Never Too Late (29 page)

“So how can we help?” Sian asked. She reached over and held Maggie’s hand, empathising with the situation she found herself in.

“I wanted an outside opinion on what my options may be,” she said. “The company needs this building contract completed on time if it’s to survive, but I refuse to see an ancient woodland pay the price. I also don’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest and land my husband, or anyone else, in hot water. What’s done cannot be undone – I just want to move forward and try and sort out this ugly mess. Do you think there might be a way to compromise?”

“Compromise sounds good, but is it possible?” Tom wondered. “You need more facts before any decisions can be made.”

Maggie agreed with him. “That’s why I want to go to the site and meet these eco-warriors. I want to know what they know about the farm. I want to verify if it is ancient woodland and worth protecting. I want to know the layout of the rest of the site. My problem is I have no business skills, and certainly no experience of the building trade. Although I’m Company Secretary, Iain would never let me get involved with any of it. Basically I don’t know if I’m the right person to be doing this. I might make the situation worse by going there. What do you think?”

“I think you have all the skills you need for the first step,” Tom assured her. “What this will take is interpersonal skills, not business skills per se. I agree – you need to talk to these people. Promise me, though, if it looks at all dangerous you’ll back off?”

Sian agreed. “I saw the first report on the local TV news. The first people there seemed well spoken and put across their views calmly and intelligently, but I hear they’ve been joined by a much more militant band.”

“I’m coming with you then,” Tom decided, but Sian disagreed.

“Just go and talk to them,” she suggested. “They’re not going to harm a woman on her own, whereas a male presence might get their backs up. It gives the impression that you don’t trust them to behave in a civilized manner and want protection. You’ll have Deefor there, just as a silent reminder you’re not defenceless, whereas my darling husband tends to get his mouth in gear while the brain’s still in neutral.”

“Oh, the insults I face in my own home!” Tom protested.

Sian shushed him and continued, “Let’s face it, the whole point of the protest is to get themselves and the situation in the public domain, so they’ll be keen to talk to anyone and everyone. Just don’t tell them your connection with the company. If necessary hint you’re a reporter and they’ll fall over themselves to give you more ‘copy’ than could be fitted in a single edition of the thickest newspaper.”

As the evening progressed they refined the list of questions and possible solutions that Maggie might consider. They checked over the maps and site plans she had brought from the office, ensuring that she had a clear mental image of what was at stake before leaving the documents with Tom and Sian. All she would have the next day would be a reporter’s pad and pen.

They retired early to ensure a good night’s sleep before a taxing day to come. Maggie stood in the darkness, brushing her hair while she enjoyed the night sky. Without any light pollution nearby the crystal stars crowded the deep blackness. She hoped the next day would be as fine.

Comfortable though her bed was Maggie thought sleep would be a long time coming. She now knew what Chloe meant by being ‘out of her comfort zone’. Was it really only seven weeks since her birthday and Iain’s accident? How much life could change in such a short time. And the best change of all was her current companion.

“Good night, Deefor,” she called softly.

Content to sleep, now Maggie had completed their nightly ritual, he gave a big sigh and settled more comfortably in his bed. Much to Maggie’s surprise she felt her eyelids drooping too and was soon deeply asleep.

*

The next day dawned overcast with a threat of showers to come. Maggie shivered slightly in the early light. She and Deefor had risen early and gone for a walk, passing through the garden and into the orchard beyond. The geese had honked a warning which Deefor ignored totally, as though he’d lived all his life around livestock. Maggie’s only concern was that they might have woken the family, but the sound of a tractor reassured her that they were all early risers too. As they walked she rehearsed in her mind the things she wanted to ask, and the things she wanted to see.

When they got back to the house Sian was busy gathering items for a full English breakfast and there was already a pot of tea on the table.

“Good morning, Maggie,” Sian greeted her. “I hope you slept well.”

“Indeed, yes,” she replied. “Much better than I expected to, actually.”

