Torn (24 page)

‘And your attitude isn't? Route X looks like it runs pretty damn close to your place!'

His frown deepened. ‘It may look like that, but I'm a farmer. I'm hardly likely to rejoice that my animals will be cut off from their source of water!'

‘So, an admission you're a nimby too! But if route Y is ultimately chosen, will you be able to resist the temptation to sell off extra land for development? An option which would be severely limited on the south side of the hill?'

‘Depends what you mean by development.'

‘I'm sure everyone else here knows what I mean! Can you guarantee that land won't be sold off for housing, gravel extraction, a service station, McDonalds, a superstore?'

He was beginning to look seriously annoyed. ‘This area desperately needs jobs and affordable housing.'

‘That sounds like a “no” to me. So route Y could prove the very thin end of a very large wedge. With all the consequent extra loss of wildlife habitat and of the rural landscape. And, of course, of the two options, it is of far greater potential value to you.'

‘However my position looks to you,' James stared straight at her, ignoring the rest of the audience, ‘it is primarily my land which would be affected. Obviously I have a preference. It is my honest opinion that route Y is the right road. The town desperately needs a by-pass. Leaving things as they are won't do. The choice is X or Y. There is no other viable option.'

‘But –' Just as it looked as if their exchange was about to degenerate into a private slanging match, the chairman rapped the table. ‘Thanks, Mr Warwick. I think the panel will take more questions from other members of the audience.' As James Warwick sat down the noise level in the auditorium rose. Competing voices shouted out, some with further questions and some less polite observations on the way the meeting was being run. ‘Quiet please! Quiet! You there with your hand up … the one in the jazzy waistcoat.'

‘I think there is another way.'

As Jess had come in Danny had been slouched too low in his seat for her to have noticed what he was wearing. Recognising his voice she twisted round. Sheila turned to see why. The last time Jess had seen him today he'd been in combats and T-shirt, with face and clothes splattered with blood and birth fluid. Now that he was standing Jess could see his multi-coloured patchwork and appliqué waistcoat over a loose shirt and clean jeans. And he had shaved; the lack of beard gave him a more youthful, almost vulnerable appearance. He spoke slowly, slightly haltingly, as if searching for the words he wanted.

‘You all say the town is used as a rat run. That trucks on the A road won't go the extra miles to the next junction. Why not deal with that end of the problem?'

‘How?' the council leader asked.

‘Stop heavy trucks going through town. Put a weight … restriction on the road.'

‘Do you think we haven't thought of that? It wouldn't stop them. For every one deterred, nine would ignore it.'

‘You'd have to police it.'

‘But that's an expensive option.'

‘Coupl'a cops on the outskirts of town for a few months. And some traffic calming scheme to slow everything down … make the route un'ttractive. Cheaper than a multi-million pound road.' Danny sat down to a flurry of claps from his supporters.

Someone else shouted. ‘What you mean by expensive is that the by-pass doesn't come out of your budget, but policing would! Thought we were supposed to have joined up government these days!'

From then on the debate grew increasingly bad tempered as the pros and the antis began to argue. More and more frequently the gavel was rapped on the table, but the chairman was increasingly ignored as people stood up and shouted at each other. Comments about global warming and greenhouse gases were rebutted by, ‘Bloody hippies … only want to stir up trouble! What are you planning to do? Live in the trees? Dig tunnels?'

It was when some of the more vociferous actually began to quit their seats and push their way along the rows that Jessica grew alarmed. Passions were running highest in those with businesses in the town centre. Some started to try to leave, exacerbating the congestion in the aisles. In an increasingly bad-tempered atmosphere there was now pushing and shoving. A woman fell over and cried out in pain or surprise. A man with the purple-red flush of extreme anger or of high blood pressure – or both – was pushing his way up the aisle past Jessica and Sheila, who had so far kept their heads down and stayed in their seats.

‘I'll give him weight restrictions, bloody chicanes, and road humps! I need people to drive through the town,' he roared to no one in particular, as he shouldered through the crowd in the gangway. Already anxious about the deteriorating situation, Jess leapt to her feet and attempted to follow the red-faced man. Sheila cried out after her.

