Demo (7 page)

The girl with the hat holds her arms out wide and opens her eyes like she's surprised.

Yeah, one of the guys says, we sure would like to stay for the party, but we're booked into Venice tonight, so we gotta go get the train.

Venice is beautiful… a one-off … you'll love it, Julian
says. He's smilin straight at the lassie. Maybe it's just me he doesny want to talk to.

Your dreadlocks are real cool, she says. I would just
love
to have locks, but my mom would go crazy.

I'm sure your hair is much too pretty as it is, Julian says. Enjoy your trip.
Ciao.

Yeah,
ciao,
they all say. And Julian puts his arm round my shoulder and starts walkin again. I look back and the lassie's between the two guys, lookin over her shoulder at Julian. I'm glad his arm's round me.

So, just along here and to the left… appropriately enough, Julian says.

They were nice, I says.

What, those guys? A bunch of Yanks playing politics while they do the Grand Tour of Europe. I move in closer to his side and press my face into the cold, smooth cloth of his combat jacket.

Hear that? Julian says.

What? I pull my head away from his side. There's a noise like a concert with like music and drums and people shoutin. Is that it? I says.

That's it. The reason you came all the way to Florence from bonny Scotland. He says it in this kid-on Scottish accent, the way American actors do in films. Florrr-ence. Scoat-land.

Oh, reh-ally? I says. And at least he looks at me. Even if he doesny crack a light. We walk along the road, shufflin through all the wee bits a paper in the direction of the music and shoutin.

The next street we turn into, there it's there. The noise! It pure hits me. And the amount of people. Thousands. The whole road's filled fae side to side right up against the buildins. There's a van wae a loudspeaker blarin out songs and there's guys dancin around it. It's movin dead slow. The folk in front
are holdin up their banners and shoutin and chantin. An old guy is leanin out his window, givin water to some of the marchers and there's folk at loads a windows up above throwin the wee bits of paper. They float down silver in the lights from the houses, but when they fall they're just bits of newspaper and stuff.

Christ, what a bottleneck! Julian says, and takes my hand. Let's see if we can get a bit further along the column. I hate being at the end of a march; the interesting stuff's at the front. The vanguard.

He starts walkin and pullin me past the end of the road wae the demo, into the next street. It's like he's decided to be nice to me again. Or maybe he's just excited to be here at last. I have to nearly run to keep up. In the distance I can see the marchers walkin past the far end of the road with red banners and yellow placards. It must a looked amazin in the daylight at the start.

When we reach the end of the road and come into the side of the demo, it's the noise that hits me again. Mental. There's more space but, and Julian pulls me into the middle of the row in front of a guy with a placard he must a drew hissel wae
BUSH, BLAIR E BERLUSCONI: TERRORISTI!
in big red letters. I canny make out a word of what they're shoutin. A lassie dressed in green wae a face tae match and wild curly hair is walkin backwards in front of another lassie, paintin a green CND sign on her face. When she clocks me watchin, she holds up the crayon and lifts her eyebrows. She's even got green eyes! I look at Julian and shake my head. He's pullin hissel up, cranin to see over the folk in front. The lassie shrugs her shoulders and pulls her mouth down at the corners. Then she smiles at me and moves on to the next person. She's got a dead nice smile.

Julian tugs at my hand, Come on, he shouts, see if we can
find the Glasgow contingent. He pulls me out the line round the back of the green lassie, paintin a sunflower on a young guy's face. On her rucksack she's got badges and a wee placard stickin out the top that says:
DIE GRUÜNEN
.

We get onto the pavement, but it's quite narrow and hard to get by folk at first. I hold on tight to Julian's hand. He's goin,
Scusi, scusi,
and squeezin past folk. Just as well everybody's in a good mood; they're all singin and chantin and shoutin and hardly notice us. Eventually we get goin a bit faster. Most of the time you can just see folks' backs and the backs of their banners. I would like to look at them but I'm scared to turn too often in case I lose Julian. He's tall but, so at least his dreads would be flyin over the heads of maist of the crowd.

