How to Be Free, page 19
“Read me some,” she said, “please. From the beginning. Would you?”
Good Sister June took a deep breath. She rubbed her eyes.
And then she began.
A QUICK WORD FROM YOUR NARRATOR
That is one ending but there is another yet to come. And in the next chapter, I shall tell you all about it.
THE SECOND ENDING
William Bishop had not slept well after the Incident at the bakery. He kept dreaming about dangling girls appearing out of nowhere before him and disappearing, just as he was about to go and do a Heartfelt Yell at them. And when he was not dreaming about Heartfelt Yelling, he was dreaming about the nuns from that awful school lining up outside of the bakery and pelting him with exquisitely iced cupcakes. It was horrendous.
When he woke up, he made a series of increasingly grumpy phone calls. The first was to Stuart Simpson at the police station where he told him, “If you don’t arrest every single one of those girls the moment that they arrive at the bakery, then I’ll have you arrested instead.” The second was to the governors at the School of the Good Sisters to request a meeting that “would be a most… profitable… endeavour”1 and the third was to Dominic Burton to request that within the next six months Little Hampden would pass a law to ban girls under the age of thirteen years old and replace them with courgettes.
All of this Purposeful Meanness made William feel a lot better. He celebrated by having a kale smoothie for breakfast and heading off towards the bakery ready to continue his plans for the redecoration. As he unlocked the front door to the shop, he heard a helicopter pass overhead. He paused only briefly to look up before stepping inside. A part of him wondered how long it might take before the bakery properly became his. He had not heard from his great-aunt for a long while but he was not particularly worried about that. He had spent so long by himself that he was rather used to the loneliness.
There was a sudden knock on the door.
William swung around. His whole body was ready to yell. It was one of the girls, he thought, they’d come back.
But it was Stuart instead. He pushed open the door and came inside. “I thought you promised me people to arrest?” He gestured outside. “There’s nothing here but pigeons.”
“They’ll come,” said William. “I know it.”
“Well, I can’t stay here forever. I have a job to do.”
“You’ll stay here however long I want you to stay.”
Stuart took a deep breath. He counted to ten. He was starting to think that he had made the wrong choice in taking the bribes from William. He really was very bossy.
All of a sudden, William froze. He stared into the distance. “Do you hear that?”
“Do I hear what?” said Stuart.
“That.”
Stuart looked concerned. “There’s nothing there. You’re imagining things.”
“No,” said William. He took a deep breath. “I’m not.”
Because the enormous group of people marching towards the bakery, was so very, very real.
1 The little dots here indicate the moments during the phone call where William paused for Dramatic Effect. They do not indicate me falling asleep on the keyboard.
YOU’VE GOT TO FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO PROTEST
Rose Bastable was having the time of her life. On one side of her, she had Lucy Millais and on the other, Maisie Holloway, and behind them were Eloise Taylor, Sethi and Sabia Gopal; Ellen Beaufort; Lily Maguire; Sally Campbell; Jia Liu and a great and glorious crowd of girls ranging from first years to the very tall and almost adult girls in their final year.
And behind this remarkable line-up were more people still. Good Sister Christine was walking alongside Good Sister Gwendolyn and Good Sister Robin, and even Good Sister Honey had left her beloved kitchen behind for the day. The whole school was marching on the bakery and they were not alone.
All of their old friends had joined them and all of their new friends as well. Harold Richardson had put in a traffic diversion overnight so that they could march without interruption, before then joining a group of first years and giving them an impromptu lecture on Expressing Your Basic Human Right To Protest.
With every step, the crowd had grown bigger. As they headed past the retirement home, the residents rose from their seats and came out to join them. They were led by a woman called Lisette Bertolini, a silvery-haired and tiny warrior, who was promptly adopted by a crowd of first years who tucked their arms in with hers. They listened adoringly to the stories of her brave and fearless great-grandmother and how she had come to Little Hampden as a refugee many years ago1 and then to the tales of the other retirees who brought with them placards and rainbow-coloured flags and spoke about their own protests at places like Greenham Common and Stonewall.
Just before they’d arrived at the bakery, the girls marched past Little Hampden village hall where the parent and toddler group were busy singing songs. All of the colour and noise caught the eye of the group leader, a woman called Mila Van Dam, and then when she saw what they were protesting about and thought of her own great-grandmother2 and the way that she had spent her life thinking of others, Mila led the toddlers and parents out to join them. Several toddlers, whose legs were just that little bit too small to cope with the march, were immediately hoisted onto the shoulders of the tallest girls, whilst the others were swung up in the arms of the first years, and their parents given restorative jammie dodgers and told that they were doing a Very Good Job by Good Sister Honey and her band of benevolent biscuit-toting assistants.
“I think they’re coming here,” said Stuart, once he had taken all of this in.
William turned on him, furious. “Then why on earth aren’t you stopping them?”