‘Are you mad, Jess? Come back! Sit down!'

The funnel effect at the half opened double doors created congestion which backed up along the aisle. Buffeted by elbows and trodden on by scuffing feet Jess was as much a victim of the rising panic to get out as of the growing violence. Abusive language or the odd push or shove had already degenerated. A scuffle developed between the younger men from opposing camps. A chair crashed to the ground. A punch was thrown. A voice shouted, ‘Has someone called the police?' The speed with which bad temper mixed with poor planning had escalated was frightening. Fighting broke out in the aisle.

Ahead the doors had at last been fully opened on both sides, plus a fire door further down the auditorium and those who wanted to leave were pouring out into the night. A siren could be heard in the distance. More chairs fell over. Arms swung in wild blows. The two policemen who were outside had come in, but in the face of the disorderly crowd were making little headway in calming the situation.

The red-faced man had reached Danny, taken hold of him, and was shaking him. His campaigner friends were mostly involved in their own disputes; they either did not see that Danny was being manhandled or were unable to get to him. The man confronting him was quite a bit shorter and a lot older, but he was stocky and fuelled-up with unreasoning anger; after all, the young man he'd targeted was ostensibly on his side. But a kind of madness had overtaken too many of them there that night.

‘You want to send me bloody bankrupt, do you? That shop's my livelihood.'

‘Let go!' Danny croaked, trying to release the man's clutching hands from his shirt collar. ‘I've got nothing against you, pal, or your shop. I'm against the by-pass!'

‘I'm not your pal! You bloody hippies live in cloud cuckoo land.'

‘Look, I don't want to stop all traffic going through town!'

‘I should bloody hope you don't. What's it to do with you, anyway? You don't even come from round here. I'll be buggered if I let a crusty Forest inbred tell me how to live my life.'

‘I'm not telling you … Look, calm down, I've nothing against you!' Danny might be slender but he was wiry and stronger than he looked. But he was off balance, backed up against fallen chairs. ‘Get off me!'

Jessica screeched, ‘Stop that! What the hell do you think you're doing?' She might just as well have been a flea shouting at an elephant. She dragged at the man's arm but he flung her off, knocking her to the ground. The temporary release of one of the man's hands aided Danny. He at last appeared to be making some headway in wrestling his way out of the man's choking grasp. Just as it seemed Danny was about to free himself, his assailant secured a grip on his waistcoat and abruptly dragged the young man towards him. The suddenness of the move created an unstoppable reaction. Danny's head whipped forward. The man's head butted into his. With a crack the bridge of Danny's nose connected with the man's forehead. In the stunned split second that followed, a fist crashed into his cheek. All animation switched off. Danny's knees gave way, his head lolled, and he crumpled, falling amongst the tangle of half collapsed chairs. Without pause for breath the man was kicking at him, but this time with Jessica on his back, shrieking as though demented, one hand wound into his hair the other battering at the side of his head. Now, in pain himself, he flailed about to brush off the wildcat dragging at his hair.

‘Get off! Get off!'

The next moments were all confusion. As the constabulary presence swelled with the sudden eruption into the hall of police carrying riot shields and batons, she felt herself being lifted away.

‘It's all right Jess, I'll take over.'

Chapter Fifteen

For Jessica the next minutes were a confused kaleidoscope. It was only later that she found out it was James Warwick who had restrained her and who'd then held the man's arms in a lock behind his back until taken charge of by the police. It was James Warwick who prevented his dazed and bleeding employee from being arrested. And when the police made a beeline for the ‘Hippies', it was James Warwick who spoke up for them. This was not a one-sided fracas, with goodies and baddies, he told the officer in charge. Blame resided in all camps.

