Shopaholic & Sister (40 page)

I stare at the phone, transfixed with longing. This is exactly what I always wanted! Husband and wife helping each other. Brainstorming together. A real, proper partnership.

But I can’t let Jess down. Not now.

“Luke, I can’t come.” I bite my lip. “I really want to, but I’ve got something planned for today. I promised Jess. And . . . some others. I can’t just abandon them. I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough,” says Luke, sounding rueful. “My fault for not hiring you when I had the chance. Well . . . I’ll see you this evening.” He sighs. “I don’t know what time I’ll be finished, but I’ll call when I have an idea.”

“You poor thing,” I say sympathetically. “I hope it all goes well. I’ll be there in spirit. Where will you be?”

“Well, that’s about the one positive thing. I’ll be up in the North. Fairly near where you are, in fact.”

“Oh, right,” I say, with interest. “So . . . what’s the crisis? Another fat-cat businessman cooking the books?”

“Worse,” Luke says grimly. “Some environmental bloody protest group which has sprung up out of nowhere.”

“An environmental group?” I say in amazement. “You’re kidding! That is such a coincidence, because—”

Abruptly I stop. My face suddenly feels hot and prickly.

It couldn’t be . . .

No. Don’t be ridiculous. There must be millions of protests every day, all over the country—

“Whoever’s taken control is clearly pretty media savvy,” Luke says. “There’s a rally this afternoon; they’ve had press coverage; TV news is interested. . . .” He laughs. “Get this, Becky. They’re protesting against a shopping center.”

The room seems to swim. I clutch the phone, trying to stay calm.

It can’t be the same thing. It can’t. We’re not protesting against the Arcodas Group. I know we’re not. We’re protesting against Maybell Shopping Centers.

Luke interrupts my thoughts. “Sweetheart, I have to go. Gary’s on the other line, waiting to brief me. But I’ll see you later. Oh, and have fun doing whatever you’re doing with Jess.”

“I’ll . . . try,” I manage.

As I walk back into the sitting room, my heart is beating rather fast. Everyone is sitting in an attentive semicircle watching Robin, who’s holding up a big diagram of two stick figures, labeled RESISTING POLICE ARREST.

“The groin area is particularly useful in this respect. . . .” he’s saying as I walk in. “Everything OK, Becky?”

“Absolutely!” I say, my voice two notches higher than usual. “Just one quick question. We
are
protesting against Maybell Shopping Centers?”

“That’s right.”

“So this has nothing to do with the Arcodas Group.”

“Well . . . yeah.” He looks at me in surprise. “Maybell’s owned by the Arcodas Group. You knew that, didn’t you?”

I open my mouth, but I can’t quite produce a reply. In fact, I’m feeling a bit faint. I have just orchestrated a huge media campaign against Luke’s newest, most important client. Me. His wife.

“Evil bastards.” Robin looks around the room. “Guess what I heard today! They’re getting in their PR company to ‘deal’ with us. Some big-shot firm from London. They’re flying the chief guy back from holiday especially, I heard.”

Oh God. I cannot cope. What am I going to do? What?

I have to pull out. Yes. I have to tell everyone right now that I’m pulling out and disassociate myself from the whole thing.

“They think we’re small fry.” Robin’s eyes are shining intensely. “They think we have no resources. But we have our passion. We have our beliefs. And most of all”—he turns to me—“we have Becky!”

“What?” I jump in panic as everyone turns toward me and starts clapping. “No! Please. Really. I’ve . . . nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t be modest!” exclaims Robin. “You’ve transformed the protest! If it weren’t for you, none of this would be happening!”

“Don’t say that!” I say, rattled. “I mean . . . I just want to take a backseat. In fact . . . there’s something I need to say. . . .”

Come on. Just tell them.

I catch Jim’s warm gaze and look away. This is hard.

“Wait,” comes a trembling voice behind me, and I look round in surprise, to see Jess advancing toward me. “Before you speak . . . I’d like to say something.”

As she comes and stands beside me, the room falls silent in expectation. Jess lifts her chin and faces the crowd squarely.

“A lot of you heard me the other night, telling Becky that we weren’t sisters. A lot of you heard me . . . disown her. Well, it turns out we are sisters.” She pauses and the color rises in her cheeks. “But even if we weren’t . . . even if we weren’t”—she looks round the room, a little fiercely—”I would be honored to know Becky and to count her as a friend.”