Sian continued to bustle around, preparing for the onslaught of her ever hungry family. “My crew have voracious appetites,” she told Maggie, “which is hardly surprising with the energy they burn off every day. Help yourself to some grapefruit while I get this batch started. There’s orange juice there too. Does your morning preference run to cooked, toast or muesli? And would Deefor like a bit of Weetabix and milk along with Floss and Ben?”

“Just muesli for me, thanks.” Maggie patted her hips. “With the passing years it’s become far too easy to let the pounds settle. I’m sure Deefor won’t say no to a bite to eat.”

Hearing his name Deefor wagged his tail and grinned up at her.

Soon the kitchen was filled with adults, children and dogs.

“You see what I mean about bedlam?” Sian laughed, blowing a wisp of hair out of her eyes as she unloaded a third load from the frying pan onto the plates on the table. “And no, I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“Life will certainly seem very quiet when the girls are grown and flown,” Maggie agreed. “I find it difficult sometimes to make any decisions, as there doesn’t seem to be any real aim or purpose to the day, not now my two have their own lives to lead.” She sighed and a distant look came into her eyes.

“Today, though,” Tom put in, “you have a very definite aim and purpose.” He took a mouthful of bacon and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Are you absolutely positive you don’t want me to come too?”

Maggie shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, Tom, but no. I’ll just have a little chat with them and a look around. I’ll give you a full report tonight.”

An hour later Maggie pulled over and parked near the narrow lane leading to Milward Farm. She let Deefor out and stood taking a good long look down the dirt track that served as a driveway. She could see a farmhouse about five hundred yards away where the track dipped down into a valley. Further down, the rooftops of a cluster of farm buildings could just be made out around a gentle curve in the slope.

At the bottom of the valley a fair sized river creamed around rocks that were spaced as stepping stones. Twin tyre tracks showed where the fording place was. Beyond the river the hill rose in a hawthorn bordered patchwork of fields that lay uncultivated, the fields eventually giving way to bare hilltops. Her attention, though, was focussed on the woodland between the road and the valley bottom. It was, indeed, mature woodland, with many very large trees of several different deciduous species. Maggie mused that it’s only when you stand in traditional English woodland that you realise how many woods that you pass are purely coniferous. She made regular donations to The Woodland Trust, hoping such financial support would help them in their aim to preserve, improve, and maybe even extend the amount of native woodland left in England.

Her prior decision was strengthened – this woodland would not be lost on the altar of commerce. She wanted her children and grandchildren, and everyone else too, to be able to enjoy what was a fast disappearing part of their heritage. She would not be a party to wanton destruction. But how could she reconcile the company’s needs with that policy?

Maggie gathered her courage and went to meet the eco-warriors. She didn’t have to go far into the woods before the smell of wood smoke and the sound of a guitar and flute guided her to the camp. Deefor at first followed her closely but as they got to the clearing he pushed forward to stand in front of her.

Seated on a rock beside the camp fire, cuddling his guitar, Maggie saw a scrawny young man with matted titian dreadlocks and a striped woolly hat. His denim clothing was grubby and much patched. He stood and started to approach, but changed his mind when Deefor growled low in his throat, the hair on the back of his neck bristling up.

Maggie had already decided to follow Tom’s advice - today she would revert to her maiden name. Any association with her husband’s company might not be wise until she knew more about the situation here. The man hesitated a moment then made a mock flourishing bow.

“Welcome to Milward Base Camp, fair lady,” he said in a broad Northern accent. “And what can we do for you?” His eyes glittered and he gave the impression of a feral creature of the woods.

Deefor did not like him and Maggie trusted her boy’s instincts. And that accent – she was no expert but it sounded to Maggie as though he was trying for Geordie and not quite hitting the mark. Where was he actually from? She’d be cautious with this one.

Maggie gestured with her pad and pen. “I’ve come to ask you about your protest here. I’d like to get the full story about what exactly is at stake here and what you are hoping to achieve.”

“Are you a reporter, like?” he asked her.

Maggie inclined her head but said nothing beyond, “I’m Maggie Collins.” She held out her hand. “And you are?”

“Which paper?” he demanded. “How much you going to pay for the story?”

