Chapter Thirteen
For the next few days Paddy continued to settle into a Cornish rhythm. She still wasn’t sure what to do about the big house. The German film crew had left and the grounds were quiet again. It just seemed like a colossal waste. The village needed no interference from its owner; when she had held the small meeting in the pub the general tone was cautiously welcoming once they were happy that eviction wasn’t imminent. Paddy could see there were some concerns about rent increases but Ari had said that was not going to happen in the first year and was unlikely to be anything other than the general inflationary rise in the following year.
One morning she drove into Truro. She was getting a bit braver about driving, and following a tip from Paul, she had switched the satnav to make sure it picked the main roads not the interesting and terrifying lanes that seemed to comprise most of the Cornish road network. When she first arrived, she’d visited a local fishing village and had been appalled to discover the tiny road she was on was actually two way, despite it only being one car wide. A caravan was heading towards her and they were looking even more alarmed than she was. Behind them was a string of cars all snaking down from a steep hill that must have been terrifying for the caravan owner to drive down. The cars behind her were reversing back and around the corner of the shops and houses, and try as she might, she was making a total pig’s ear of the same manoeuvre. Eventually, a pedestrian tapped on her window and with a large smile offered to reverse her car for her. She was certain her insurance would have had something to say about that but she couldn’t get out of her car quickly enough. As she got out, she could see there was quite a crowd of jammed traffic and curious passers-by. She was fully expecting scornful glances but instead people seemed mostly sympathetic. She did hear some woman muttering that people who couldn’t reverse their cars should stay up-country. She wanted to point out that she’d learnt to drive in London; she’d like to see that woman manage Tower Hamlets at rush hour. Deciding a smile would work better, she gave the crowd a little grimace and followed her car as it was swiftly reversed around the corner and promptly parked up in a tiny lay-by. Seconds later the caravan drove past her and she gave them an encouraging thumbs up. She wasn’t sure if they noticed, their eyes seemed wide and fixed. Oh dear, she thought, welcome to Cornwall. Remembering what Hal had said about the Cornish roads in summer she began to get some understanding of what he meant. Lots of caravans on these tiny roads would be a nightmare.
Retrieving her keys, she thanked everyone profusely and then decided she had had enough excitement for one day and had driven home rather than exploring any further. She absolutely didn’t like people glaring at her.
Driving into Truro, though, was a doddle. This was the county’s only city although she found the description didn’t quite match what she had in mind. To her a city had shopping malls, and congestion, beggars and high rises. This one had streams running along the pavements and wide-open spaces. Making light work of its peculiar roundabouts, Paddy parked up and went off for an explore. The past week had been incredibly sunny and surprisingly warm for the beginning of March and Paddy was looking forward to long sunny days stretching out ahead of her. The hedgerows were turning yellow with primroses and she felt herself falling in love with Cornwall again. How pretty it was, as each month arrived with the promise of soft winds and a new colour.
Today, however, she had woken up to a wet and chilly sea mist and despite it not being freezing it was cold enough for her to wrap up in a large coat and a pair of heavy leather boots. She had watched on the news how farmers up north were pulling their livestock out of snowdrifts and she marvelled at how different the weather was in this little tip of Britain. Speaking to Ari in Norfolk and Clem in Scotland, she was aware they were both still very much in the grip of winter, Clem in particular. The Cornish drizzle, however, didn’t seem to be hampering anyone’s moods and she decided that wet skies were just a way of life here in Cornwall. Which reminded her to pick up some hair serum. The sea water and damp air were killing her curls.
