be Sandy. They say it is the one you
’re least likely to suspect don’t they? Isn’t it a fact that most victims knew their murderer? I know we’re not talking about a killer as such here, but you get my drift don’t you?

‘
How did they find out then?’ I say scrutinising each of them.

‘
What are we talking about doll?’ Adam asks.

‘
Rory’s stole our idea,’ I say, feeling myself getting tearful. Of all the times to be premenstrual it would have to be on the day of the protest wouldn’t it?

‘
We’ve got a mole,’ I say dramatically.

Adam looks shocked. No, it isn
’t him. Besides his brother came and confirmed once and for all that we didn’t have subsidence. That wouldn’t fit in with Adam being the traitor would it? I
have to face the fact that Tom is not the man I thought he was. His words ring through my ears:
You realise if you continue like this, things will get messy and you won’t win.

‘
They must have seen it on Twitter or something,’ says Sandy.

‘
I didn’t mention it on Twitter,’ I say sharply.

‘
Well, who did tell them then?’ asks Ryan. ‘We’ve kept the whole raffle thing a secret until today.’

It is the
n I remember. I feel my
body turn hot. It was me. I’d gone home after seeing Tom and knocked back half the bottle of vodka that Ryan had given me on an empty stomach and with only the antihistamine for company. I was wasted after the second glass. I had then gone onto Twitter and fired about a dozen tweets to @tomrory. None of them received a reply, but then again they were pretty insulting. I vaguely remember mentioning our raffle. I scroll into my phone and check Twitter. Oh my God. Yes, there it is.

@tomrory and up yours Rory. After our protest we’ll have tons of followers. You never give to the local hospital do you?

I was so incensed that he had ignored them that I had finished with,

W
e support the local hospital, unlike @tomrory. Everyone support our raffle
for St Mark’s. Support our local businesses and boycott Rory’s

Of course, the date of the protest is in capital letters at the top of the page. I roll my eyes. I’d totally forgotten about it. I’d fallen asleep after the third glass and by the morning I could barely remember a thing.

‘
Oh my God, it was me,’ I say with a groan.

‘
You?’ they all echo.

‘
You’re the mole?’ says Ryan.

‘
Oh dear,’ says Mum, flapping about with muffins and doughnuts.

‘
I was drunk and I just fired these insulting tweets to Tom Rory and …’

‘
Bloody great,’ mumbles Sandy. ‘We’ll have to make the best of a bad job won’t we?’

I lower my head in shame. Honestly, only me, it really could only be me.

‘We should put it behind us and make the best of things,’ agrees Devon, putting an arm around me.

‘
I’m sorry,’ I say, fighting back tears.

‘
It’s all getting to you. Let’s enjoy the day.’

‘
Hear hear,’ says Adam.

Mum gives me a wink and I take a plate of muffins from her.

‘On with the show,’ I say.

Two hours later and things are in full swing. We have tons of people. More than I could have dreamt of. Yvonne came with about five friends. Most of our clients turned up as well as many of the locals. Several are waving their own handmade banners. The cheesecake Tom Rory had sent me has been demolished and we
’re starting to run out of muffins. There is a wonderful atmosphere and even if I do lose the salon I couldn’t have asked for a better turn out. I’ve managed to give out loads of business cards and cars have been hooting like crazy as they pass.

‘
We have a lot of support,’ smiles Rosalind, juggling Sadistic Harry on one hip and a tray of drinks on the other.

‘
What do we want?’ shouts Sandy.

‘
Keep small shops in business,’ everyone shouts back.

‘
When do want it?’ yells Sandy.

‘
Now,’ they scream.

I
’m on the fifth book of raffle tickets and Devon’s home-made lemonade is running out. Ryan dashes to the off-licence and comes back with a crate of soft drinks.

‘
Molly said it is on them. They can’t get here so this is their way of supporting us,’ he chirps, pouring it into paper cups. The sound of shouts and laughter
distracts us and we turn to see a rowdy group of yobs coming to join the demonstration.

‘
Down with fucking corporations,’ they shout holding coarse placards that read
Fucking bourgeois rich. We don’t need them
.

‘
We don’t need people like these either,’ quips Adam.

