Everywhere’s under threat

‘Great! So what did you say to persuade Misery Guts to take up his bed and walk?’

‘I didn’t. I left him to lie in it.’

‘Whoa. That was said with feeling. I can see a late night ahead while you tell Aunty Fran all about it.’

‘It’s doing me good already just to be away. I’ll see you later.’

Elin cut the call and stared through the windscreen at the passing headlights. Every so often the car rocked as a lorry whooshed past the layby. She felt similarly shaken. She wasn’t proud of herself. Maybe she should have found the right moment to come clean to him before – but when was the right time for a conversation like that? Maybe she should have refused to be drawn. But she couldn’t lie to him. However hurt he was, the depth of his rejection shocked her. She’d come back to him, chosen him, stuck by him, however difficult he’d been. Didn’t she have her limits, too? His stubborn refusal to come with her rankled. She hated his negativity, although a nagging voice told her his views were nothing new, they weren’t so far from her own, and she was only seeing it as negativity because of the stress they’d been under. She suppressed the urge to phone home. He’d said time apart would give them both time to think. He was right about that, at least.

Blinking away tears, she sat for a moment, gathering herself, before picking up the phone again.

‘What have you said to him, Steve?’

‘I haven’t said a thing. Are you OK? You know you’d be welcome here if you’re stuck. I can’t believe he chucked you out.’

‘Don’t over-dramatise. I was thinking of going to Fran’s for a few days anyway. Do you really think I’d come to yours after all this?’

‘What do you take me for? It’d be perfectly innocent.’

‘Try telling Bede that.’

‘I’m not up for trying to tell Bede anything.’

She smiled grimly to herself. ‘Even so. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up to discuss business in the next few days – now he’s more mobile? Please can you use it as an excuse to try and talk to him?’

As Elin and Fran walked over to join the crowd of protesters, she imagined the fields beyond Holtwood similarly fenced off and turned into a cold, ugly industrial site. The reality of this scene caused a surge of anger to well up inside her. The local protesters had been joined by a number of seasoned campaigners from various walks of life, and she recognised with a wave of nostalgia the grizzled beard and shaven head of Grey, the homely figure of Tig by his side.

‘You were right about old faces,’ she said to Fran. ‘A real blast from the past.’

Warmth flowed through her as their friends’ faces lit up in recognition.

‘See?’ Fran said quietly as they approached. ‘The break from routine’s doing you good already.’

‘Break from routine and over a hundred miles’ distance.’

‘Things still looking that bad in the cold light of day?’

Were they? It had done her good to unburden herself, talking to Fran until the small hours of the morning, like old times. Yet, ironically, the more her friend comforted, soothed, supported her point of view, the more she leapt instinctively to Bede’s defence. She still had no idea what to think.

Putting it behind her, she lost herself to the moment, relishing the warm hugs and whoops of joy at the reunion. Had it really been fourteen years since the demise of Calsthorpe Wood? The mood turned more sombre as they talked about Joe. It was the first time she’d seen them since his death and they seemed genuinely sorry that he’d left the community under such a cloud. Grey’s eyes twinkled as he asked after Bede; another cloud that seemed to have lifted during the years of absence. Elin wished once again that he’d come. She told them about the accident, loyally omitting to mention his opinion of protests such as this one.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the first vehicles approached the site. They raised their banners and their voices as though their passion really could halt the inevitable progress of the contractors. She could have been back at Calsthorpe. History repeating itself as they faced an endless cycle of wanton destruction. Interspersed with the encouraging hoots of support from passing cars, she heard several cries of ‘Get a job!’ Apart from their pathetic inability to come up with a more rational argument, what made them think she didn’t have one?

As she yelled out her anger and frustration, fuelled by all the emotion of the recent months, Elin silently thanked Bede for inspiring her, if not in the way she would have wanted. By the time the high-vis jackets of the police and security guards closed in, she realised her face was wet with tears. Brushing them away with the back of her hand, Elin flashed a smile from Fran to Tig, fervently hoping no one would mistake it for cowardice.

