The crowd gradually quiets down, and everyone turns expectantly toward Robin.

“Friends, supporters, lovers of the countryside,” he begins, his voice echoing in the clear afternoon air. “I ask you all to take a moment and look around at what we have. We have beauty. We have wildlife. We have all we need.”

He pauses for effect, just like I coached him, letting the message sink in. The wind is ruffling his hair, and his face is flushed with animation.

“Do we need a shopping center?”

“No! No! No!” we all yell back at the tops of our voices.

“Do we need pollution?”

“No! No! No!”

“Do we need any more pointless consumerist rubbish? Does anyone need any more”—he casts around derisively—“cushions?”

“No…” I begin with everyone else — then stop myself. I could actually do with some nice cushions for our bed. In fact, I saw some really nice cashmere ones in a magazine only yesterday.

But… that’s OK. Everyone knows activists sometimes disagree on minor technical points. And I agree with everything else Robin is saying. Just not about the cushions.

“Do we want an eyesore on our land?” shouts Robin, spreading his arms.

“No! No! No!” I yell back happily. Jess blows her whistle, and I look at it a bit enviously. Next time I go on a protest, I’m definitely taking a whistle.

“Now let’s hear from another of our activists!” yells Robin, “Becky! Get up here!”

My head jerks up.

What? This wasn’t in the plan.

“The girl who’s held this campaign together!” he says. “The girl whose ideas and spirit have made this happen! Let’s hear it for Becky!”

Everyone is turning toward me with admiring faces. Robin starts applauding, and everyone gradually joins in.

“Go on, Becky,” says Jess, over the noise. “They really want you!”

I do a quick scan around. There’s no sign of Luke.

Oh, come on. I have to show my support.

It’s difficult to walk with my plaster cast, but somehow I hobble through the crowd to the stepladder and carefully climb to the top with Robin’s help. Below me is a sea of excited faces, all looking up in the sunshine.

“Hello, Piper’s Hill!” I yell into the microphone, and an almighty cheer comes back from the crowd, complete with hoots and whistles and frantically beating drums.

God, this is fantastic! It’s like being a pop star!

“This is our country!” I shout, gesturing at the rippling green grass around us. “This is our land! We won’t give it up!”

Another delighted cheer erupts.

“And to anyone who wants us to give it up…” I shout, waving my arms around. “To anyone who thinks they can come and take it away from us… I say this! I say, Go home!”

There’s a third uproarious cheer. I’m totally elated. This seems to come naturally! Maybe I should be a politician!

“I say, give up now!” I yell. “Because we’re going to fight! On the beaches! And on the—”

There’s a slight kerfuffle going on in the crowd, and I break off, trying to see what’s happening.

“They’re coming!” I can hear people shouting.

“Boo!” The whole crowd is hissing and jeering.

“It’s them!” cries Robin, from the grass below. “Bastards! Let ’em have it!”

And suddenly I freeze. Five men in dark suits are making their way swiftly to the front of the crowd.

One of them is Luke.

OK, I think, I need to get down off this ladder. At once.

Except it’s not as easy as that, when one leg is in bloody plaster. I can barely move.

“Er… Robin, I’d like to get down now!” I call.

“You stay there!” shouts Robin. “Carry on with your speech! It’s great!”

I frantically grasp my crutch and am trying to maneuver myself off the top, when Luke looks up and sees me.

I have never seen him so shell-shocked. He stops dead and just stares at me. I can feel my face burning.

Something tells me organizing a protest against your husband’s client has got to be even worse than selling his Tiffany clocks.

“Don’t let the bastards intimidate you, Becky!” Robin hisses urgently from below. “Ignore them! Keep speaking! Go on!”

I’m stuck. There’s nothing else I can do. I clear my throat and focus on Kelly’s enthusiastic face.

“Um… we’re going to fight!” I call out, my voice cracking a bit. “I say… er… go home!”

By now the five men are standing in a row, arms folded, looking up at me. Three men who I don’t recognize, plus Gary and Luke.