“Hear, hear!” Jim cries hoarsely.

“And going on this march today . . . with all of you . . . and my sister . . .” Jess puts an arm through mine. “It’s one of the proudest moments of my life.”

The room is utterly silent.

“I’m sorry, Becky.” Jess turns to me. “What did you want to say?”

“I . . . um . . . well,” I say weakly. “I was just going to say . . . let’s smash ’em.”

“LEAVE OUR LAND alone!” yells Robin through his loudspeaker.

“Out, out, out!” we all yell back, and I give Jess an exhilarated thumbs-up. If ever I had any doubts about whether I was doing the right thing, they’ve totally vanished. You just have to look around. You just have to see what would be ruined. We’re standing on Piper’s Hill, and it’s the most stunningly beautiful place I’ve ever been. There’s a wood at the top, and wildflowers nestling in the grass, and I’ve already seen about six butterflies. I don’t care if they’re Luke’s clients or not.
How
could they build a shopping center on this? Especially a rubbish one with no Space.NK!

“Leave our land alone!”

“Out, out, out!” I yell at the top of my voice. Protesting is just the coolest thing I have done, ever! I’m at the top of the hill with Robin, Jim, and Jess, and the sight before us is just amazing. About three hundred people have turned up! They’re marching up the lane toward the proposed site, waving placards, blowing whistles, and banging drums, with two local TV crews and a bunch of journalists in tow.

I keep peering at the crowd, but there’s no sign of anyone from the Arcodas Group—or Luke. Which I’m a tad relieved about. I mean, not that I’m ashamed of being here. Quite the opposite. I am someone who will stand up for her beliefs and fight for the oppressed, no matter what others think. But having said that, if Luke does turn up, I’m thinking I might put on a balaclava and quickly hide behind someone. He’ll never spot me among all these people. It’ll be fine.

“Leave our land alone!”

“Out, out, out!”

Jess is waving her WILDLIFE MURDERERS placard energetically, and blowing on her whistle. Edie and Lorna are wearing fluorescent pink wigs and holding up a huge sign which says KILLING OUR LAND, KILLING OUR COMMUNITY. Suze is in a white T-shirt and army combat trousers, which she pinched from Tarquin, and holding up one of her own banners. And I’m wearing one of Jess’s World Wildlife Fund T-shirts over my D&G cropped jeans. Finally, we’ve swapped clothes like sisters should! (I lent her a black Karen Millen vest top, which she’s wearing under that gray STOP THE CONSUMPTION T-shirt.) The sun is shining, and everyone’s in fantastic spirits.

“Leave our land alone!”

“Out, out, out!”

The crowd is thickening now, and at a little nod from me, Robin puts down his placards and climbs the stepladder we’ve rigged up. There’s a microphone in front of it, and the view of blue sky and unspoiled countryside behind him is breathtaking. The photographer I hired for the occasion kneels down and starts taking photos, and is soon joined by the TV crews and local newspaper photographers.

The crowd gradually quiets down, and everyone turns expectantly toward Robin.

“Friends, supporters, lovers of the countryside,” he begins, his voice echoing in the clear afternoon air. “I ask you all to take a moment and look around at what we have. We have beauty. We have wildlife. We have all we need.”

He pauses for effect, just like I coached him, letting the message sink in. The wind is ruffling his hair, and his face is flushed with animation.

“Do we need a shopping center?”

“No! No! No!” we all yell back at the tops of our voices.

“Do we need pollution?”

“No! No! No!”

“Do we need any more pointless consumerist rubbish? Does anyone need any more”—he casts around derisively—“
cushions
?”

“No . . .” I begin with everyone else—then stop myself. I could actually do with some nice cushions for our bed. In fact, I saw some really nice cashmere ones in a magazine only yesterday.

But . . . that’s OK. Everyone knows activists sometimes disagree on minor technical points. And I agree with everything else Robin is saying. Just not about the cushions.

“Do we want an eyesore on our land?” shouts Robin, spreading his arms.

“No! No! No!” I yell back happily. Jess blows her whistle, and I look at it a bit enviously. Next time I go on a protest, I’m definitely taking a whistle.

“Now let’s hear from another of our activists!” yells Robin, “Becky! Get up here!”

My head jerks up.

What? This wasn’t in the plan.

