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.”
Twenty-five
“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 Tshirts 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
