Face the Wind and Fly by Jenny Harper Page B

useless things anyway, they don’t even work half the time.’
    ‘I’ve never been able to understand – if they don’t work, why build them?’
    ‘Subsidies,’ Frank growled. ‘Bloody Labour government thought it was a good idea, people jumped on the bandwagon to make a killing, and the damn things have sprouted up everywhere. Well, not in my neighbourhood, not if I can help it. Someone has to take a stand.’
    ‘Oh, I absolutely agree.’ Ibsen had his own reasons for not wanting a wind farm on Summerfield Law, but it was one only his family would understand, and Lynn. ‘But—’ he tried to be fair, ‘—we need energy, I guess, and no-one wants a new nuclear plant on their doorstep, they’re so dangerous.’
    ‘Nuclear’s not dangerous! Not in the civilised world. We know how to handle our nuclear reactors, not like the bloody stupid Russians. There’ll be no Chernobyl in Europe. No, no, lad, nuclear is clean technology. Electricity without pollution, and that’s what we need.’
    Although his gut reaction was to resist the Summerfield wind farm, Ibsen still wanted to understand the arguments against it. ‘You said wind farms don’t work—’
    ‘Stands to reason. Think about it. If the wind isn’t blowing, the turbine can’t produce electricity. And on top of that,’ he leaned forwards as if about to share some important secret, ‘they have to switch them off when the wind’s too strong as well. And— ’ he leaned so far forward that Ibsen thought he was going to topple over completely, ‘—there’s no way of storing the electricity they make.’ He leant back finally, slumping into his chair as though his passion had exhausted him.
    ‘That does sound ridiculous.’
    ‘Do you like birds? You must see a lot from your place. What do you get there, hey? Woodpeckers? Waxwings? Redstarts? Birds of prey?’
    Ibsen finished his tea and set his mug down. ‘Aye. All of those from time to time. The trees round the cottage are hopping with birds.’
    ‘These turbines kill them, you know.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Stone dead. They can’t see the blades when they’re turning. They’re a damned nuisance, however you look at them.’
    It was a strong argument. Ibsen loved to watch birds. As a boy, he’d spent many a happy day with Tam, binoculars round his neck, watching the ducks on the loch up the hill, or the sea birds along the coast. ‘Well,’ he said, storing the argument away, ‘humans have no right to kill birds just because we want electricity – or a quick profit.’
    Frank smiled. ‘Knew you were a sympathiser. Bloody project’s got to be stopped. There’s a meeting in a couple of days in the village hall. Fancy coming?’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Half past seven. Come along. Chance to question the blighters.’
    ‘I’ll do what I can.’ Ibsen glanced at his watch. ‘Better get back to work now though. I must get those roots out before I go.’

Chapter Seven
    ‘It’s started already,’ said Kate, absorbed in today’s edition of Scotland Daily on her iPad.
    ‘What’s that?’
    Crossly, she read out the headline. ‘ “Summerfield Wind Farm will be an eyesore, claim locals”. I’ve never understood why people seem to dislike turbines so much, Andrew, have you? To me they’re like beautiful swans, with long necks and graceful wings.’
    Andrew, who was reading The Times – paper version – looked at her over his reading glasses and poured himself a second coffee. ‘Some people find them threatening.’
    ‘Threatening? For heaven’s sake, why?’
    ‘They’re very big. They loom up at you out of the mist like the dementors in Harry Potter, sucking out your life blood.’
    ‘What nonsense.’
    ‘You asked.’
    ‘Why are you looking so smart, by the way?’ Andrew was not a morning person. He usually wore an open-necked shirt, with a sweater when it was cold, but today he had donned a jacket and tie. She caught a whiff of aftershave. He’d shaved already too. ‘And why