Page 17 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
Last night, too full of buttery duck and giant chips to sleep, Willow searched for more information on ‘dry spilling’ – water companies illegally dumping sewage when itwasn’training heavily. Seemed it was mostly sneaky, done quickly, so it wouldn’t be detected. But one website, set up by a group of surfers, claimed water companies were responsible formillionsof tons of raw sewage in the waterways each year. Harvey had said that the companies were rarely punished because they had too much political influence. But this site claimed it was because no one had been able to prove it was deliberate company policy. To prosecute, the regulator had to prove that the company owners and managers not only knew it was happening but had endorsed it as a strategy, to avoid paying the vast sums of money needed to upgrade their infrastructure and thus significantly reduce their annual profit and related bonuses.
Wow, was Willow’s reaction, swiftly followed by,Bastards.Money-grubbing, self-serving, shit-dumping arsehole bastards.At first, she hadn’t much relished the prospect of swimming in water that was almost certainly polluted, but now, she’d plough through actual turds to help provide proof. She’d just be sure to keep her mouth closed and have a very long, hot shower afterwards.
No turds were evident this morning. And, to be fair, they hadn’t been on the list of things Willow had been told to watch out for. Discoloured patches of water and very bad smells were, along with distressed wildlife, such as fish gasping for air. Wet wipes and sanitary pads were also a giveaway. You weren’t supposed to flush them as they blocked the pipes, but people did. Willow tried not to think about used condoms.
About a mile along, Willow spotted what looked like a sewer pipe sticking out of the bank. She trod water, not wanting to go closer, but there didn’t seem to be anything leaking out of it. She was oddly disappointed. She’d expected to find proof right away,gallons of waste being spewed out, a noxious stink rising from blackened water thick with dead wildlife. Here was nothing but a rusty pipe.
Now, she had some insight into why it was taking so long for Piggers and his group to collate evidence. And why it was so easy for the companies to pollute and get away with it. People who used the waterwayswereprotesting, she’d learned that last night in her research. But, as Harvey said, to force change you needed alotof people to notice the problem and publicly object. Not just a few surfers, who were probably stoned most of the time, anyway.
As Willow swam back, she wondered yet again whether she should check on Charlie – or get someone else to do it. She’d lost touch with their friends over the past year, or, more accurately, they’d stopped contacting her, and it would feel weird to ask one of them to step in. There was Maeve, of course, but her approach would be ‘kill or cure’ and it seemed unfair to inflict that on Charlie, no matter what he’d done.
What he’d done–Willow had been thinking hard about what that might be. Up until lately, she’d assumed he’d left because he’d needed more than she could offer him. She’d known he was dissatisfied at work, and yearning to do something more meaningful, and she’d imagined he’d left to do just that. But thinking back, when he talked about his plans, he’d always included her. What could have been so important to him that he’d leave without warning, and risk everything he seemed to hold dear?
And what was he doingnow, working for a company whose values he should by rights despise? Maybe he needed the money? Maybe he’d got in debt and that’s what he’d meant when he said he’d been an idiot? Maybe he’d got in debt to someonebadand–
Willow forced herself to shut down this train of thought. Charlie wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t get involved with bad people; he simplywouldn’t.
Then again,shewas now involved with people she knew nothing about whatsoever. She didn’t know their motives, or their end game. For all she knew, they could be terrorists. Another train of thought she did not want to pursue.
Willow dried herself and wrapped the towel around her to provide coverage while she changed. Not that there was anyone watching her, only a few cows in the field, sedately munching grass. It was beautiful round here, in the deep countryside, and to Willow, it never really seemed to change. But her new-found knowledge told her not to take it for granted. There was a war on: profit versus the environment. And right now, profit was winning. She could only hope that the people she was providing intel toweregood, and that their combined actions would make a positive difference.
Across the field, a lone raven flapped lazily. Its gleaming black plumage and confident attitude reminded Willow of Geillis. The town’s resident witch, apparently. Who certainly knew a lot about swans. And – possibly – rivers.
If anyone was an undercover environmental activist, it would be Geillis, Willow decided. After work, she’d pay yet another visit to the Oak and Whale. Might not get her anywhere, but as she’d recently found out – if you don’t ask, you don’t get. Even if you’re not sure exactly what you’re asking for.
Chapter Thirteen
Geillis was busy serving customers at the bar, so Willow hung back and waited her turn. Geillis normally wore clothing as black as her hair, but this evening, she had on what looked like vintage Vivienne Westwood, an oversize white tee covered in scribbled drawings and slogans. Willow made out the wordsI AM NOT A TERRORISTand wondered if that was, in fact, correct.
As Geillis pulled a pint, Willow noticed a new tattoo on her arm. A raven. Because of course. Willow had never had been particularly interested in fantasy or folklore, much preferring stories that felt real. But she was starting to feel that ‘reality’ was more complicated than she’d previously believed, and that forces unknown might well be at work.
Either that, or she was readingfartoo much into what was genuinely a series of unrelated coincidences. It wasn’t as if Geillis could haveplantedthose swans near her swimming spot, could she …?
‘What can I get you?’
Geillis was right there, with the usual challenging glint in her green-gold eyes.
‘Um, do you have five minutes?’ Willow said. ‘I – need to ask you something.’
Geillis glanced at the door behind the bar, and as if summoned, through it came the pub’s new owner, the pink-haired woman who also sold flowers at the weekend farmers’ market. Willow had absolutely no clue how old she was, anything from forty to a well-preserved seventy.
‘Can you mind the bar for five?’ Geillis asked her boss.
‘Of course, dear,’ was the reply.
Unlike Geillis, the woman had a cheerful demeanour, but Willow was wary of her own ability to judge people. Who knew what lay behind the smile?
Willow followed Geillis through the pub to a far table. Geillis had on skintight black jeans that showed off her perfect rear end. In most pubs, a certain type of man would inevitably take advantage of a barmaid coming within bottom-pinching reach, but no one here even looked up as they passed by. Willow wishedshecould command that kind of respect. It would make life a whole lot easier.
‘What’s up?’ Geillis said, briskly, as they sat down.
Now that she had Geillis’s attention, Willow was suddenly tongue-tied. Everything she wanted to ask her seemed either risky or ridiculous. But she couldfeelGeillis’s impatience, so she went with the first thing that came out of her mouth.
‘What do you know about the activist group taking on the water company?’
‘What doyouwant to know about them?’ was Geillis’s unhelpful response.
‘I–’ Willow thought hard. ‘I want to know what their end game is. Legal prosecution? Or something else …’