At the end of this road, we turn into another one that slopes down a wee bit. The march goes right to the bottom and away on by. I don't see how we're ever goin to find Danny and them. I've never saw so many folk – no even at Celtic Park, when my da used to take me and I had to hold on tight to his hand and all I could see was legs and the bottoms of anoraks till he picked me up. And then all his pals would speak to me and smile and sometimes kiss me with their beery mouths. I've still got the scarf one of them gave us. I never told my da I didny like goin.

We pass a line of guys with red T-shirts and black berets. I look back at them. One of them was at l'Accademia this morning posin like the
David.
I smile at him but he looks right through me. When I was wee I used to think it was terrible there was so many people in the world you would never know.

There's a big section next that looks like trade unions. They've got dead professional-lookin banners and official printed placards. At first I think it's all in Spanish, but it isny.

Must be Portuguese. Or maybe Catalan. No the kind I've
learnt anyway. They're about my da's age, a lot of them, and they look a wee bit like him too. The style a them. They're a lot quieter. One a them winks at me and I give him a smile in the passin. Julian's no slowed down one bit. He's on a mission. My hand's sore where he's grippin it tight, but I'm glad he is. If he let go and disappeared I don't know what I would do. I would like to stop sometimes and see what it's like at one bit of the demo, but in a way, it's quite excitin leggin it down the side, past all the different kinds a folk and the colours and the noise and all the different songs.

In front of the trade unionists there's a funny wee group. I look over my shoulder at them. Julian, I says, here's some English banners. He doesny hear me at first. Julian, wait, I shout louder. He turns and slows down a bit. Look, there's some banners in English here. Julian looks. His face is hard and set.

Don't tell me you want to stay with this lot, Clare.

Shh, I says. They must have heard him. But I think they're a good laugh.
FAIRIES AGAINST THE WAR
, the banner says in spidery writin, with pictures of fairies and elves all over it. The lassie nearest me is wearin white tights and big rainbow Docs with the laces undone; and a pink and white net tutu with a big green jumper on top. She's carryin a tray with like, fairy cakes wae pink and white icing. And she's got on a paper tiara with letters made out of purple sequins that says, Tinkerbell. Hangin fae her tray there's a notice:
MAKE CAKES, NOT BOMBS
. She smiles at me and holds out the tray.

Would you like a cake?

Thanks, I say, and I take a pink one. Her tray's held on round her neck with a ribbon and she's got fingerless red gloves on. Did you make them?

Yeah, she says, me and Milly. She points her tray at the lassie walkin beside her. Hi, Milly says. She's wee and fat and she's dressed in a floaty yellow and green nylon skirt wae a
combat jacket on top and a big badge that says:
FLOWER FAIRIES FIGHT FASCISM
.

We made them at my mother's in London and brought them on the bus in a fridge box. Pretty cool, hey? This is the last of them. Would your friend like one? Milly's cakes are green and yellow; she holds out her tray to Julian, but he just looks at her. I can see Milly's face goin pink even though it's quite dark now.

I'll have one, I says. Thanks. I've got to go. I'm lookin for my brother.

Well, good luck in this mob, Milly says.

Thanks. And thanks for the cakes. I walk closer to Julian. I've got baith the cakes sittin in my right hand in their crinkly paper cases and we're walkin too fast for me to eat them. There's more folk throwin the confetti stuff fae their windows, clappin and cheerin the march.

Julian, stop a minute. What am I gonny do wae the cakes?

Would you really like me to tell you? he says. He's smilin, but. Come on, there's a mere five hundred thousand demonstrators to get past yet. I'm glad he's in a good mood again. I let go his hand for a minute and stick the two buns thegether by the pink and yellow icing, then stuff them in my pocket. I have a quick keek back at Milly and Tinkerbell, but they're singing a song and ringin wee bells alang wae it. I lick my fingers and grab Julian's hand. He turns and looks at me.

D'you really think we're gonny find Danny and Laetitia?

Stranger things have happened. But I'd say the odds are a bit on the long side. He laughs. You've got pink icing on your face, incidentally. I lick my fingers again and rub at my cheek. You ought to watch what you eat, you know; never can be sure what might be lurking in an anarchist's cake.

