Ken MacLeod - Intrusion

‘But we don’t agree on it!’ said Carolyn.

Hope blinked. ‘If you say so. But leaving beliefs out of it… why is it a problem for you if I do the same thing as you do? I mean, one more nature kid can’t be that much of a risk, and it’s a risk you’re willing to take yourselves.’

Carolyn was frowning. ‘You don’t get it,’ she said. ‘You’re missing the point. It’s not the infections; it’s that you’re putting at risk the live-and-let-live thing. I mean, people put up with us because we have a good reason, and if you’re doing it without a good reason and the Kasrani case becomes a precedent and all that, then they might well turn on us. They might say, well, if it’s so important that we have to force it on a mum who doesn’t want it, why should the faith mums be different? Because, see, the fix doesn’t work for everything, and there’s always the chance that one of our kids might catch something serious and pass it on to, you know, the other kids, so it’s a balance, right? We’ve got our faith, well our faiths, OK, on our side of the balance, and people respect that, but you’re just causing trouble.’

Chloe and Sophie nodded along. Miss Petrie looked from face to face helplessly. Hope took another step back.

‘You’re really telling me,’ she said, ‘that you’d rather I had the fix than not?’

Carolyn looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, not exactly…’

‘You don’t actually care if other people have the fix, do you?’ Hope accused. ‘Just as long as you’re left alone to stick to your, oh, your deeply held beliefs. You’re as selfish as the anti-vaccers.’

‘You’re the one who’s being selfish,’ said Carolyn.

‘You don’t believe in nothing,’ Sophie said. She’d just stopped recording, and now spoke up. ‘I mean, what’s it to you anyway? I have my guru, what do you have?’

‘I have a job to go to,’ said Hope.

She turned away.

Next day the weather was better: still chilly, overcast, but not actually raining or snowing. Miss Petrie’s cagoule was open, over a buttoned-up green cardigan and flower-printed dress. The cagoule wafted behind her as she hurried about, talking to a dozen or so mothers and two fathers outside the nursery-school gate. As Hope walked up with Nick, the parents all lined up across the pavement in front of her. The three Hope had spoken to the day before – Carolyn, Chloe and Sophie – were in the middle of the row and slightly forward of the rest. Miss Petrie stood a little away from them, swithering for a moment, and then stepped forward.

‘Can I take Nick for a little walk round the corner?’ she said. ‘Just for a few minutes, while you…’ She gestured vaguely behind her.

‘No,’ said Hope. ‘You can’t.’

Nick tugged at her hand. ‘I want to!’

Hope looked down at his pleading face and tried to smile.

‘Just hold on a moment, Nick,’ she said. She turned to Miss Petrie. ‘Not this again.’

‘I’m sorry, Hope,’ said Miss Petrie. ‘All the faith kids’ parents and some of the, uh, the other parents are concerned about—’

‘Don’t give me any more of that crap, Miss Petrie! I don’t care what their concerns are. They’re being ignorant, bigoted and unfair and that’s all there is to it. Your job isn’t to pander to them, or even argue with them. Your job’s to ignore them, tell them to go somewhere else, and to get the… get out of our way before you call the police. They can arrange an appointment with Mrs Wilson if they want to discuss school policy. Now, will you tell them that, or will I?’

Miss Petrie’s troubled face brightened.

‘Well, that’s a way of looking at it, Hope. I will raise the point about how this is out of my hands…’

Her voice trailed off and her gaze locked on something behind Hope’s shoulder. Her mouth opened, and stayed open. Hope turned and looked around. Five or six young women, hands linked, were skipping along the pavement towards them. As they came within a few metres they started singing. The line split. Someone caught Hope’s right hand, and someone else caught Nick’s left hand, and in a moment the line had formed a ring, with Miss Petrie outside it. Hope felt an odd thrill as the stranger’s fingers interlaced with hers, and an obscure sense that there was something missing, something not as obvious as a finger, about the hand, but before she had time to process either thought, she felt a tug to one side and to keep her balance had to sidestep, and then again, and then she and Nick were whirling around with the young women, who were all smiling and singing:

‘Ring a ring a roses, a pocket full of posies…’

She heard Nick’s voice joining in. ‘ Atishoo! Atishoo! ’

She couldn’t help joining in herself, on the last line, but the others didn’t shout out what she did. They shouted:

‘We all JUMP UP!’

And they did, giving Hope’s shoulders a wrench as she tried to fall down as everyone else including Nick jumped up. She’d just sorted herself out from that when her arms were again tugged as the women and Nick all moved a few steps towards the school gate and then started again, side-skipping around in a ring. After a couple more rounds of this they were at the gate – Miss Petrie, and one of the fathers and two of the mothers who tried to intercept them, were brushed aside by the whirligig of bodies. The next time they stopped, Nick was standing right in front of the now open gate. Well done, Miss Petrie! Hope ducked and gave him a quick kiss on the top of the head, which got her an ‘I’m-too-old-for-that’ scowl.

‘In you go!’ she said.

Dizzy, and with a puzzled look, Nick ran in. He glanced back over his shoulder and gave a quick wave. Hope barely had time to wave back before her hands were snatched again and she was hauled into skipping along the pavement with the other women. She looked back, and saw Carolyn, Chloe, Sophie and the rest of the group of parents who’d tried to stop Nick going into nursery gazing after them with baffled looks. It had all taken about two minutes, though it had seemed longer. The line split and re-formed like molecules as it bypassed late-arriving parents and children and others on the pavement, and swung almost into the road as it swept around the nearest corner. Then they slewed to a halt, panting and laughing. Hope glanced around her unexpected rescuers. All six of them were women who looked a bit younger than she was. They were dressed for the weather and for running – jeans or short skirts with leggings, and trainers or Kickers. The rest of their clothing, in all its variety, had a craft-made or selective-vintage look: the sort of stuff, Hope thought with a brief pang, that she’d once imagined herself selling or making.

‘Thanks for that,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

‘We just came together for this,’ said the woman who’d held her hand. ‘None of us know each other.’ She grinned around at the group. ‘Thanks, all. I’ll take it from here.’

The rest nodded, smiled, and walked off, up or down or across the street. Hope stared at the one who remained, still grinning at her out of a sunburst of blond ringlets. The woman stuck out a hand.

‘My name’s Maya,’ she said. ‘I did this.’

Hope shook hands. ‘Hope Morrison,’ she said. ‘You organised it?’

‘Flash mob,’ Maya explained, or rather, said as if it was an explanation.

‘Hmm,’ said Hope.

‘They all live around here,’ said Maya. ‘Bet you didn’t know you had so many interesting and supportive neighbours, huh?’

Hope felt patronised. ‘How would you know that?’

Maya didn’t seem fazed. ‘If you did, you could have done something like this yourself.’

Hope couldn’t think of a reply to that. Instead she asked, ‘How do you know about me? How did you know I was…’