case she needed any help,” Lindsay said.
“I’m glad you did,” said Judith. “She was in a bit of a state about Cara until she got your message. She seemed calmer afterwards. Now, tomorrow, she’s appearing before the local magistrates. She’s been charged with breach of the peace and assault resulting in actual bodily harm on Rupert Crabtree. She’s going to put her hand up to the breach charge, but she wants to opt for jury trial on the ABH charge. She asked me to tell you what happened before you make any decisions about what I have to ask you. Okay?”
Lindsay nodded. Judith went on. “Crabtree was walking his dog up the road, near the phone box at Brownlow Cottages. Deborah had been making a call and when she left the box, Crabtree stood in her path and was really rather insulting, both to her and about the peace women in general. She tried to get past him, but his dog started growling and snapping at her and a scuffle developed. Crabtree tripped over the dog’s lead and crashed face first into the back of the phone box, breaking his nose. He claims to the police that Deborah grabbed his hair and smashed his face into the box. No witnesses. In her favour is the fact that she phoned an ambulance and stayed near by till it arrived.
“It’s been normal practice for the women to refuse to pay fines and opt for going to prison for non-payment. But Deborah feels she can’t take that option since it would be unfair to Cara. She’ll probably be fined about twenty-five pounds on the breach and won’t be given time to pay since she’ll also be looking for bail on the assault charge and Fordham mags can be absolute pigs when it comes to dealing with women from the camp. She asked me to ask you if you’d lend her the money to pay the fine. That’s point one.”
Judith was about to continue, but Lindsay interrupted. “Of course I will. She should know that, for God’s sake. Now, what’s point two?”
Judith grinned. “Point two is that we believe bail will be set at a fairly high level. What I need is someone who will stand surety for Deborah.”
Lindsay nodded. “That’s no problem. What do I have to do?”
“You’ll have to lodge the money with the court. A cheque will do. Can you be there tomorrow?”
“Provided I can get away by half past two. I’m working tomorrow night, you see. I start at four.” She arranged to meet Judith at the magistrates’ court in the morning, and the solicitor got up to leave. The night briefly intruded as she left, reminding them all of the freezing February gale endured by the women outside.
“She’s been terrific to us,” said Jane, as they watched Judith drive away. “She just turned up one day not long after the first court appearance for obstruction. She offered her services any time we needed legal help. She’s never taken a penny from us, except what she gets in legal aid. Her family farms on the other side of town, and her mother comes over about once a month with fresh vegetables for us. It’s really heartening when you get support from people like that, people you’d always vaguely regarded as class enemies, you know?”
Lindsay nodded. “That sort of thing always makes me feel ashamed for writing people off as stereotypes. Anyway, I’d better go and phone Cordelia before she starts to worry about me. Will you hold the fort for ten minutes?”
Lindsay jumped into the car and drove to the phone box where the incident between Deborah and Crabtree had taken place though it was too dark to detect any signs of the scuffle. A gust of wind blew a splatter of rain against the panes of the phone box as she dialed the London number and a sleepy voice answered, “Cordelia Brown speaking.”
“Cordelia? It’s me. I’m down at Brownlow Common on a job that’s got a bit complicated. I’m going to stay over. Okay?”
“What a drag. Why is it always you that gets stuck on the out-of-towners?”
“Strictly speaking, it’s not work that’s the problem.” Lindsay spoke in a rush. “Listen, there’s been a bit of bother between one of the peace women and a local man. There’s been an arrest. In fact, the woman who’s been arrested is Deborah Patterson.”
Cordelia’s voice registered her surprise. “Deborah from Yorkshire? That peace camp really is a small world, isn’t it? Whatever happened?”
“She’s been set up, as far as I can make out.”
“Not very pleasant for her, I should imagine.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head. She’s currently locked up in a police cell, so I thought I’d keep an eye on little Cara till Debs is released tomorrow.”
“No problem,” Cordelia replied. “I can get some more work done tonight if you’re not coming back. It’s been going really well tonight, and I’m reluctant to stop till my eyes actually close.”
Lindsay gave a wry smile. “I’m glad it’s going so well. I’ll try to come home tomorrow afternoon before I go to work.”
“Okay. I’ll try to get home in time.”
“Oh. Where are you off to? Only, I thought you were going to be home all week.”
“My mother rang this evening. She’s coming up tomorrow to do the shops, and I promised I’d join her. But I’ll try to be back for four.”
“Look, don’t rush your mother on my account. I’ll see you tomorrow in bed. I should be home by one. Love you, babe.”
A chill wind met her as she stepped out of the phone box and walked quickly back to the car. She pictured her lover sitting at her word processor, honing and refining her prose, relieved at the lack of distraction. Then she thought of Deborah, fretting in some uncomfortable, smelly cell. It wasn’t an outcome Lindsay had anticipated all those years before when, a trainee journalist on a local paper in Cornwall, she had encountered Deborah at a party. For Lindsay, it had been lust at first sight. As the evening progressed and drink had been taken, she had contrived to make such a nuisance of herself that Deborah finally relented and agreed to meet Lindsay the following evening for a drink.
That night had been the first of many. Their often stormy relationship had lasted for nearly six months before Lindsay was transferred to another paper in the group. Neither of them could sustain the financial or emotional strain of separation, and soon mutual infidelities transformed their relationship to platonic friendship. Not long after, Lindsay left the West Country for Fleet Street, and Deborah announced her intention of having a child. Deborah bought a ruined farmhouse in North Yorkshire that she was virtually rebuilding single-handed. Even after Lindsay moved back to Scotland, she still made regular visits to Deborah and was surprised to find how much she enjoyed spending time with Deborah’s small daughter. She felt comfortable there, even when they were joined for the occasional evening by Cara’s father Robin, a gay man who lived nearby. But Lindsay and Deborah never felt the time was right to revive their sexual relationship.
After she had fallen for Cordelia, Lindsay’s visits had tailed off, though she had once taken Cordelia to stay the night. It had not been a success. Deborah had been rebuilding the roof at the time, there was no electricity, and the water had to be pumped by hand from the well in the yard. Cordelia had not been impressed with either the accommodation or the insouciance of its owner. But Lindsay had sensed a new maturity in Deborah that she found appealing.
Deborah had clearly sensed Cordelia’s discomfort, but she had not commented on it. She had a willingness to accept people for what they were and conduct her relationships with them on that basis. She never imposed her own expectations on them and regarded her reactions to people and events as entirely her responsibility. It would be nice, thought Lindsay, not to feel that she was failing to come up to scratch. Time spent with Deborah always made her feel good about herself.
Back at the van, she brought in a bottle of Scotch from the car and poured a nightcap for herself and Jane.
“Are you all right, Lindsay?” Jane asked.
Lindsay’s reply was drowned out by a roar outside, louder even than the stormy weather. It was a violent sound, rising and falling angrily. Lindsay leapt to her feet and pulled back the curtain over the van’s windscreen. Fear rose in her throat. The black night was scythed open by a dozen brilliant head-lamps whose beams raked the benders like prison-camp searchlights. The motor bikes revved and roared in convoluted patterns round the encampment, sometimes demolishing benders as they went. As Lindsay’s eyes adjusted to the night, she could make out pillion riders on several of the bikes, some wielding stout sticks, others swinging heavy chains at everything in their path. It was clearly not the first time the women had been raided in this way, for everyone had the sense to stay down inside the scant shelter the benders provided.
Lindsay and Jane stood speechless, petrified by the spectacle. The van’s glow seemed to exert a magnetic
