Charlie and Diana
‘Look,’ says Diana de Fuego glaring hard at Charlie Hopkins who is sitting across the desk slowly sipping coffee, ‘I’m not saying the village is being murdered in broad daylight… but if it were, I’d be knocking on the doors of Taylor Wimpey and friends with a search warrant and a few questions.’
Charlie Hopkins nodded slowly. ‘I see what you’re saying, Diana. You can’t plonk 300 houses on top of a country lane and call it “growth.” That’s not growth—it’s corporate manslaughter with a Hi-Vis jacket.’
‘Exactly,’ says Diana, ‘People need GPs. Schools. Shops. Buses. Decent drainage. Not just another show home with four en-suites and a fake plastic lawn. If anyone from the planning committee could be pinned down and made to listen I’m sure they would think again. I mean I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy…’
Charlie slowly stroked his stubble and considered things. He had to face it; he should have acted when Elivia Homes had got involved. Had the planners looked at the recommendations from the council? Did they really believe they were helping to meet a housing need with the prices the way they were? He knew he couldn’t afford to buy one even now, let alone as a first-time buyer. So, what were they after? It was obvious Wivelsfield Green was a victim of corporate greed and a serious lack of political planning. All you had to do was spend a bit of time piecing it together and it all made sense.
Diana interrupted his train of thought, ‘Come on then, let’s bring these murders to justice.’
Chapter 1- Joy
Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone murdered Wivelsfield Green. You know what they say—death by a thousand bricks. It’s just such a shame! Our lovely village and all that green space, history and community feeling gone in an instant.
But who is really to blame? Lizzy says it’s “strategic strangulation” and Abraham says it’s “statistical inevitability” or something like that, but I’m not sure. One thing I do know though is that it’s a crying shame. Our lovely village carved up, of all things. The brutality!
I’m still in shock, but as my late husband Barry always said if you stand back and do nothing, you’ve got no right to complain. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ That’s what they say, isn’t it? So with that in mind, I’ve got a lemon drizzle on the go if anyone wants to pop round and discuss a plan and Lizzy seems to have some ideas and wants to go through them this afternoon. No developers allowed though, as I think we’ve had quite enough of them already!
Abraham’s Post
Taylor Wimpey, Elivia, Beau, GreenRock… all the usual suspects. You know the sort; the kind who turn up with glossy brochures and shiny shoes, promising “community” and “heritage-inspired design.” and all they really leave us with are soulless houses, traffic jams and not a GP in sight.
Abraham had spent the afternoon reviewing the impact data for all of Wivelsfield Green’s proposed housing developments and he knew it was far worse than was being reported.
The traffic models were flawed, and Abraham could see the clumsy way in which they were trying to present the old data as current information. The school capacities were also largely overstated, and there were… be polite thought Abraham to himself, we are better than that … ‘optimistic assumptions’ regarding the sewage infrastructure.
An avoidable collapse disguised as ‘progress’ he thought to himself with a deep sigh. Could they be trying to get away with murder? And if so, why? For profit? It seemed very inelegant to Ibrahim, who was a man of thoughtful deliberation and meticulous planning, but things didn’t seem to be about that anymore.
Statistically, Abraham pondered as he’d always been fond of statistics, Wivelsfield Green cannot sustain the weight of the current proposals without serious consequences to quality of life and the ecological balance, so why would they murder the village?
Abraham stood up and slowly gathered his papers together along with his laptop. His back had been hurting him more recently, but he was going to discuss it with his new yoga instructor at the village hall on Sunday evening – one of the perks of living in a small village he supposed. In the meantime, he made his way across the hall to discuss his findings with Lizzie and Joy and how best to present them to get these murders brought to justice…and a slice of lemon drizzle cake wouldn’t go down too badly either.