Stuart did not reply. This was not because he did not have anything to say but rather that his police radio had suddenly fizzed into life. And even though he did not wish to admit it, or even really knew it himself these days, underneath all of Stuart’s bad choices and bribe-taking still lay the good policeman that he always wanted to be and good policemen answered their radio. He pulled his radio out of his pocket. “Is there somebody on this channel? Repeat yourself if you are. I didn’t hear your last transmission.”
“It’s me, Stuart, it’s Harold,” said Harold Richardson. “I know we’ve not been best friends but please, you have to listen to me. I bet that man is trying to get you to arrest everybody right now. You don’t have to do that. You know that they’re just practising their democratic right to protest. You can’t do anything unless they use or threaten somebody or something with violence. You know that. So make a choice.”
The radio cut out.
Stuart glanced over at William. “He’s right,” he said. He realized that he was suddenly very relieved. “I can’t do anything about a march. They’re perfectly within their rights to do this. Legally, I have to let it happen.”
“Oh, I’ll show you legalities,” said William. He pressed his knuckles to his forehead and took a deep breath. Even though the march was making a lot of noise, he could hear the curious slapping sound of a helicopter’s rotor blade underneath it all. This was starting to prove very stressful. He needed a way to make it end.
And then he realized that he had a way.
He picked up his phone and made a call. “Get here. I don’t care if you’re seen. Now. I need you. NOW. It’s time for you to pay me back.”
Rose’s march was now only two storefronts away. With every step the girls took, William saw and heard something new. One of the nuns was busily teaching the girls, and indeed anybody who would listen, about how to camouflage yourself inside a crowd3 whilst another nun, with the aid of several first years, was handing out boxes full of freshly made cannoli to the marchers from the retirement home. Another nun had even broken into song and although the words were not particularly clear, nor was the tune especially tuneful, there was something deeply thrilling about the way she sang it. It was almost as if she was leading the girls into battle.
For a moment, William thought that the girls might march all the way into the bakery. He began to think wildly about escape routes and how far he might be able to run through the crowd before they stopped him, but then the march came to a gentle halt just short of the bakery. Rose lifted up her right hand in a pre-arranged signal and chairs began to appear from nowhere for the elder members of the protest to have a nice sit down. From somewhere else came freshly iced buns, some studded with sharp bites of crystallized ginger and others swelling with custardy insides, and from somewhere else came the soft sound of an impromptu story time being held for the tiniest members of the protest and anybody else who cared to listen.
And if William had been paying especial attention to what else was happening, he would have noticed that some of the other first years were wearing high visibility vests and clearing a big space in the middle of the park opposite the bakery, and he would have also noticed that the noise of the helicopter which had been hanging around all morning was suddenly back and louder than before, but he didn’t because he wasn’t paying attention at all.
And Rose Bastable was very happy about that.
“Hello, Mr Bishop,” said Rose.
She gave him a contented smile before an unexpected noise caught her attention. Suddenly concerned, she turned around to see a grown man pushing his way through the crowd towards her. His face was red and he was sweating and he looked very much as if he did not want to be there at all.
The first years did not quite know what to do with him. They glanced at Rose. She gestured at them to allow him through. When he was within earshot, she said, “Hello! You’re the new Mayor of Little Hampden, aren’t you? We were coming to see you later today. We’ve got a petition to give you against the kale café plans. Nobody wants it.”
The noise of the helicopter grew even louder.
Dominic Burton thought longingly of the new and terribly expensive watch he had on order. “I don’t want to see your petition. It’s time for you all to go home. I’ve just passed a bylaw that says gatherings like this are illegal.”
“I thought it took thirty days for bylaws to become legal.”4
“Well, I signed it thirty days ago,” said Dominic. “It’s time for this protest to go home.”
“Oh no,” said Rose with a smile. “We’re not a protest. We’re a distraction.”
And it was then that William noticed the helicopter coming in to land.
1 Who you have met elsewhere in this book.
2 Who you have also met elsewhere in this book.
3 The secret is to look normal and like you’re meant to be there. People notice the unusual things and so they will see the person who is trying to hide rather than the person who is not.
4 Knowing this sort of thing is one of the Extraordinary Skills of the pupils of the School of the Good Sisters and I am so proud of them.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Several people got out of the helicopter. There were three girls,1 two women, two men, and then a very small and penguin-like nun. When the first years saw this individual, they burst into rapturous cheers. Several of the more emotional of them fainted from over-excitement and had to be brought back to life with bourbon creams, carefully wafted under their nostrils, whilst several others began to do an impromptu dance of joy which slowly spread around the whole crowd until everybody was dancing and waving their banners, and in the middle of all this commotion, the nun who had got out of the helicopter stood and wondered how she could have ever let any of this go.
But then she took a deep breath and walked over to where William was standing. She brought with her one of the men who had got off the helicopter and as they got closer, William suddenly recognized him as his greataunt’s solicitor. Here. Now. And that meant only one thing.
“Hello, Mr Bishop,” said Mr Weisenreider, for it was he. “You’re quite a difficult man to get hold of. We’ve been leaving you messages for the past few days.”
