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Chapter 8

Kirsty’s banner was beautiful. She had spent hours on Monday evening painting and gluing and glittering and now it was glorious. Two dolphins leapt over a silver, glittery yin-yang. They had huge smiles and speech bubbles coming out of their mouths. They were saying ‘Give Kirsty Grandad’s Alotmant’. She wasn’t too sure of the spelling, but she didn’t want to ask Mum in case it Aroused Suspicion. The banner was glued between two sticks, so that she could hold it up above her head.

Ben was already waiting when she got to the council building. He shuffled slowly towards her, holding a rolled-up something in his hand. She skipped over to him, her whole body fizzing with excitement.

‘How should we do this?’ he mumbled.

Kirsty looked about. It was still pretty cold and the few people in the street were huddled into their scarves and hats. A tram pulled past, its wheels clattering noisily over the rails. The council building behind them perched on top of a flight of concrete steps. It looked quite imposing all of a sudden.

‘Well, I think we should go inside and uncurl our banners. And then we should shout something.’

‘Yes, a slogan. Do we have a slogan?’ Ben asked doubtfully.

‘When Grandad went on the anti-war demonstration, he shouted rude things about the prime minister,’ Kirsty said.

‘Well, I don’t think we should do that. It isn’t the prime minister’s fault, is it?’

‘How about rude things about Mr Thomas?’

‘No, you’ll only upset him. How about, “Give us a garden!”? That sounds good.’

‘Brilliant. Ready?’

Ben nodded slowly. Kirsty bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. This was really exciting!

The council building was mostly green on the inside: moss green floor tiles, mint green walls, the odd cheese plant shrivelling in its pot. Even the chairs were a kind of mouldy green. The only other colour in the room was the red of the fire extinguishers mounted on the walls.

‘Yuck,’ Kirsty said.

‘Like walking through snot,’ Ben agreed.

‘With a nosebleed.’

A few people stood in the foyer, but no one paid any attention to them. Beyond the foyer there was a lift and a set of stairs. A man sat at a desk next to the lift, but he didn’t look up from his computer.

‘This is great. Loads of room,’ Kirsty said. ‘Let’s set up here.’ She stood just to the left of the main entrance. A shower of glitter fell on her head as she uncurled the banner. Even better, now she was sparkly too. People were bound to pay attention. Ben uncurled his banner. It was brilliant! He had taken a black sheet and cut it in half; he’d stuck white letters on to it saying ‘Allotments for Kids, Kids for Allotments’. All the letter ‘l’s were cut to look like shovels. So that’s how you spell it, Kirsty thought. Never mind – hers was pretty close.

With their banners high in the air, Kirsty led the shout: ‘Give us a garden! Give us a garden!’ Ben shouted too, but a bit more quietly.

Their voices echoed around the foyer as though they were yelling down a well. The man at the computer looked up. Kirsty grinned at him and waved, but didn’t stop shouting. He lifted a phone.

‘Give us a garden! Give us a garden!’ This was great. Like proper protesters. This would make Mr Thomas listen. It had to. If only she’d brought a whistle, then they could make even more noise. A few people crossing the foyer stopped to stare. Some must work here; they had badges on strings around their necks. One or two were just ordinary people; they smiled at Kirsty. She smiled back. There was a little crowd gathering. This was brilliant!

‘What on earth is going on here?’ A man in a blue uniform stepped in front of their demonstration. He wasn’t smiling like the other people.

Ben stopped shouting at once. Kirsty carried on, until Ben jabbed her painfully in the ribs.

The man still wasn’t smiling. ‘What do you two think you’re doing?’

‘It’s a demonstration,’ Kirsty said.

‘I can see that,’ the man said.

‘We want Mr Thomas to change his mind and give me my grandad’s allotment.’

Kirsty heard a woman in the crowd explaining to another who Mr Thomas was.

‘And did you get permission for this display? From Security? From the relevant officers? From the local constabulary?’ the man asked.

Kirsty shook her head. Ben let his banner droop to the ground.