‘
I guess it’s support,’ says Devon uncertainly.

A blond lad approaches my mum and I watch nervously. He has piercings just about everywhere you can have piercings.

‘Awright ma?’ he says. ‘I like the gear.’

He flaps a hand at her outfit and tips her cap. To my horror she slaps his hand.

‘You can keep your hands to yourself young man,’ she snaps.

He laughs and the others join him.

‘I’ll ‘ave a muffin, ‘ow much?’

‘
A donation in the charity box,’ says Sandy.

‘
Don’t give them attention,’ says Jethro. ‘They’re hammered.’

‘
Oi, shirt lifter, you got some lagers?’ one asks Ryan.

I step in front of him. That
’s it. No one calls Ryan a shirt lifter, at least not when I’m around.

‘
We’re not doing alcohol,’ I say. ‘It’s a peaceful protest.’

‘
Ooh is that right four eyes,’ he says with a smirk.

I knew there was a reason I wore contacts. I straighten my glasses self-co
nsciously. It is then I see the black Porsche
cruise slowly past us. The driver looks vaguely familiar.

‘
Was that Grant Richards?’ I ask Sandy. ‘What is he doing here?’

‘Oh no, what’s this?’ she groans looking ahead.

I follow her eyes and see with horror that more yobs are walking towards us and they have an effigy of Thomas Rory. They’re all shouting,
down with the bourgeois rich
.

‘
This isn’t good,’ says Rosalind, ‘do you think we should call the police? We don’t want this to be a reflection on us.’

They grab what
’s left of the muffins, and thankfully continue on, shouting and swearing as they do so. We watch them turn the corner and I sigh with relief. The last thing we hear are their shouts of,

‘
Down with fucking Rory’s.’

It is Yvonne who sees
the smoke first. We look to where she points and hear sirens screaming in the distance. It sounds more like downtown New York than Ladbroke Grove. The sounds of loud raucous shouts make my blood curdle. I just know the smoke is from the Thomas Rory effigy.

‘
What the …?’ cries Jethro.

We all look at each other as Jethro begins to run in the direction of the smoke. My heart thumps and I watch helplessly as Adam follows him. They tear down the road like two athletes while I feel my body freeze and my feet root themselves to the spot.

‘Do you think it’s those yobs?’ asks Devon

‘
Christ, what morons,’ says Rosalind.

I remember the effigy and feel myself tremble. My banner slips from my trembling hands.

‘You don’t think they’ll come back do you?’ says Ryan uncertainly.

Our crowd of protesters have stopped their yelling and the silence is unnerving. All that can be heard is the wailing of sirens. I watch as Jethro works his way back through the crowd.

‘It’s the Thomas Rory effigy,’ Jethro pants. ‘They’ve set it alight in the road around the corner. I think they’re heading back here.’

‘
Ryan, you go and look after the salon,’ I yell my heart thumping so loudly that I barely hear my own voice.

‘
Call the police if you have any trouble,’ adds Sandy.

‘
We’ll stay with him,’ says Mrs Peterson, clasping her husband’s hand.

‘
Thanks, you’re a love,’ says Ryan, his face troubled.

‘
I’ll come with you too. I’d love to stay. In fact the way I’m spurting milk, I’d probably be a great asset. But I really don’t want to scar Sadistic Harry too early in his life,’ says Rosalind.

‘
I’ll stay,’ says Yvonne, grasping my hand. ‘We’re a community aren’t we?’

I smile at her.

‘Don’t you mad bitches do anything daft will you,’ Ryan says, forcing a laugh.

‘
Famous last words,’ mumbles Rosalind.

I give Ryan the keys to my car and tell him where I had parked. As I do so I see the Porsche again. It
’s parked across the road. I strain to see the driver but he doesn’t seem to be in it. I look around but can’t see him anywhere.