It's a fairy cake, I says. It's the colour of the icing gives you the clue. But I don't think he's heard me. He's away like
the clappers again down the side of the demo, weavin past lampposts and marchers takin a break and a wee woman with a dog goin even slower than the demo.

We must be gettin near the front of the march by this time; I feel as if I've walked miles. We're in a more open bit again, a wider road. There's a guy on top of some sorta kiosk –
un tabaccaio,
it's called – holdin his banner above his head like a football scarf, swayin it fae side to side and singin. I should've taen a camera, but I didny think. There's more room here, so I'm walkin beside Julian. He's still no really talkin to me – like he's no that bothered if I'm there or no. He's goin slower but, and we're walkin with a group that's got drums and maracas things and they're dancin round to the rhythm. If Julian wasny here I would join in; I don't think he's in the mood.

There's a big grassy bank wae a railing along and a lot of folk are sittin down there.

That must be the river, Julian says.

It's completely dark now and I canny see any river. What, the Arno? I says. The one the Ponte Vecchio's on?

It's the only river that runs through Florence. Want to take a break? We've seen what there is of the action. Not much more to see.

Yeah, alright. We leave the dancin drummers and cross to the grassy bit. Some folk have spread their coats out and are sittin drinkin out a bottles a wine. Right enough, it doesny feel as cold, but I don't fancy sittin there; it's covered in dowts and I can see at least one lump a dog shite.

It's Danny that clocks me first. I hear his voice comin out the darkness.

Clare! Clare! Where the fuck have you been?

I look round and he's standin up fae among the folk drinkin. He's got a bottle in his hand and he looks mad.

Danny. We've been lookin for you.

Where's Julian?

He's here. I turn round and for a minute I canny see him. But he's kneelin down talkin to somebody. Over there, see?

I've been worried about you all day. Somebody else stands up and moves into the light fae the streetlamp. Laetitia.

Hi, Laetitia.

She doesny smile back. Her face is dead serious. Hello, Clare. We've been sitting here trying to figure out how exactly we would go about finding a missing girl in a city hosting an extra – what? – eight hundred thousand plus for the Social Forum.

Well, I'm here now, I says. I look round, but Julian's still hunkered down talkin. Danny's dead mad, but he doesny come near me. He takes a long slug of wine. I don't know what else to say.

Is that how many people's on the demo? Eight hundred thousand? That's amazin. I bet my da would a loved it.

Loved what?

I turn round and Julian's behind me. His dreads look orange under the streetlights. Hi, guys, he says. Now this
is
amazing. I just said to Clare that the chances of us actually finding you in this crowd were pretty thin. But here you are. Should've bought a lottery ticket today, eh? He makes a kinda oh-wellnever-mind face and shrugs his shoulders.

Where've you been? Danny says. His face goes dead dark when he's mad, wae his black eyebrows pulled thegether and his black hair. Why were you no back at the B&B at two o'clock like we said?

What's this, the third degree? Julian says. He's startin to sound a bit narked.

We were worried, Laetitia says. Clare's only sixteen. Danny's supposed to be looking after her. He promised his father.

Well, isn't that sweet? Danny and Laetitia
in loco parentis
.

As you can see, Clare is absolutely fine. She's been with me.

We went to see the
David,
I says.

Yeah, Clare's first naked man, wasn't he, Clare?

And the prisoners breakin out the stone theirsels.

What the fuck you talkin about? Danny says. I've got a feelin he's gonny be in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

Michelangelo's
Prisoners.
They look like they're tryin to escape fae the stone.

Danny takes another slug from the bottle. Some of the people round about are gettin up, shakin out their coats and startin to leave.

Look, let's go somewhere more comfortable, Laetitia says. She still hasny smiled. She pulls her fingers back through her hair. A bunch of the guys are heading to town to Dino's on Via Cavour. They've booked tables. She bends down for her jacket. OK?

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute Saloon… Julian says, and punches the air.

Naybody laughs. I'm glad Laetitia's here. Wae Danny in that mood, you don't know what might happen. I start to breathe normal again. I'm no lookin forward to the walk into town, but.