‘I thought not. This protest is illegal. You will have to stop immediately.’

A woman stepped forward from the crowd. ‘They’re not doing any harm. Let them be.’

Some people behind her gave small cheers of approval. The man in the uniform frowned. ‘I can’t do that. They’re in violation of security codes.’

‘They’re just kids,’ the woman said.

Kirsty felt a bit cross at that. She was a kid, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have something important to say. Ben whispered in her ear, ‘We should go.’

Kirsty shook her head and glared at him. She wasn’t going anywhere, not until she had changed Mr Thomas’s mind. ‘Give us a garden! Give us a garden!’ she yelled again, as loud as she could.

Some of the crowd started to cheer. The man in blue frowned at the crowd. Suddenly he reached out to grab Kirsty’s banner. She stepped back, the poles angled away from him. Crunch. She felt the poles judder as they came up against something hard. Something breakable. She turned slowly. One of her poles was wedged squarely in the centre of a little red box, just above the fire extinguishers.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

The fire alarm was deafening. And she had set it off. She looked at the crowd, at the man in blue, at Ben, whose mouth hung open. It was like they were all frozen in time. Then she snapped to with a decision. ‘Run!’ she yelled.

They dropped the banners to the ground. She took Ben’s hand and rushed towards the door. The man in blue made to grab at her, but she sidestepped past him. The whole building seemed to be shaking with the noise of the alarm. No, not the alarm. It was footsteps! The sound of hundreds of people tramping out of their offices, obeying the drill. She was going to be in such big trouble if they caught her!

She ran as fast as she could, out through the doors, down the steps, along the road, with Ben matching her step for step. She looked back once to see if they were being followed, but the man and the crowd seemed to have been caught up in the huge swell of people that were evacuating the council building. Hundreds of people spilled out on to the road. Kirsty and Ben dashed around the corner, running as though they had hell hounds chasing them. They swept past shops, pedestrians, tram stops, running as fast as they could. Somewhere behind them they could hear the wail of a fire engine.

It was only after four blocks that Ben slowed down. Kirsty grabbed her side where a stitch stabbed at her. She looked at Ben; he caught her eye. And then she felt the most delicious burst of laughter surge up out of her. She couldn’t control it. She laughed so hard that she had to cling on to Ben to keep upright. Ben smirked, then chuckled and before long he was howling along with her.

‘Did you see their faces?’ Kirsty gasped.

‘Brilliant.’

‘And all those people getting out of work early.’

‘Priceless. I can’t believe you set off the alarm! That was crazy.’

‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to!’

‘It was genius.’

The giggles slowed now, occasionally just bubbling up in small spurts. They walked on slowly. Every now and again Kirsty remembered the man in the blue shirt, his eyes bulging out and his mouth sagging when he realised what she’d done. Then she had to snigger again.

‘It was brilliant fun,’ Ben said. ‘But it didn’t get us what we wanted.’

‘No. Mr Thomas didn’t even see it was us. We’ll have to try another way. What else was on your list?’

‘I don’t think my list is very good. None of my suggestions have worked very well so far,’ Ben said.

‘It’s not your fault. They were good ideas.’

‘I dunno. Perhaps you should ask someone who’s, well, older.’

‘Like who? My mum? Dad? They aren’t going to help, are they?’ Kirsty said.

‘No. But Dawn might.’

‘Dawn? She’s the Wicked Witch of the West!’ As she spoke, Kirsty imagined Dawn flying in every weekend on a broomstick, cackling at the clouds as they whipped past her.

Ben looked at Kirsty. ‘I know she can be a pain at your place, but she’s not always like that. Sometimes when it’s just me and her she can be nice. I think she feels bad about . . . I mean, she’s not always in a mood round our house. You should come home with me now and we can talk to her. She might help.’

‘Yeah, and she might throw things at us until all that’s left of us are two squishy piles of strawberry jam.’

Ben laughed and walked on. Kirsty followed him reluctantly. She couldn’t believe that Dawn would ever agree to help. But who else was there to ask?