Yvonne and Mum link arms. My heart is hammering so fast in my chest that I feel sure it will burst. The smoke makes my chest feel tight. I watch two of Rory
’s security men usher out the last of the shoppers and they seem to be trying to lock the doors but it is too late as a crowd of hooligans rush towards them. The next I know there are shouts and screams and people are fighting. Bricks are being thrown at the shop windows. I recognise the leader of the crowd as the one of the yobs who took the muffins. The partly burnt effigy of Thomas Rory is now being tied to a lamp post and set on fire again. I can barely look at its grotesque form. The flames rise up in front of Rory’s. I can hardly breathe. Several more yobs have formed a human chain and are holding up banners which read
Bring an end to the bourgeoisie rich
. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.

‘
Support Flora Robson,’ they chorus.

I don
’t understand, why are they shouting my name? I look around in confusion and see one of the yobs talking into what appears to be his mobile phone but on looking closer I see it is a walkie-talkie. I gasp.

‘
Are you okay Flo?’ Sandy asks anxiously.

‘
It’s a proper organised protest,’ I say in a stunned voice.

‘
I know,’ she says looking at me curiously. ‘We arranged it.’

‘
No, not us,’ I yell above the noise. ‘These yobs, it’s all been planned. They’re using two-way radios. Why would they do that unless they’re taking orders from someone?’

Glass shatters behind us and I feel my nerves jangle.

‘My goodness,’ pants Mum excitedly. ‘This takes me back to my youth, although we were peaceful then, but all the same. It was
Ban the Bomb
in those days.’

I cough as smoke tickles my throat. I see the blond yob and watch as he throws a brick at a window and hear screams as the glass smashes.
It’s a riot. The security men at the front of the shop are pushed to one side as looters surge into the store. Sandy screams at Jethro to stop as he struggles with one of the looters. I stare mesmerised at the burning effigy and feel myself shake from head to foot. Is this the outcome of our protest? It was never meant to end like this. I turn to see my mother slapping a youth around the head with her cap, her hair flying everywhere. Jesus, my dad is going to kill me. I try to pull her off but she’s having none of it.

‘
I’m not letting some little whippersnapper tell me to bugger off, the nerve of it.’

Like I
’ve not got enough on my hands with a riot erupting around me, now my mother decides she wants to be bloody Vanessa Redgrave. Why can’t I have a normal mother? You know, one who sits at home and does crosswords and has pen pals? Rather than one who has outlandish ideas of becoming a middle-aged Lady Gaga and part-time activist? Then again, I don’t really think I want my mum any other way. I kick the yob in the shin.

‘
Leave my mother alone you bully or I’ll cut off your balls.’

D
id I really say that? I then look down and see I’m holding the knife we used to cut the cheesecake. The yob looks petrified and backs away.

‘
That told him,’ says Mum excitedly.

I search the faces around me for Grant Richards but there is no sign of him. At that moment I see Jethro stumble bleeding from the store. Sandy and Devon run towards him. God, this is getting worse. I watch as the locals battle with the protest
ers. Then I see Richards. He is standing on the street corner, hiding his face behind a thick woollen scarf and sunglasses. I tear across the road, tripping as I go and almost falling at his feet.

‘
You know what to do and make sure you wreck the place and …’ He stops on seeing me and turns to run but I grab his arm and scream for Adam. Grant lashes out at me and I feel his hand connect with my cheek and reel back. My face stings from his slap and I watch helplessly as he turns to run.

‘
Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ shouts Adam lunging forward and throwing Richards to the ground. I rush towards them and pull off the scarf with shaking hands. The two-way radio screeches from where it has fallen to the ground.

‘
Tom Rory is on his way. You might want to get out Grant,’
yells the voice.

Grant pulls himself from Adam
’s grip and faces me.

‘
You little bitch. You didn’t think you’d get away with this did you?’

Adam lifts his fist but I stop him. Grant Richards stares at me his eyes wide and his mouth curling into a sneer.

‘Did Tom send you?’ I ask. ‘Did he tell you to behave like this?’ I grab his arm as he turns to move away.

‘
Good old Tom with his wonderful morals, yeah what do you think?’ he says scathingly.

‘
Why?’ I ask.

‘
You ruined everything you stupid bitch. I had everything in hand. It was all going so well but you just had to be stubborn didn’t you?’

Two yobs fly along the street crashing into Adam and knocking him to the ground. Grant yanks himself from my grip and runs as fast as he can to his car. I watch him speed off and try to get my fuzzy brain to understand what he was saying.

