So did the police officer. But you could tell he was determined not to be drawn into some interminable wrangle about effective ways of influencing government defence policy from the grass roots. Gritting his teeth, he only muttered:
‘Can we just get off now? All fifteen?’
It wasn’t that sarcastic. I was there. I heard it. At the most, he stressed ‘fifteen’ the tiniest, tiniest bit. Mum claims he curled his lip like a pantomime villain and actually sneered it. But all the rest of us agreed later that in the circumstances of her hectoring him in front of everyone as if he personally had refitted every nuclear submarine in Britain, he’d shown quite admirable restraint.
More than her, anyway. I know she hates sarcastic people – she’s like me – but, frankly, she must have temporarily gone unhinged to act the way she did when he said ‘fifteen’. Shaking off Gerald, she dived headlong into the grass beside the fence. Then, snatching up the good pair of wire-cutters still lying there, she forced open the handles and, before we had time to realize what she was about, with one deft wrench she snipped a strand of the fence wire.
‘Sixteen!’
Everyone cheered. Well, the Quakers started it, of course, because they’re always so very nice and encouraging about everything. But everyone else joined in, even Jude. And it was only me and Gerald Faulkner who were left standing absolutely horrified, watching in silence.
Then Mum realized what she’d done. She turned to me, as appalled as I was.
‘Oh, Kitty!’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry!’
The Quakers’ clapping died away. They’re very sensitive as well.
I put a brave face on it. There wasn’t much else I could do. The policeman was already bearing down on Mum.
‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s only a couple of hours down at the station. Your court case won’t come up for weeks.’
Mum had the grace to blush. She turned to Jude.
‘Sweetheart?’
Jude looked bewildered. I think my saying the words ‘down at the station’ had taken a bit of the gloss off the excitement of clapping along with everyone else. But even so, she hadn’t truly cottoned on that Mum had actually managed to get herself arrested.
Gerald stepped forward, and laid a protective hand on Jude’s shoulder. He looked absolutely livid with Mum. His tone, when he spoke to her, was steely with disapproval.
‘I shall, of course, look after both your girls till you get back.’
Apart from the fact that his suit was splattered and streaked all over with fresh mud, he looked and sounded just like one of those straight-laced solicitors in old Victorian serials on the telly. But Jude didn’t even seem to notice his grim tones. She just looked up at him rather gratefully when he said this, and slid her hand in his.
Mum said rather nervously:
‘I won’t be long, honestly. I’ll be back before you know it.’
The policeman took her arm.
‘Don’t bank on it,’ he warned. He was taking his revenge now. ‘I think we’re a little short-staffed at the station. And there are sixteen of you – twice as many as last time.’
He meant it as a sort of threat, you could tell. But it had quite the opposite effect on Mum, of course. It cheered her up.
‘Sixteen!’ she said. ‘We did it!’
There was a ragged ripple of applause, and a few tired cheers. Even the nice Quakers wanted to pack it in now, and get off home.
‘Come on,’ said Mum’s policeman, sensing the general mood. ‘Last one to the blue van is under arrest.’
You should have seen the look on Gerald’s face. He didn’t think this was at all funny. Mum was led off, towards the vans. All the way there, she kept leaning back over the policeman’s arm, giving me silly orders and instructions. I was to remember to switch off the grill after I made toast. I wasn’t to leave my electric blanket on after I put out my light. There were some tins of soup on the top shelf of the pantry. Honestly, you’d think I’d never even visited our house before, let alone lived there.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Gerald told Mum sharply. ‘Stop fussing, Rosalind. Kitty is perfectly capable, and I shall be there!’
I think Inspector McGee must have sent his officers on a course for avoiding domestic violence. The young policeman swung open the door of the blue van as quickly as he could. Everyone already seated inside cheered Mum.
‘Sixteen!’
‘Well done, Rosie!’
‘Come on up!’
Mum turned before clambering inside.
‘Thanks, Gerald,’ she said. You could tell she was desperate for him to soften and give her just one brief smile of encouragement before the van drove off. But she’d picked the wrong man.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said icily as she scrambled inside. ‘Somebody has to act responsibly.’
That got her. She stopped trawling for sympathy and support, and went all defiant.
‘Oh, shut up, Gerald!’ she snapped. ‘What could be more irresponsible than passively sitting back while half-baked politicians and trigger-happy generals cling to a defence policy that means every child on the planet could end up frying alive!’
And she swung the van door closed herself – right in his face.
I was dead proud of her. That shut him up.
Behind us, everyone burst into song. While the last couple of officers checked the van doors and then walked round to take their own seats, we all sang to the snowballers inside. We sang ‘We Shall Overcome’, and I started crying. I always cry when we sing that. Mum says that that’s because the song is true, and we shall overcome one day. She says the song’s been sung through more than one just cause, and in the end the singers have been able to hang up their hats, and go home satisfied. Our day will come, she says. Just be strong and patient.
Then, as the rain began to fall in earnest, the vans drew away, splashing mud out of the potholes. Everyone except Gerald waved like mad, even after they were quite sure that no one in the vans could see any longer. They all kept singing too, but I didn’t bother. I wanted to leave. Jude was all right. She was still standing beside Gerald, holding his hand tight, and looking completely unruffled. But I didn’t feel too brilliant myself. I wasn’t worried, exactly; but I felt shaky. It’s not so nice to watch your mother being driven off by the police, especially when your dad lives a hundred miles away.
The song was ending, but I couldn’t stop the tears. It didn’t matter, though. The rain was beating down so hard now, no one could really tell. But I turned away anyhow, just in case, and scrambled down the bank for the last time.
Uprooting my banner, I slung the two poles together over my shoulder, and trudged off down the road on my own, towards the bus.
Gerald was right. It had been a tiring day. And I’d had enough.
7
I’d only been slumped in the bus seat for a couple of minutes before he disturbed me.
‘Hotch up. Make room for me and Judith.’
Make room? There had been loads of free seats on the bus when we arrived. Now there were even more, with sixteen fewer people travelling back with us. But clearly Gerald Faulkner expected me to shift across to the window, and give him my seat. I can’t say I rushed to cooperate. I opened my eyes, though.
‘Can’t you sit there?’ I waved towards the double seat in front.
‘Slide over,’ he insisted. ‘I think right now your sister probably needs both of us.’
Only a couple of months before I would have argued. I would have responded tartly: ‘Do you? I think she probably just needs me.’ But now I didn’t. I thought about it – practically opened my mouth to snap it out – but, frankly, I didn’t really think it was true any more. Poor Jude was standing there looking wiped out. Her thumb was in her mouth (for once he wasn’t telling her to take it out again) and she was staring fixedly at me. But she was leaning against his legs, and she was still holding his hand very tightly.