“She’s dead,” said William. He felt as if he was in somebody else’s body. This wasn’t happening. None of it was meant to be like this.
Mr Weisenreider nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been handling her will and estate.”
William stared at him. “Did she leave me the bakery?”
“No,” said Mr Weisenreider. “It’s time for you to hand over the keys.”
“No,” said William.
And it was then that several unfortunate things happened all at once.
1 One of which said, “THE ENEMY, AT LAST I SEE HIM, LET ME CLONK HIM ON THE HEAD WITH A MACARON,” and had to be Tactfully Persuaded that now was not the moment for macaron clonking by her two best friends in the entire world.
SEVERAL VERY UNFORTUNATE THINGS HAPPENING ALL AT ONCE
William’s “No” coincided with Good Sister Robin pausing for breath in her song and so she overheard everything. It appalled her so much that she let out a squeak of horror which was then misinterpreted by the nearest first years as the next line of the song and something which they should repeat. The result was a cacophonous sound, the likes of which had never been heard in Little Hampden before, and which made many of the nearest toddlers burst into tears and William say rude things1 and gesture angrily at them to stop.
The only problem was that this gesture was misinterpreted by several of the other first years, who were serving rejuvenating snacks to Lisette Bertolini and her fellow retirees, as a request by William to try some of their baked goods. Deeply excited at this change in his behaviour, they promptly began to advance upon William with trays full of cake pops and caramel slices and tiny, exquisitely iced fondant fancies. The only issue was that the trays were so full that the carriers did not see the crack in the paving stones ahead of them.
And because Dominic Burton had not been spending the council money on fixing the paving stones of Little Hampden and had instead been increasingly spending it on himself, the first years who walked over the cracks in the paving stones ended up doing some rather spectacular somersaults which resulted in the contents of their trays flying straight towards William Bishop and the small group of people who surrounded him.
It was at this point that Gareth, who had watched all of this happen, made his move. He launched himself forward and somersaulted over the toddlers who were now being cuddled and comforted, and headed straight towards Mr Weisenreider and Good Sister June where, without stopping, he gathered Mr Weisenreider under one arm and Good Sister June under the other and bore them both to safety.
This meant that the only people left for the baked goods to land upon were Dominic Burton and William Bishop. Dominic received a cream puff to the forehead, several chocolate chip muffins to his stomach, and several doughnut holes landed neatly inside his ears. It was at this point that he rather breathlessly realized that all of this had been witnessed by people who had votes in the next election and so he tried to leave. The only problem was that Maisie Holloway and Harold Richardson were in his way.
“Hello, Mr Mayor,” said Mr Richardson. “It’s a funny thing. It turns out that when an elected official like yourself threatens young girls and turns out to have been taking bribes, not a lot of people like that. It’s time for you to be arrested.”
“I bet you wish you’d looked at our petition now,” said Maisie.
And then, of course, there was William himself. At the precise moment Dominic had been hit by the cake, William had taken a step back and thought that it might miss him. It did not.
An iced bun hit his forehead and then slid stickily down his face, leaving a trail of raspberry jam and icing sugar behind it. Several doughnuts bounced off his left shoulder; a vanilla slice gently exploded into his knees; a number of cake pops ricocheted against his chest and then a long and rather exquisitely iced Swiss roll, launched through the air like an exuberant spear, saw him completely lose his balance. As he fell, a raspberry jelly splatted gently against his nose whilst rainbow sprinkles, from the inside of one of Good Sister Honey’s surprise cakes, scattered themselves across his hair and face.
And everybody watching this, from toddler to retiree, fell into a sudden and quite awe-struck silence.
Gareth gently put down Mr Weisenreider and Good Sister June.
Harold Richardson clicked the handcuffs around Dominic’s wrists.
A small dollop of chocolate ganache hit William Bishop’s bottom lip.
“The keys to the bakery,” said Mr Weisenreider gently. “If you please, Mr Bishop.”
William looked up. Almost instinctively, he licked his lips. He said, “I never knew—” And then he did not say anything else because the taste of the ganache had unlocked a perfect memory inside of him. He was standing in front of his mother and she was smiling. She had had the most beautiful smile but he had forgotten it. He had forgotten her.
And now the ganache had made him remember.
He looked up at Mr Weisenreider. He handed him the keys. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got it all wrong. All of it.”
And then he looked at Good Sister June properly, for the first time since she had got out of the helicopter.
“Oh, Mr Bishop,” she said. She rested her hand on his forehead. “You look like your great-aunt. I’d like to talk with you about her some time. If you’re able. If you’d like.”
“I don’t know,” said William softly. “I just don’t know.”
“You don’t have to make a decision now,” said Good Sister June as she reached into her pocket.
And ever so gently, offered him a biscuit.
1 “SPIRULINA SMOOTHIES!”
A FINAL WORD FROM YOUR NARRATOR
I know that we have had a lot of endings but there is one more yet to come.1
And this ending begins several days later, with a conversation in the library between Good Sister June and Hanna Kowalczyk.