Bruised and shaken from being roughly manhandled out of the way, they watched from a distance as the gates to the site closed and an unease descended like the calm before a storm. Elin’s cheeks were still glowing in defiance. She looked up to see a reporter, followed by a cameraman and the furry squirrel of an outside broadcast mike.

‘Emotions are clearly running high.’ Huddled in a down jacket against the stiff breeze, the young woman turned to her. ‘Do you mind if I have a word?’

Elin glanced at Fran, who exchanged looks with the others and edged her forward. ‘A new face,’ she whispered. ‘Add some weight. Show the world it’s not a case of nimbyism.’

Smiling with a courage she didn’t feel, Elin steeled herself and nodded to the reporter.

‘I understand you’ve come a long way to lend your support to the people here.’

‘From Shropshire. The Welsh border. No distance is too far to try and put a stop to this madness.’

‘I’m sure they’re glad of the solidarity. Is your area under threat from fracking, too?’

‘I’m afraid so. They haven’t been given the go-ahead yet, and we’ll do our best to make sure they don’t. It’s highly unlikely that the geology’s right, if…if nothing else.’ She paused, the emotion of the day and the last few weeks catching up with her, as her friends nearby voiced noisy encouragement. ‘But in truth,’ she continued, ‘everywhere’s under threat.’

‘Under threat. But the consortium assures us the risks are minimal and everything’s carefully controlled. That your group’s talk of pollution and earth tremors is scaremongering. What do you say to that?’

Elin shook her head, finding it uncharacteristically hard to stay calm. ‘Of course those with vested interests would say that. I’m an environmental science graduate and I can tell you those risks are very real, but that’s by no means all. It’s such short-termism! Here they are, prospecting for a new source of fossil fuels at a time when we desperately need to be cutting out their use – for the sake of the climate, the world and us all!’

Fran beamed at her from behind the small film crew. Elin fought the irrational tears as she went on to praise the efforts of the local protesters over the months and years.

‘You were magnificent,’ Tig whispered as the camera stopped rolling and the sound guy lowered the mike.

The young reporter asked if she’d wait a few moments. ‘I just want to interview a representative of the consortium.’ She waved her hand at a car that had been slowly edging its way through the gathered protesters. ‘Then I’d like to give you the last word.’

Elin looked across. The tinted window slid down and she locked eyes with the man who was scowling at her from the safety of the passenger seat.

‘You,’ Philip Northcote said as Elin marched over to the car. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the very same thing.’

He waved angrily at someone behind her, and she realised the small film crew were following her, the reporter explaining to viewers that they were about to speak to a member of the drilling consortium. She asked if Elin knew Mr Northcote. Ignoring both the question and the anger Philip radiated, Elin leaned on the car, halting its creeping progress.

‘Do you honestly not realise what you’re doing?’ Again she struggled to keep her voice steady. She waved at the ugly drilling rig towering into the sky, the sturdy fences and concrete service roads, then held up the placard she and Fran had been carrying, showing before and after photos of this scene and a tranquil field. ‘Isn’t it enough for you?’ She turned to the camera. ‘This man is not only looking to make a fast buck by desecrating the earth here, but he wants to do it again, and again. Just to make absolutely certain the effects are felt by us all.’

The car window was sliding up, but she reached out and gripped the top of the pane, cringing as she forced him to stop.

‘Don’t get hysterical,’ he muttered as if to a child. ‘Let go and stop making a fool of yourself.’

‘He’s also providing land in the village where he lives for another monstrosity like this! Of course, he can move away if it turns out badly. I dare say he can pay whatever it takes to survive the effects of climate crisis and ecocide. But not forever. What sort of world will it be?’ Elin leaned towards the crack in the window. ‘Even animals don’t shit in their own burrows!’

She hardly felt the burly security guard drag her away from the car, didn’t hear what the reporter was saying, immersing herself instead in the supportive huddle of her friends. She felt light-headed as they stood in the growing drizzle, fully aware that Northcote would shake off her words just as the windscreen wipers cleared the rain.