Chapter 10
TEN
The sky was dove grey and cloudy when we arrived in Northumberland early on Monday morning. Christa had driven us in her Mini through towns and villages with buildings of buff stone and quaint marketplaces that already looked like a picture on a Christmas card even though the festive season was not quite upon us. Eventually, we arrived on the edges of Northumberland National Park. Here, the grass on the fields and hills lay in shades of green, orange and brown, and the peaks in the distance were highlighted with white snow. I was glad I’d worn my puffa jacket.
‘It should be just down this road,’ said Linda from the back seat, leaning forward with her phone in hand, double-checking her map. I’d met her that morning when we’d picked her up on the way. I’d been expecting someone with a septum piercing and dungarees, but she was a woman in her fifties wearing a bright pink fleece and stripy wellies. Her brassy blonde hair was scooped up into a ponytail.
Christa rounded the bend, and we were greeted by a cluster of cars in a lay-by. Hovering around them were a gaggle of assorted protesters. They were wrapped up in thick coats, scarves and bobble hats, brandishing placards and steely expressions.
‘Let’s get some animal-killer scalps, eh?’ said Linda, rubbing her hands together.
I wasn’t sure who would be more bloodthirsty today – the people with the shotguns or her.
We got out, and Christa introduced me to everyone she knew, which was about half of the fifteen-strong pack, and she briefed everyone on the plan of attack. A friend of a friend of a friend had leaked the plans for a private shoot that day, organised by Lord Ashcliffe for his wealthy cronies.
‘They’re shooting on his estate, so we can’t go onto his land. But the roads next to them are fair game. No pun intended.’
There was a smattering of laughter.
‘So, they’ll be moving in vehicles between their first and second drives in about’ – she checked her watch – ‘half an hour. We’ll let them get settled and then make our appearance. Remember, placards, shouting, but no damage to property. We’re meant to be taking the upper hand here, okay?’
There were nods and murmurs of agreement all round, and we all stood in wait, leaning on cars and chatting.
‘This your first time?’ asked Linda.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why it’s taken me so long though. Every time I read an article or see a picture of pheasant shooting, it makes me feel ill.’
‘Me an’ all,’ she said gruffly. ‘Bunch of bastards the lot of them. I’d love to see how they’d like being peppered with shotgun pellets, let me tell you.’
‘Right…’ I said, edging slightly away from her. Linda really meant business, but I hoped she was speaking metaphorically. I glanced at her large rucksack uneasily.
Then there was the rumble of vehicles, just out of sight, followed by distant voices and dogs barking. Christa gave everyone a nod and held her hand up like the leader of an armed response team signalling for us all to hold back. After about ten minutes, the sound of gunfire began, and the assembled group reacted like they were cracks of a whip. Linda’s mouth was a thin white line.
I tried not to imagine the beautiful birds tumbling from the sky and being carried around like rags in dogs’ mouths. In the distance, I could hear the yells of the beaters and thought angrily about how frightened the pheasants must feel once they took flight. Then the rally of shots petered out, and we could hear muted conversation again.
‘Let’s go,’ said Christa, and we marched after her, banners high in the air.
‘Come on, you sadistic fuckers,’ yelled Linda as the field came into sight. ‘Let’s have you!’
The entrance to the field was cluttered with mud-spattered cars and trucks, Defenders and Discoveries in greens and blacks, most of them parked on the grass verge by the road. A group of tweed-clad men and women had their backs to us far off in the field, and they turned towards us, peering under their flat caps from the distance. A few people clustered around the vehicles shook their heads with murmurs of, ‘Bloody hell’ and ‘Not the “Woke Warriors” again.’
‘Bugger off,’ yelled one ruddy-faced man, squaring up to us. His wax jacket was bulging at the stomach, maybe because of all the pheasant dinners he’d had.
‘ You bugger off!’ shouted Christa, to cries of agreement from the protestors, myself included. In the back of a truck, I could see the brown-and-jewel-coloured bodies of dozens of beautiful birds, making my throat fill with bile. ‘Who do you think you are, killing innocent creatures?’