An angry trill sounded from the flute, played by a young woman perched in the lower branches of an oak. “Butt out, Foxy,” she called. “This is our camp, we’re the ones who live here and we’re the ones with a story to tell.” She jumped lightly down from the tree and came over to Maggie, hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Mia,” she introduced herself.

Their voices had attracted the attention of the rest of the group. Heads appeared over the edge of platforms in two of the largest trees, other people rappelled down from the branches and some gathered closer from the woods where they had been foraging. Soon there was quite a gathering around Maggie and she could see immediately that there were two very disparate groups of people. One group were well dressed in good quality leisure wear. The other group looked as though they hadn’t laundered their clothes or had a bath between them for years. It was also obvious that there was no love lost between them.

“Mia, it’s good to meet you,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to cause any aggravation here. I just want to know what your view of the matter is, and to get a feel for the land you are trying to protect with your presence.”

“That’s good,” Mia said. “We want people to know about the planned destruction. I’ve lived just a few miles away from here all my life and this wood is like an old friend who is in grave peril. I can’t bear the thought of it being clear cut and houses going up. Trees have grown here for centuries – the wood’s listed in the Domesday Book as part of the Harnsford Estate. And the biodiversity of the area is stupendous.”

Mia introduced her to Josh, Summer, Danny, Jess, Mark and Will. Maggie noted down their names, where they lived, their normal occupations and the story of how they had come together to form this protest group. The other group’s leader, Foxy, refused to give any information.

“Mia, you’re totally fucking crazy if you don’t think she’ll pass on any info to the pigs,” was his assessment of the situation. “Do you want to make it piss easy for them to know who to arrest and prosecute?” he demanded.

Josh stepped between him and Mia. “It’s your actions that might make them want to arrest someone,” he accused Foxy. “We’re making a peaceful protest here, trying to raise public awareness and buy us some time while we try to get a judgment from the courts about the legality of the plans for this farmland.”

Foxy’s face was scornful. “So you’re planning to just ponce around saying ‘oh dearie me!’ when the chainsaw crews arrive are you?” he sneered. “You need your fucking head examined! It’s eco-warriors like me who make a difference, not rank amateurs like you lot, with your fancy designer clothes and salon haircuts. You haven’t a brain cell between you if you think you’ll be allowed the time you want for ‘legal challenge’ this and prissy ‘public debate’ that.” He stood with his legs aggressively planted wide and ticked off on his fingers, “Firstly, there’s loads of dosh to be made from a building contract like this and the law is always on the side of money. Secondly the government’s putting pressure on town planners to provide more housing, never mind green belt land. Thirdly, where there’s money involved there’s fucking bribes to the arseholes who have the power to say yay or nay and probably fucking Masons and all the rest of that shit. You haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of a court ruling in your favour.”

“It was our solicitor, not your aggression, that stopped their first attempt to clear cut,” Danny said, stepping next to Josh. “We didn’t invite you here. You obviously don’t agree with our aims and methods so why don’t you all go back to wherever you came from and leave us here to do it our way?”

Foxy’s group gathered behind him in a threatening semicircle. “Nah, mate,” Foxy shook his head slowly. “You’re in no position to dictate what we do, or do not do. This wood belongs to the people of the world and we’ll not leave it without our protection, because the wailing and weeping of cunts like you won’t help when the chainsaws and bulldozers send these centuries old denizens smashing to the ground. Will your solicitor stand in front of them when they get fed up with waiting?”

Maggie hated confrontation in any form, and Deefor was getting very edgy too. The last thing she wanted was a fight erupting.

“Mia, perhaps you could show me round the site,” she suggested. “Once I’ve got a feel for the land perhaps I could speak with some of you individually afterwards?”

“Sure,” Mai agreed at once. “They’ll be arguing over the same ground for hours and not getting any closer to agreeing on anything.”

They followed a trail down through the woods towards the river. “It’s not often you catch us all together like this,” she told Maggie. “We have to take it in turns, who’s here, who’s seeing our solicitor trying to push this to court, who’s getting supplies for the camp or grabbing a bath, who’s trying to make up a few hours to keep our businesses going or our bosses on board with the fight. We make up a lot of hours after dark when we know we’re safe from the developers.”