Chapter 24
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
That year you were away was a strange one for me.
A first at that point – you and Ollie both far away.
When your calls went quiet, I guessed you hadn’t found the right job to move to, or you’d decided to stay where you were, to ride it out.
Another year had passed during which I’d seen you twice.
Made a fleeting visit to where you were living; misinterpreted your reluctance to come back to a house which held too many memories for you.
Until one evening, there was a knock on the door that startled me. Dreading it was Ryan, I went to open it.
But you were standing there. ‘Mum?’ You looked hesitant. ‘Can I come home?’
Home. A word that had always been so laden with expectation – mine, rather than yours. Of course I wanted you home, as I always would. But for you, it was only ever going to be a stopgap, rather than the answer you sought.
As you came inside, my mind was filled with questions as I hugged you, then closed the door behind you. ‘How did you get back?’ I asked.
But instead of answering, you just stood there, looking around. ‘I hardly recognise this place,’ you said. ‘You’ve made it look amazing.’
‘Thank you.’ I watched you take off your jacket, automatically hanging it up next to the door – a new coat hook in the same place as the old ones used to be. ‘How long are you home for?’
You sighed. ‘I’m not sure.’ An anxious look crossed your face. ‘Are you sure it’s OK if I stay?’
‘Of course it is,’ I said hastily. ‘You don’t have to ask. It’s your home, Lex.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ you said quietly, gratefully, relief on your face. ‘I’d better take my stuff upstairs.’ You paused. ‘Is my room still the same?’
‘It’s the same room,’ I said. ‘But different. Go and take a look!’ I added.
I went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, waiting until you came back down before making us cups of tea.
‘You kept Eeyore,’ you said.
‘Of course I did.’ How could I not have? ‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it,’ you said. ‘It’s the same, but different – as you said.’
‘Here.’ I passed you a mug. ‘Have you eaten?’
You shook your head. ‘Not yet.’
As we sat at the kitchen table, I noticed how tired you looked, that the light had gone out in your eyes. ‘Me neither. I’ll make us something in a bit.’ I paused. ‘I’m guessing you’ve left your job.’
‘Yes,’ you said flatly. ‘Awful, isn’t it? I thought it was going to be my dream job – actually getting paid to work for an animal welfare charity. Weird, though. It wasn’t at all what I thought it would be.’
I cupped my hands around my cup of tea. ‘In what way, Lex?’
‘I thought that everything would revolve around what animals need – like press and media campaigns and interviews,’ you said.
‘But first and foremost, it’s a business.
’ For a moment you didn’t speak. ‘Don’t get me wrong.
I completely get that. But when they publish information about what they’re supposedly doing, most of what they put out is a pack of lies.
On the face of it, they allege to be working to protect the welfare of animals.
I’ll give you an example. Since I started there, they’ve been working on a set of standards for the industrial farming sector.
They call them high welfare. But the reality is completely different and the animals’ lives are wretched.
The public believe the pretty photos of cows cavorting in grassy fields.
And it’s true that some get to live like that.
But most of them don’t – and the public aren’t told this.
They have no idea what the reality of industrial farming is. ’
My heart went out to you. ‘So you resigned.’
‘Not exactly.’ A tinge of pink appeared in your cheeks. ‘I leaked what they’re doing to the press. And I got found out.’ You shrugged. ‘They asked me to leave. It was fair enough. I knew there was a risk, but in any case, I couldn’t have gone on working there.’
It was a step further than you’d gone before, yet there seemed an inevitability to it. ‘Who did you leak the story to?’ I asked.
You named one of the broadsheets. ‘They’re writing a series of pieces on animal welfare.
It’s causing quite a backlash from the industry.
’ For a moment, there was fire in your eyes.
‘The trouble is it takes so long for any changes to be put in place. And meanwhile, millions of animals are stuck in this bloody hideous system.’ The fire in your eyes was gone; you looked defeated.
It explained why you’d stayed so long, to try to use your job to your advantage. ‘I’m proud of you, Lex.’ I was – inordinately proud of you, for being true to your principles, for doing what you could to bring about change. But I couldn’t help feeling concerned, too.
‘Thanks,’ you said. ‘I’m not sure how much good it’s done.
But…’ You hesitated. ‘The paper have asked me if I’ll go undercover.
They weren’t going to. To start with, they said I’m too young.
I told them I wasn’t – and no one else has the knowledge I have.
There’s a massive industrial dairy farm they’ve been tipped off about.
They want me to check it out. They want me to get inside under the guise of being sympathetic to them. ’
Suddenly I was wary. ‘How will you do that?’
‘I haven’t decided for sure – but something along the lines of researching for a piece about the economics of modern milk production. Farming is tough – there’s no denying that. But it shouldn’t come at the cost of cruelty to the animals.’