‘You okay?’ Adam asks.

‘
I’m so sorry,’ I say.

‘
This is your fault,’ says Terence, who seems to appear out of nowhere. ‘If you’d never sold your salon and then changed your mind we wouldn’t be having this carnage.’

I hardly call it
carnage
, at least not yet. What does he mean changed my mind? How could I change my mind when I never agreed to anything in the first place?

‘
I never changed my mind. I never ever agreed to sell.’

He doesn
’t seem to hear me.

‘
It’s greed, that’s what it is. We were happy with our offer. Why couldn’t you be too? Rory’s made us all excellent offers. You put us in this terrible situation and then you pull out and cause all this trouble. We don’t need people like you in the community. We really don’t.’

Adam grabs my arm.

‘Flo, it’s not safe for you to be here.’

‘
What do you mean?’ I yell over the shouting. ‘I didn’t pull out of anything.’

Ter
ence says nothing and just shakes his head. The smoke is giving me a headache. I allow Adam to pull me away and I s
ee
Sandy leaning over Jethro.

‘T
his is terrible,’ says Devon crying. ‘Is this all our fault Flo?’

She looks up at me with wide watery eyes, while I still try to take in what Terence said to me. Cars screech around the corner and policemen burst from them. I watch as they come charging towards us with batons.

‘Ooh do you think they have phasers?’ yells Mum.

I presume she means
Tasers but don’t have the time or the inclination to correct her. Bags of flour are being thrown at the police and everywhere has a layer of white. I clasp Devon’s hand and link my other arm into my mother’s as police surge towards us. My hands are roughly wrenched from them and pulled behind my back.

‘
Ooh are we getting arrested?’ asks Mum. ‘Just wait till your aunt Maud hears about this.’

More worrying is when my dad hears about this. I look up and see Tom Rory emerging from his black Audi, his face deathly pale. He looks at the store and then at the burning effigy. Finally his eyes land on me and he shakes his head. He can
’t surely think I’m behind this? I see Sandy being handcuffed and taken screaming to a police car. Why are they arresting us, what about the troublemakers?

The flour irritates
my eyes and I feel them sting.

‘
It wasn’t us,’ I yell to Tom.

He turns his face from me and begins to walk towards the store when he is stopped by a policeman.

‘My husband is a solicitor,’ Mum says to the police officer as she is handcuffed.

‘
Is that right?’ he replies. ‘You’d think he’d keep you under control.’

I cringe, ooh that was a big mistake if ever there was one. A slip of a lad telling my mother she should be kept under control.

‘That will be the day my lad, when a man tries to keep me under control. You cheeky little bugger. You’re young enough to be my son.’

She
’s not wrong. He looks so young that he could be my son. Are they recruiting them at fourteen now? I remind myself I am now thirty and anyone under twenty looks young to me. She struggles against him. That’s all we need.

‘
It’s not us,’ I protest. ‘It was Grant Richards, he organised this.’

‘
And who might he be?’ asks the policeman.

‘
Ask Thomas Rory, he knows.’

‘
So, now Thomas Rory is looting his own store is he?’ says the officer with raised eyebrows.

‘
Get off me you arrogant little bugger. I’m not going anywhere,’ struggles Mum.

Wonderful, now my mother is resisting arrest. It couldn
’t get any worse. Another policeman, even younger if that’s possible, helps to restrain her and she is taken kicking and screaming to the police car. I watch helplessly as Jethro is helped into an ambulance. Adam mouths
he’s okay
and gives me the thumbs up. I smile weakly and am then pushed into the police car. I look through the window and see Adam and Devon being handcuffed. This is bloody ridiculous. We’re not the looters. There is white flour everywhere and in a strange way it looks surreal and rather pretty, like snow. Suddenly out of nowhere the police turn on hoses and begin rounding up the protesters. Terence’s words run round and round in my brain. What did he mean changed my mind? Then I remember Tom’s question over hot chocolate.

So, why aren
’t you selling to Rory’s? I imagine they made you a good offer. It’s a good location for a supermarket. What made you change your mind?

But I never changed my mind. Why would anyone think I had?