‘We breed them for it, my dear,’ said the man in a patronising, plummy tone. ‘It’s what they’re for .’
‘You “breed” your dogs too,’ she said loudly, ‘but you don’t go chasing them around with guns, do you?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, clear off, or we’ll call the police.’
‘I already have,’ piped a tall woman with honey-coloured hair, waving her mobile. She was strikingly pretty, with long legs in jodhpurs, and she wore a brown felt hat with a spray of pheasant feathers tucked into the hat band. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
‘We aren’t trespassing, and we have a right to protest,’ said Christa calmly.
‘I told them we felt threatened,’ replied the woman, her plump pink lips breaking into a triumphant smirk. ‘You’re all being extremely aggressive.’
I heard an abrupt snort from Linda beside me.
‘I’ll show you aggressive,’ she said under her breath.
I glanced at her sharply. If I thought she was pumped up before, she was now positively frothing at the mouth.
‘So, if you’ll kindly fuck off, we can all get on with our days without any time behind bars,’ said the Amazonian blonde sweetly.
The people who’d been shooting in the field were wandering closer now and approached the gate, faces like thunder.
‘Where’s Perry?’ asked the woman. ‘We need to get in the cars and on to the next drive once this lot have cleared off.’
A short man wearing a checked shirt and waistcoat under his brown coat gestured up to the field. ‘Hendrix has run off. He’s gone with Gus to find him. What’s all this?’
‘Can you not read, pal?’ said Christa, wiggling her placard. ‘We’re here to let you know you can’t just kill innocent animals without consequences.’
‘I should say we ruddy well can,’ said the round, older man, growing redder in the face. ‘This is my estate, and I can do whatever the hell I want. Now get out of here, or I’ll press charges against the lot of you.’
Christa stalked towards him, her voice low and menacing. ‘This road is public. So we can do whatever the hell we want. Try and press charges and make them stick – I dare you.’
Just then, there was a rustle behind me, and I turned to see Linda rummaging in her backpack. My stomach plummeted, remembering how vitriolic she’d sounded all morning. She reached inside and… Surely not. Surely she wouldn’t. But instead of some kind of weapon, she produced a tin of red paint and ripped the top off.
‘Let’s see if I can make this stick,’ she roared.
There were gasps all round as she reared back, and then time started to slow down. Christa, who was standing in front of a khaki Land Rover, was directly in Linda’s line of fire. Without thinking, I ran the few feet between us and shoved her out of the way. Milliseconds later, I felt the slap of paint hit the side of my body, face included, and froze in shock.
At first there was stunned silence, which then broke into an almighty uproar. Tweedy people pushed past me to look at the red paint spattering the car, wholly neglecting the fact I had paint in my left eye, earhole and hair. Some had started to trickle down my neck and under my collar.
‘What have you done?’ seethed Christa to Linda. ‘We said no damage to property.’
Linda shrugged and crossed her arms, a satisfied smile on her face. Christa scowled then came over to me and started swiping at my face with her gloved hand.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, her brow furrowed.
‘I’m alright,’ I said but then moaned as a police car glided smoothly around the bend.
Linda grabbed her rucksack and started to run down the road, but after the landowner shouted who the culprit was, she was swiftly apprehended.
‘I’ll be back!’ she screamed over her shoulder as she was led off to the police car.
The assembled protestors started to drift away, muttering angrily, and Christa took my arm.
‘Come on,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘We’d better follow her to the station. I’ve got to give her a lift home after all.’
‘Okay. But I’d better turn this coat inside out or your Mini is going to look like the inside of an abattoir.’
I started to unzip my coat, trying to ignore the continued outrage around me. The blonde horsey woman’s voice stood out above them all as she called us every name under the sun. But then her voice softened.
‘Perry, darling, look at the state of Haz’s car. Fucking animals.’
‘Christ,’ he replied. ‘What’s going on?’
I stopped mid-zip. I’d heard that voice before.
I turned around slowly to find a familiar face staring at me from under a tweed cap. Dressed in full shooting gear; breeks, waistcoat, with a black Labrador sitting obediently at his heel, was my arch-enemy, Penn.