“The girl who’s held this campaign together!” he says. “The girl whose ideas and spirit have made this happen! Let’s hear it for Becky!”

Everyone is turning toward me with admiring faces. Robin starts applauding, and everyone gradually joins in.

“Go on, Becky,” says Jess, over the noise. “They really want you!”

I do a quick scan around. There’s no sign of Luke.

Oh, come on. I have to show my support.

It’s difficult to walk with my plaster cast, but somehow I hobble through the crowd to the stepladder and carefully climb to the top with Robin’s help. Below me is a sea of excited faces, all looking up in the sunshine.

“Hello, Piper’s Hill!” I yell into the microphone, and an almighty cheer comes back from the crowd, complete with hoots and whistles and frantically beating drums.

God, this is fantastic! It’s like being a pop star!

“This is our country!” I shout, gesturing at the rippling green grass around us. “This is our land! We won’t give it up!”

Another delighted cheer erupts.

“And to anyone who
wants
us to give it up . . .” I shout, waving my arms around. “To anyone who thinks they can come and
take it away from us
. . . I say this! I say,
Go home
!”

There’s a third uproarious cheer. I’m totally elated. This seems to come naturally! Maybe I should be a politician!

“I say,
give up now
!” I yell. “Because we’re going to
fight
! On the
beaches
! And on the—”

There’s a slight kerfuffle going on in the crowd, and I break off, trying to see what’s happening.

“They’re coming!” I can hear people shouting.

“Boo!” The whole crowd is hissing and jeering.

“It’s them!” cries Robin, from the grass below. “Bastards! Let ’em have it!”

And suddenly I freeze. Five men in dark suits are making their way swiftly to the front of the crowd.

One of them is Luke.

OK, I think, I need to get down off this ladder. At once.

Except it’s not as easy as that, when one leg is in bloody plaster. I can barely move.

“Er . . . Robin, I’d like to get down now!” I call.

“You stay there!” shouts Robin. “Carry on with your speech! It’s great!”

I frantically grasp my crutch and am trying to maneuver myself off the top, when Luke looks up and sees me.

I have never seen him so shell-shocked. He stops dead and just stares at me. I can feel my face burning.

Something tells me organizing a protest against your husband’s client has got to be even worse than selling his Tiffany clocks.

“Don’t let the bastards intimidate you, Becky!” Robin hisses urgently from below. “Ignore them! Keep speaking! Go
on
!”

I’m stuck. There’s nothing else I can do. I clear my throat and focus on Kelly’s enthusiastic face.

“Um . . . we’re going to fight!” I call out, my voice cracking a bit. “I say . . . er . . .
go home
!”

By now the five men are standing in a row, arms folded, looking up at me. Three men who I don’t recognize, plus Gary and Luke.

The trick is to not look at them.

“Let us keep our land!” I shout, with more confidence. “We don’t want your
concrete jungle
!”

A huge cheer breaks out, and I can’t help darting a triumphant glance at Luke. His brow is furrowed and he looks furious.

But there’s a twitch at his mouth, too. Almost like he wants to laugh. Our eyes lock, and I have this awful feeling I’m about to start giggling hysterically.

“Give up!” I yell. “Because you
won’t win
!”

“I’ll go and speak to the ringleader,” Luke says gravely to one of the men I don’t recognize. “See what I can do.”

Calmly he walks across the grass to the stepladder and climbs up three steps until he’s level with me. We’re only inches apart. The breeze is carrying the scent of his aftershave. And now he’s so close, I’m longing to throw my arms around him. I want to tell him how much I missed him. How scared I was on the mountain. How much I love him.

On the other hand, he may not be in the mood for a hug right now.

“Hello,” says Luke at last.

“Oh! Er . . . hi!” I say as nonchalantly as I can manage. “How are you?”

“Quite a party you have here.” Luke surveys the scene. “Is this all your doing?”

“Er . . . I had some help.” I clear my throat. “You know how it is. . . .” I catch my breath as my gaze lands on Luke’s immaculate shirt cuff. Nestling beneath it—only just visible—is a tatty plaited rope bracelet.

I look away quickly, trying to stay cool. We’re on opposing sides here.

“You do realize you’re protesting
against
a shopping center, Becky?” Luke says.

“With crap shops,” I retort, without missing a beat.

“Don’t negotiate, Becky!” Robin yells from down below.