‘Be careful, won’t you?’ I said. ‘If they find out what you’re really up to, they’re not going to be at all happy about it.’
‘I have thought about this,’ you said. ‘I know enough about what goes on to be convincing. And right now, it’s the only way I have of making a difference.’
I knew when to back off; when your determination was unquestionable, when you were unstoppable. This was one of those times. ‘When are you doing it?’
‘I’m waiting to hear back from them, but probably sometime next week.’
As soon as that? ‘Don’t give them your real name,’ I warned.
You rolled your eyes at me. ‘Mum! Stop worrying! I know what I’m doing.’
* * *
But you couldn’t have known the impact that day on the farm would have on you. You told me later, it was one of the biggest farms in the country. After, it was as though the misery of the cows had seeped into your pores; that you carried the weight of their suffering.
In the week that followed, you agonised over the piece you put together that was both beautifully written and powerful.
The reaction it set off was everything you’d hoped it would be.
You were accused of spying, of inventing facts.
The farm denied all allegations, insisting it abided by animal welfare laws.
But you had images that told the truth. You’d also opened another door into the dark side of animal agriculture, fuelled a conversation that continued to build.
‘It raises the point, doesn’t it?’ You passed me your copy of the newspaper, where another diatribe had been unleashed. ‘If current animal welfare laws allow places like this to exist, they need massively overhauling.’
‘Not all farms are like this,’ I reminded you. ‘There are ethical dairy farms.’ I’d been reading about them. ‘Why don’t you cover one of them?’
‘Because they don’t need exposing,’ you said. ‘They’re completely different. They’re trailblazers and they’re definitely the way to go. I welcome that. But my challenge is to expose the abuse that still dominates the industry.’
* * *
‘You’ve got to admire Lexie,’ Lucy had said as we’d worked that weekend. ‘She’s bloody brave, Edie.’
‘I know she is.’ I was silent, thinking of you at home, researching your next mission. ‘I’m proud of her. But I’m worried she’s getting involved with businesses that have a lot to lose. It could turn nasty.’
‘That’s what pushes her to do what she does,’ Lucy said.
‘A lesser-driven mortal wouldn’t be able to.
’ She paused. ‘These flowers are stunning.’ She was looking at the delphiniums and cornflowers I’d grown that I’d picked early this morning.
The theme for the wedding was shades of blue, with delicate silver foliage. ‘Pretty wedding, isn’t it?’
Halfway through the morning, you came wandering into our workshop.
‘Hey, lovely girl,’ Lucy called out. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I needed to get away from my laptop.’ You looked at me. ‘I thought I’d come and see if you wanted a hand.’
‘Please… Here.’ I passed you some scissors. ‘This lot needs trimming and the leaves stripped off.’ I pointed to a bucket of flowers that had just come in.
‘Cool.’ After watching me and Lucy for years, working with flowers was almost second nature to you. ‘I like these colours.’
‘Your mum grew most of them,’ Lucy said proudly.
‘Good for you, Mum.’ You looked approving. ‘How is Mary these days?’
‘Getting older – like all of us,’ Lucy said. ‘But otherwise, just the same.’
‘I like her,’ you said. ‘She always used to make me and Ollie cakes when you took on the garden.’
‘I remember.’ I felt a pang of nostalgia. It seemed a lifetime ago that we first went there. You and Ollie loving the freedom you felt there, while I slowly tamed its wildness.
I watched you out of the corner of my eye, briefly lost in the flowers you were trimming, determined to try to lure you here more often. ‘You could work for us, when we have weddings to set up,’ I suggested.
‘Brilliant idea,’ Lucy said. ‘I read your piece,’ she went on. ‘Honestly, Lexie, I have nothing but admiration for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Your face changed. ‘Someone has to write about these things,’ you said. ‘I can’t sit back knowing I could be doing something.’
I wished so much, Lexie, you could sit back; just for once, let others take the strain. But such was the path you’d carved out for yourself. And I knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t have had it any other way.
* * *
Wedding season was manic that year – my mind preoccupied, the hours I was at home filled with catching up on chores, meaning I saw you only fleetingly; now and then, believing I saw a change in you, my fears allayed when you pinned on a smile, told me you’d been to the animal shelter.
How they’d offered you your old job back.
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘I’m going to do a few days here and there – when I’m not writing.’ You hesitated. ‘I’m going to start looking around for a place of my own.’
‘There’s no rush. You can stay here as long as you want to,’ I told you. I knew how independent you were, but I had a need I couldn’t explain to keep you within my sights; had a fear I couldn’t shake that this world – that you were so intent on changing – was slowly but surely destroying you.