Just as we were about to move off a gaggle of people crossed the road to join us.
‘Hattie!’ said Carol, her face a flushed pink. ‘We thought we’d missed you! Barbara had got the rendezvous point wrong.’ (She pronounced all the silent letters of rendezvous.) ‘We’ve been across the other side of the square!’
Carol had arrived with twelve members of the Book and Bun Club, including the club chair, Barbara. Ever since the golf social when I’d mentioned the library’s regular book clubs, Carol had been a true devotee, turning up every fortnight armed with a fruit loaf or a Tupperware bursting with chocolate chip cookies and returning at the end of each evening with a new book to read and a whole host of recommendations. On the evenings where my shift coincided with the Book and Bun Club, she would always greet me with huge excitement as if she couldn’t believe she had the good fortune to be so well acquainted with a part-time library assistant. It was very gratifying and always a pleasure to see her, but especially today when the library community was really coming out in force. I had the sense that Carol was at last finding her tribe.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘You made it just in time. We’re about to set off.’ I gestured towards Ren. ‘Just as soon as this one gets the chants going.’
Carol gave me a thumbs-up and a beaming smile. ‘There’s a television crew setting up on the other side of the square,’ she said. ‘Just at the top of the high street. You’re going to be famous!’
‘I bloody hope not,’ I said. ‘But it’ll be great publicity for the library. Joe’s a bit further back in the crowd – see if you can find him.’ There was a little nudge from behind. ‘See you there,’ I shouted as we surged forward, Ren calling, ‘What do we want?’ and the rest of us responding, ‘Library Funding!’
‘When do we want it?’
‘NOW!!’ we all boomed, a huge swell of noise echoing up the library façade and bouncing off the grey stone walls of the neighbouring buildings.
I turned to glance behind me, hoping for an inspirational view of crowding protestors, a visual representation of peaceful demonstration in action. In reality all I could see was Vivienne’s sequinned left breast and Malia’s beleaguered husband trying to marshal their three small children, but I could feel the excitement building, and as we began to march I grabbed my banner pole and hoisted it high into the air. Whatever happened, nobody could say we hadn’t tried our damnedest.
By the time we reached our destination many of our number were almost hoarse from shouting. Mum had fashioned David a walking stick using the pole from her previously abandoned placard (conceding that the wording probablywasa little inappropriate) and at least three of the mums with small toddlers had bailed out for an ice-cream stop with a view to joining us once they’d refuelled.
The camera crew Carol had seen at the top of the High Street had followed us from there to the steps of City Hall, where they were joined by another local news crew and reporters from two national newspapers (one of whom had clearly been a past colleague of Nathan’s friend Angus if the enthusiastic greeting was anything to go by). One of Ren’s bandmates, Baz, had driven behind us with the amp from the PA system blaring out of the boot of his car and Sadie’s dog, Spartacus, woofing importantly in response to each of Ren’s calls – whilst also being patted enthusiastically by all the primary school children. Baz and Joe then carried the amp up the massive stone steps to the City Hallentrance (my husband eager to share stories from his own band days when he played guitar at university for an outfit called The Flaming Lemons – Baz listened politely).
David, walking-pole in hand, climbed the steps with me, Malia and Colin, and together we knocked on the heavy glass-fronted doors of City Hall. This was more for effect than anything else because we ended up having to go through a side door to reception where a nice girl on the desk took receipt of the petition on behalf of the council. In my head I’d been anticipating something more dramatic like the mayor himself coming to the door, flanked by stern council bosses who initially tried to turn us away but eventually capitulated to our entreaties and opened suitcases full of cash, which they then thrust into our hands urging us to buy more books and employ enough staff to keep the library open twenty-four hours a day – but then Joe always says I have a slightly overactive imagination.