But at the time, the world darkening, her teeth rattling with icy tremors, Jessica was unaware that it was Danny's employer who helped her into a chair, draped his jacket around her, and urged her to drop her head down between her knees. Only half conscious of an argument going on above her she thought she heard Sheila's voice. ‘She can come home with me.' But the male voice countered, ‘Don't you think she would prefer to stay under the same roof as her son? Anyway, I'm taking Dan into Casualty. It would do no harm to get Jessica checked out at the same time. She seems to be in shock.'

Jessica sat up groggily and the choice was put to her.

‘I want to be with Rory,' she said, weakly. ‘I'll take him home.'

‘There's no question of you driving yourself. And I don't think Rory would thank you for dragging him home in the middle of the night.'

The world was still foggy and unbalanced. She shook her head to clear the jangling confusion. ‘You're right. I'm not thinking straight. But my car …?'

‘Don't worry. If you'll allow me to drive yours I'll leave the Land Rover in the car park. We can do a swap in the morning.'

Memory of the incident that had triggered all this flashed-back with a breath-stopping rush of terror.

‘Danny?' she gasped, clutching James Warwick's arm. ‘Where's Danny? Is he all right?'

There was a momentary pause before his answer. ‘I'm sure he'll be fine. There's a bit of blood from the bump on the nose. But he's a tougher cookie than he looks. See … there he is.'

It was only then that her surroundings began to resolve into clear focus. In the middle distance small groups were being questioned by the police. But not far from her, and still looking out of it, Danny leaned back; he clutched a red-blotched handkerchief to his face. And, for the second time that day, blood was splashed on his clothes.

They were among the first to arrive at the hospital and Danny was whisked away fairly swiftly. Sheila had followed them there and while James Warwick phoned Gilda, she sat with Jessica. The conversation was stilted; unable to concentrate Jessica was almost relieved when James reappeared.

‘Everything's fine at home,' he said. ‘The kids are in bed. Whether they're asleep, who knows? Gilda sends her love, by the way. She's getting a guest room near the kids ready for you. That'll be a surprise for Rory in the morning.'

‘You could still come back to my place,' Sheila muttered in her other ear, as if the prospect of spending one night at the farm was akin to torture.

‘But Rory's there, and Gilda's already making up a bed. It makes sense. You go home. I'll be fine.'

But Sheila refused to leave her friend. While others of the walking wounded arrived in Casualty and were assessed, they just had to sit there and wait. It was agonising. Jess still shivered, though a hospital blanket was wrapped around her. Her acute concern for Danny was not expressible. She was stuck between a man she didn't approve of, whom she'd publicly rebuked only an hour or so earlier, and Sheila, who had no time whatsoever for any man, apparently regarding them all as potential rapists. James attempted to make conversation, but none of them, it seemed, wanted to broach the subject which had brought them to this uncomfortable situation. Just then a doctor emerged from Danny's cubicle. James Warwick went over to speak to him. Jessica's name was called and feeling like a total fraud she followed the nurse.

It was gone midnight by the time they got back to the farm. The two casualties were ushered into a smaller living room than the one in which Gilda had previously entertained Jessica. This was a less formal room than the other, which had been almost unnaturally pristine. Here, there was a scattered heap of newspapers on the floor, a TV in the corner, an old-fashioned music system with large speakers either side of the chimney breast, and a wall of books, CDs, tapes, and vinyls. A pyre of logs in the open grate crackled and spat, the flames shot high against the blackened fire-back. The slightly scorched and moth-eaten rug in front of the hearth was probably not moth-eaten at all, but holed over the years by the sparks which jumped from the fire. Big, fat, squashy armchairs were drawn up close around the blaze.

‘Make yourselves comfortable,' James Warwick told them. ‘I'll get the brandy. My mother is making hot drinks.'

Apart from the three tiny adhesive dressing strips which crossed the wound on the bridge of his nose, and some kind of antiseptic unguent smeared onto his cheekbone, Danny had been discharged with one caveat. He and his employer were told that due to his brief loss of consciousness he was to come back immediately if he suffered any visual disturbance or headaches. Otherwise he was simply advised to take things easy for a day or two. Jessica had also been pronounced OK, but told to keep warm and drink plenty of fluids. She guessed brandy was not what the hospital had in mind.