Chapter 4
FOUR
‘Someone got arrested?’ I ask in shock, unable to believe what I am hearing.
‘Yes, banged up with a one-inch mattress that was no better than my yoga mat by all accounts,’ Mum tells me. ‘It’s a good job it was one of the younger protestors, as I am not sure my back could take that. Maybe that’s why the young policeman didn’t pick on me,’ she reasons.
‘Oh, Mum, I do worry about you. And I’m not sure how much these protests actually achieve.’ I sigh. ‘Have you thought about maybe posting some leaflets through doors, or something similar? Maybe I could help you put something together?’
‘Hmm. Worth a thought, maybe. Anyway, the real reason I’m calling is to ask if I can come over for a shower? Mine is on the blink at the flat. A plumber is coming out tomorrow morning,’ she informs me.
‘Of course, Mum. But I’ll be leaving for work in exactly twenty minutes,’ I say, glancing at my watch. ‘So you may need to call a cab,’ I tell her, feeling a little torn. ‘I’ll pay for your taxi though.’
‘I’m not short of money, love, but thanks anyway,’ says Mum. Never one to take a freebie from anyone, even me.
I truly hope this protesting doesn’t get out of hand. She’s already expressed her disgust at the amount of money the council have spent on the town centre Christmas decorations, especially the tree, when ‘that money could have gone straight to the homeless shelter or the women’s refuge’. I have visions of the tree being daubed in orange paint or hacked into a dozen pieces and thrown into a skip.
‘So there we were, peacefully protesting with placards about the proposed bypass through some ancient woodland not twenty miles from here. There’s a nature reserve in that area too,’ Mum explains. ‘Some people we spoke to knew nothing about it which is what they want.’ She takes a slurp of her tea. ‘And only an inch of coverage in the local newspaper that no one would even notice.’
We are sat in my kitchen and Mum is hungrily munching on some toast and drinking a second cup of tea.
‘We did consider chaining ourselves to the council office railings, it was good enough for the suffragettes back in the day, which, okay, was at the House of Commons, but you get my drift,’ she says.
‘Oh, Mum.’ I gently shake my head.
‘Anyway,’ she continues. ‘This policeman tells us to move on, which of course we refused to do,’ she says defiantly. ‘Mind you, it probably didn’t help when he said he understood our plight, and that he really loved trees himself, then someone went and asked him if he was from Special Branch. He said he could do without any smart-arse comments, and that he was missing out on a family birthday to be here.’
‘I can see his point, to be fair. Anyway, why would he ask you to move on if you were protesting peacefully?’ I ask puzzled.
‘Well, maybe he didn’t think sitting in the middle of the road stopping traffic was peaceful enough,’ she admits. ‘And the lady who was arrested shook her fist at him, which is apparently classed as threatening behaviour.’
I look at Mum, still pretty in her mid-sixties, her long dark hair in plaits. She is wearing a khaki parka with a fake pink fur-trimmed hood, a black jumper, and jeans all purchased from Vinted. I’m not sure exactly when she became an eco-warrior, but I recall her being nothing of the sort when I was growing up. In fact, I recall my parents being rather wasteful, especially with food, loads of which Mum would chuck in the bin from the fridge when her and Dad returned home with the weekly shop.
I think she had some sort of epiphany when she befriended a lady at her yoga class who was living off-grid in a forest somewhere and introduced her to an alternative lifestyle. Thinking about the arguments though, I guess her and Dad were having marriage problems anyway at the time. I think Mum’s new lifestyle choice just gave them a solid reason to separate.
‘Oh, Mum, really? I don’t believe you should ever stop traffic, someone might be heading to an emergency.’ I frown.
‘It makes the news, and that’s the point. Although, I wouldn’t stop someone if it was a matter of life or death,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m not sure about some of the others though,’ she adds as she sips her tea. ‘One or two have actually considered supergluing their hands to the floor. I read about someone who did just that, and part of the road around them had to be removed.’
‘That really is taking things too far. Promise me you will never do anything like that, Mum.’
‘Of course I wouldn’t. I worry about the destruction of the forests, and the state of the world in general, but I would not do anything like that. Right, that’s me off for a shower before I head down to the food bank,’ she says as she rinses her cup in the sink. ‘Have a good day at work, love.’
I know Mum means well, and we need people to fight the good fight, but I worry she might get into trouble or find herself in a sticky situation, quite literally if she considers gluing herself to something. I guess I must believe her when she says she wouldn’t take things too far.
‘Okay, I’m late for work. Try and stay out of trouble,’ I tell her, feeling a bit like a mother admonishing a child.
‘Don’t worry, I’m heading home after my stint at the food bank to upcycle a mirror using some driftwood for the frame.’
‘That sounds nice,’ I tell her. Feeling relieved she is settling for a quiet day at home.
Mum has always been energetic and I’m glad she still is, but she isn’t exactly a young person and I hate the thought of her being involved in anything dangerous at these demonstrations. I’ve suggested her work at the food bank should be enough, and of course she is always happy to help at the community centre.
Mum can also be relied upon to help in any situation, and also enjoys helping out at the pensioners’ Christmas lunch, but I worry that she seems to be getting more involved in demonstrations of late. At least she lives close enough for me to keep an eye on her, I think to myself as I leave the house.