As she reached a large plaza, she could see other people were also braving the rather dismal weather. There was a busy farmers’ market going on, as well as a small protest group and a children’s merry-go-round. Whilst small, the market seemed to have just enough of everything she could want and she wandered between each stall, adding to her shopping as she went. Each stand seemed more tempting than the last and she was beginning to wish she had more arms as her purchases began to pile up. Just as she was juggling some mackerel with a bunch of daffodils the stallholder offered to keep her bags behind the counter for her, saying she could collect them when she’d finished with the rest of her shopping. Paddy looked at her amazed. Who did that? Every time she thought she was getting used to life outside of London, it threw her another curve ball. Thanking the lady profusely she headed towards Waterstones. However, she kept looking back over her shoulder, wondering if she wasn’t being a total idiot. Not looking where she was going, she bumped into someone and started apologising. It was one of a small group of protestors that had been calling out to passing shoppers. As she spoke, Paddy bent down to pick up some of the leaflets from the wet pavement and was horrified by the brutal images of animal cruelty covering the pamphlets.
‘Oh my god. This is awful!’ She shoved the leaflets back to the girl, desperate to get the images away from her. Tears instantly began to well up in her eyes, those poor rabbits.
Thanking her for helping, the girl asked Paddy if she wanted to sign their petition banning hunting in the county. Paddy agreed instantly and the protestor looked her up and down.
Mandz was always on the lookout for opportunities; as cunning as the fox she protected, she was always quick to exploit a new angle. Now, looking at this well-groomed girl, head to toe in casually expensive clothing, Mandz spotted a photo opportunity. She’d look great at a protest or a rally. It was a look she herself scorned, preferring her long blonde dreadlocks, patchwork trousers and rainbow DMs, but she knew the media liked to negatively portray her and her fellow activists. This girl could be a model and Mandz knew that the papers would print any picture with someone this striking in it.
Taking the clipboard back she thanked her for her signature. ‘You know, it’s just nice to see someone caring. It breaks my heart how people walk past us and walk past these poor tortured animals.’ She gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘How can they sleep at night knowing badgers are being ripped out of their beds, foxes are being torn apart by dogs, that rabbits are trapped in cages, poisons being dripped into their eyes.’
Paddy felt quite sick just thinking about it. She always tried to buy ethically and eat as little meat as possible but maybe she should be doing more.
‘If only people would do more,’ the girl went on. ‘We have an event next weekend and we can’t get anyone to sign up. They’d rather sit at home, watching TV or getting drunk. No one cares.’
Paddy had always shied away from protestors and petitions but if she was no longer going to be a model then this was fine. Wasn’t it?
‘What’s the event?’
Paddy listened as the earnest young woman introduced herself and explained there was a landholders annual meeting and they were going to be discussing new routes for the dogs to ride.
‘What we will be doing is having a discussion and seeing what can be done to find a solution everyone can agree on.’
In fact it was no such thing, but Mandz knew the sort of people would be there that they wanted to target, and because it wasn’t a hunt meeting, they would be off their guard and there’d be no security. But she didn’t need to explain the finer details to this girl.
When Paddy said she thought fox hunting was banned, Mandz snorted. ‘Oh yeah. That’s what they want you to think. And then their dogs, who are supposed to be running after a liquorish scent for fun, get the scent of a fox and there’s no controlling them, they’re off. They should all be put down.’ Seeing Paddy’s alarm she changed tack, ‘Or re-housed, obviously, if they can be trained not to attack cats or children. Which they do you know.’
Paddy didn’t know this at all. It was terrible. Why weren’t more people doing something about this?
‘That’s the trouble with the elite, they just do what they want, riding around destroying the countryside, shooting at anything that moves. Don’t get me started on pheasant shooting or the badger cull.’
Paddy was horrified; she didn’t know any of this. Of course she knew about laboratory testing and the fur trade. It would be hard not to in her line of work but she had no idea about badger culls or dogs attacking children or birds being bred just to be shot at. When Hal had talked about shoots on his estate, she thought he just meant they got lucky with birds that flew past. She was appalled at how na?ve she had been, living in the city. Thank God there were people in the countryside trying to fix things. Promising she would join them, she gave the girl her phone number and then headed off to continue her shopping. She felt encouraged that she had just taken a positive step to get involved in the local community. The girl had seemed so earnest and Paddy felt that she could finally contribute in a positive way.
Heading home she decided to call Ari that evening and ask if she was aware of the issues in Norfolk. It would help to know both sides of the argument. The more information she had, the more she’d be able to get involved and try and help.