Whilst this was happening, Ren was outside giving an impassioned address from the top step while Baz tweaked the volume on the amp and turned a separate microphone in the direction of the crowd to pick up their boos (for council cuts) and cheers (for books and libraries). When we emerged from the City Hall reception Ren offered David the megaphone and through a high ring of static he announced (to more cheers) that we had handed over the petition and would await the council’s response. He thanked everyone for coming and then began one of the most inspirational speeches I’ve ever heard in my life (right up there with Obama, Mandela and Taylor Swift), espousing access to information as a fundamental human right, warning of what happened to societies that turned their back on the written word, and celebrating a world where fiction and the sharing of stories could unite peoples from all backgrounds, faiths and ethnicities. I, for one, was in tears by the halfway point, which is why it took me a while to realise exactly what mayhem wasunfolding beneath me on the high street pavement. It wasn’t until half an hour later that I realised Mum had been arrested and taken to the local police station.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘But what was she doing on top of the police car in the first place?’ I said to Judith, one of the Rotary Club wives who’d accompanied Mum to the protest.
‘Honestly,’ she said, looking troubled, ‘I’m not entirely sure. One minute she was standing next to me cheering her support, and the next she’d clambered up onto the bonnet and was waving that banner around shouting about council cuts. At least, it sounded like cuts.’
‘And they arrested her for that?’
‘Well, the trouble really started when the placard post went through the windscreen,’ said Judith. ‘I don’t think it was deliberate. But they take a dim view of such things, the police. Especially given the fact that she was swearing at them and refusing to get down. She seemed a little disorientated. In fact, I heard the arresting officer mention intoxication as an aggravating factor.’
‘Uhm – that may have been my fault,’ said a timid woman with a wiry grey perm in the wheelchair beside Judith. ‘I offered her some of my medicinal cannabis.’
‘Your what?’ I said faintly.
‘My medicinal cannabis,’ she said, her face a grimace of apology as she turned to look at Judith. ‘Meredith said it had always been on her bucket list, smoking a joint, and we all agreed that a protest march was the ideal place to try it. The right kind of vibe, you know?’
‘It seems, on reflection, that may have been an error, Margaret,’ said Judith. ‘Given Meredith’s response, I think we can safely say that she shouldn’t be trying it again. Are you sureit’s medicinal grade? It’s not like that time you accidentally had a batch that had been cut with skunk?’
Before Judith and Maragaret fell down a rabbit hole of recreational drug ingredients, I felt I needed the tiniest bit more information about what in the name of ever-loving Christ had happened to my mother. ‘So, to clarify. Mum was stoned, and then…?’
‘Well, to start with she was a bit sleepy but then I think she had a bit of the vodka from her hip flask to pep her up a bit…’
‘Vodka?’ I interjected weakly.
‘Yes, and then she became quite animated about the library in response to the speech, as I explained,’ said Judith, who appeared to not be feeling an ounce of responsibility or remorse about the whole sequence of events. ‘And with a vigour one rarely sees in women of our age, she sort of sprinted over to the police car and clambered aboard. The officer standing beside the vehicle was shouting at her to get down, but she didn’t seem to hear him.’
‘She’s a bit deaf,’ I said. ‘Totally denies it, and she’ll be mortified that I’ve told you – but in the grand scheme of things it’s probably the least embarrassing element of this episode.’
‘Ah, well, yes, that explains it. He was shouting quite loudly. And then he went to offer her his hand to help her down, but she wobbled a bit to the side and like I say, the pole from her placard went through the windscreen and then things became a little bit awkward. They’ve taken her to the station. Said that they need to make an example of her because otherwise they’ll be accused of two-tier policing. Meredith was very good about it all once she’d calmed down. Told them she’d come quietly; asked if the handcuffs were strictly necessary given the arthritis in her wrists. It was all quite amicable.’
‘And are they pressing charges?’ I said, bemused by both Judith and Margaret’s lack of urgency. Perhaps ladies of acertain age and social standing feel that they are insulated from the tedious repercussions of breaking the law.
‘I don’t know, dear. I’m sorry. She did say, as they were helping her into the car, that she wouldn’t disclose the name of her dealer. She said quite distinctly that shewasn’t a grass.’
