‘Thanks, Mum,’ you said quietly, gratefully, relief on your face. ‘I’d better take my stuff upstairs.’ You paused. ‘Is my room still the same?’
‘It’s the same room,’ I said. ‘But different. Go and take a look!’ I added.
I went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, waiting until you came back down before making us cups of tea.
‘You kept Eeyore,’ you said.
‘Of course I did.’ How could I not have? ‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it,’ you said. ‘It’s the same, but different – as you said.’
‘Here.’ I passed you a mug. ‘Have you eaten?’
You shook your head. ‘Not yet.’
As we sat at the kitchen table, I noticed how tired you looked, that the light had gone out in your eyes. ‘Me neither. I’ll make us something in a bit.’ I paused. ‘I’m guessing you’ve left your job.’
‘Yes,’ you said flatly. ‘Awful, isn’t it? I thought it was going to be my dream job – actually getting paid to work for an animal welfare charity. Weird, though. It wasn’t at all what I thought it would be.’
I cupped my hands around my cup of tea. ‘In what way, Lex?’
‘I thought that everything would revolve around what animals need – like press and media campaigns and interviews,’ you said. ‘But first and foremost, it’s a business.’ For a moment you didn’t speak. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I completely get that. But when they publish information about what they’re supposedly doing, most of what they put out is a pack of lies. On the face of it, they allege to be working to protect the welfare of animals. I’ll give you an example. Since I started there, they’ve been working on a set of standards for the industrial farming sector. They call them high welfare. But the reality is completely different and the animals’ lives are wretched. The public believe the pretty photos of cows cavorting in grassy fields. And it’s true that some get to live like that. But most of them don’t – and the public aren’t told this. They have no idea what the reality of industrial farming is.’
My heart went out to you. ‘So you resigned.’
‘Not exactly.’ A tinge of pink appeared in your cheeks. ‘I leaked what they’re doing to the press. And I got found out.’ You shrugged. ‘They asked me to leave. It was fair enough. I knew there was a risk, but in any case, I couldn’t have gone on working there.’
It was a step further than you’d gone before, yet there seemed an inevitability to it. ‘Who did you leak the story to?’ I asked.
You named one of the broadsheets. ‘They’re writing a series of pieces on animal welfare. It’s causing quite a backlash from the industry.’ For a moment, there was fire in your eyes. ‘The trouble is it takes so long for any changes to be put in place. And meanwhile, millions of animals are stuck in this bloody hideous system.’ The fire in your eyes was gone; you looked defeated.
It explained why you’d stayed so long, to try to use your job to your advantage. ‘I’m proud of you, Lex.’ I was – inordinately proud of you, for being true to your principles, for doing what you could to bring about change. But I couldn’t help feeling concerned, too.
‘Thanks,’ you said. ‘I’m not sure how much good it’s done. But…’ You hesitated. ‘The paper have asked me if I’ll go undercover. They weren’t going to. To start with, they said I’m too young. I told them I wasn’t – and no one else has the knowledge I have. There’s a massive industrial dairy farm they’ve been tipped off about. They want me to check it out. They want me to get inside under the guise of being sympathetic to them.’
Suddenly I was wary. ‘How will you do that?’
‘I haven’t decided for sure – but something along the lines of researching for a piece about the economics of modern milk production. Farming is tough – there’s no denying that. But it shouldn’t come at the cost of cruelty to the animals.’
‘Be careful, won’t you?’ I said. ‘If they find out what you’re really up to, they’re not going to be at all happy about it.’
‘I have thought about this,’ you said. ‘I know enough about what goes on to be convincing. And right now, it’s the only way I have of making a difference.’
I knew when to back off; when your determination was unquestionable, when you were unstoppable. This was one of those times. ‘When are you doing it?’
‘I’m waiting to hear back from them, but probably sometime next week.’
As soon as that? ‘Don’t give them your real name,’ I warned.
You rolled your eyes at me. ‘Mum! Stop worrying! I know what I’m doing.’
But you couldn’t have known the impact that day on the farm would have on you. You told me later, it was one of the biggest farms in the country. After, it was as though the misery of the cows had seeped into your pores; that you carried the weight of their suffering.
In the week that followed, you agonised over the piece you put together that was both beautifully written and powerful. The reaction it set off was everything you’d hoped it would be. You were accused of spying, of inventing facts. The farm denied all allegations, insisting it abided by animal welfare laws. But you had images that told the truth. You’d also opened another door into the dark side of animal agriculture, fuelled a conversation that continued to build.
‘It raises the point, doesn’t it?’ You passed me your copy of the newspaper, where another diatribe had been unleashed. ‘If current animal welfare laws allow places like this to exist, they need massively overhauling.’
‘Not all farms are like this,’ I reminded you. ‘There are ethical dairy farms.’ I’d been reading about them. ‘Why don’t you cover one of them?’
