Xian went white, visibly shuddered and held her silver hip flask upside down over her cup of tea. ‘We could get a Greggs.’
The energy in the room changed as people realised the depth of the problem. People were talking over each other withsuggestions and ideas. Daisy felt simultaneously grateful and exceedingly panicked. The support was wonderful, but it also meant the stakes were high. This wasn't just about her livelihood anymore; it clearly affected a lot of other people, too. It was about Pretty Beach's identity.
Nel stood up. ‘What about social media? We need people sharing stories about why small shops matter to them, why Pretty Beach should stay independent. Make it go viral, put pressure on GayesBooks from outside the town as well as inside.’
Pete nodded. ‘We will use the same tools they use, but for community organising instead of corporate marketing.’
Xian tapped her iPad. ‘I'll start a Facebook page. "Save Pretty Beach Independents" or something like that. Get people sharing, commenting, making noise.’
Pete looked and sounded very serious. ‘We need to be smart about this. We can't just be negative campaigning against GayesBooks. We need to make a positive case for why Pretty Beach is special the way it is.’
‘Exactly. We need to talk about community, about knowing your customers personally, about the sort of service you can't get from a chain store.’
Daisy noted things down frantically, trying to capture all the ideas flying around the room. The petition, the media coverage, the social media campaign.
‘I'll design flyers. Something eye-catching that explains what's at stake. We can put them in every shop window, hand them out at the ferry wharf and train station. We need to make sure everyone in town knows what's happening.’ Chloe offered.
‘I'll talk to the other business owners. If we don't stick together now, we'll be picked off one by one later.’ Suntanned Pete looked panicked.
Holly stood up, pacing to the window and back. ‘We need to think about timing, too. If the survey's happening, we needto make our presence felt before they make any final decisions. Show them Pretty Beach isn't the soft target they think it is.’
‘What about a demonstration?’ Xian suggested. ‘We could get people gathering outside the building with signs, showing community opposition.’
‘Yes, a peaceful protest. We must make it clear this is about protecting what we value, not just opposing change for the sake of it.’ Holly nodded.
Daisy looked around at the faces, many of whom she’d known her whole life and others who were part of her daily existence in Pretty Beach. They were talking about fighting and the idea that a place could have character worth preserving, that community mattered more than convenience. The thing was, though, Daisy had a horrible sense of impending doom for her little town. She just wasn’t convinced. ‘You know they might not care, don't you? GayesBooks, the developers, and the Thornton family. They might decide the money's more important than what we want.’
‘We make it not about money. We make it about reputation, about whether they want to be known as the company that destroyed a beloved coastal town. Bad publicity costs money too.’ Pete sounded adamant.
Nel nodded. ‘And if they do go ahead despite all this, at least we'll have tried. At least we'll have shown that Pretty Beach isn't going to roll over and let itself be bulldozed.’
The meeting continued for another hour, plans taking shape and various responsibilities being assigned. By the time people had started to drift away, Pete had a contact list, a timeline, and the beginnings of a campaign that felt more substantial.
Daisy had stayed to pack chairs, clear away cups and do the washing up. Pete, who’d done the same, was one of the last to leave. He lingered by the door with his thermos tucked under his arm.
‘This is going to work, you know. It’s not because we're guaranteed to win, but because Pretty Beach looks after its own. You're not fighting this battle by yourself.’
‘Thanks, Pete.’
Once she was back home, Daisy sat in the bookshop and tried to process what had just happened. A few hours before, she'd felt helpless against GayesBooks's corporate efficiency. Now she had an army of allies and a plan of attack. However, she had a sinking feeling that despite what they did and no matter how hard Pretty Beach rallied, it wouldn’t work, but it was hope, at least there was that.
29
The edges of Pretty Beach looked as if they had been painted here and there in little dabs of gold; on the corners of the buildings, on the top of the lighthouse and on the crevices of the clouds. Daisy was on her way to clean for Suntanned Pete. She’d taken one look at the weather and had decided to ditch her car and walk down to the ferry to enjoy the sunshine and crisp air. The corporations might be coming for Pretty Beach, but they’d never be able to get its air. There was something about crossing Pretty Beach on the water that always meant a good start to the day and a sort of settling in her bones. Now she was back in Pretty Beach itself, she tried to make the most of it whenever she could.
When Daisy had arrived at the wharf, the east-to-west ferry was halfway through its regular half-hourly loop around Pretty Beach. Daisy had clambered on with her tote bag, a thermos of Earl Grey ready for her day, three packets of wine gums and after a busy morning with the school run and a bookshop delivery, she was ready for a little spot of time to quieten her brain.
Tucking herself into the lower deck on the seaward side, near a crate of tangled rope and an old sign warning NO STANDING NEAR EDGE IN ROUGH CONDITIONS, she puther bag on her lap. One of her favourite spots on the ferry, a slant of sun reached her sleeve and she inhaled clear, crisp sea air. Unscrewing the lid of her tea, she stared out over beautifully behaving water; calm, glassy, just a few ripples catching the light and throwing up a few diamond sparkles here and there.
Above, on the main deck, she could hear one of the crew greeting passengers and the low sound of a group getting on. Voices, laughter, a little tap-tap of feet on the old stairs. Tucked away in the little spot, she saw a group of mums from the school pass on the other side, walk around the front of the ferry and then take a bench seat not far from her alongside the railing. Though in spitting distance, a large pillar rattling with life jackets in pigeonholes and a pile of coiled rope meant Daisy could not be seen. Daisy didn’t move, kept her head down and her hands wrapped around her cup, and hoped the women didn’t turn around.
Georgia’s voice was clear. ‘Isn’t it glorious today? I didn’t even bother with a cardi. This sea today is something else.’
‘It’s got that end-of-summer thing going on. Where you can still wear sunglasses, but you need a scarf in the shade.’
Georgia laughed. ‘Exactly. Do you know, this is the first time in weeks I’ve actually sat still. Between the charity gala, the meeting about the newsagent’s building and the reading rota, I feel like I haven’t had time to breathe. It’s so hard being a stay-at-home mum.’
‘I know, same here. What have you been up to?’
