Playing to Win (37 page)

“Okay.” Andrew turned from the window, sipping the last of his tea to clear the lump in his throat. “I’ll be home Sunday night.”

“Will you, aye? Sure you won’t stay in London for good if Scotland votes Yes?”

“If Scotland votes Yes, I’ll accept it and move on. Will you do the same if it’s a No?”

“Nah. Sorry.”

Andrew pulled back the covers and got in bed. “Thanks for being honest, at least.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“You’re the only one.”

“Then you need new people in your life.” There was a shifting noise on the other end of the line, like the receiver was brushing cloth. Andrew imagined Colin rolling over in bed, his head indenting the pillow, his wild black hair standing out against the white Waldorf Astoria pillowcase.

Andrew lay down on his own pillow. “I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too,” Colin said. “It’s weird, but…I don’t want to hang up.”

“Me neither.” It felt like when this call ended, everything would end. “I was five years old when I first learned you could die in your sleep. I was afraid to close my eyes at night, in case I never opened them again.”

Colin was silent for a long moment. “We’ll be okay, Andrew.” He paused. “Right?”

Andrew reached up to switch off the bedside lamp. “Let’s just keep talking until we fall asleep, shall we?”

So they did, with lengthening pauses between sentences, and then between words, words that slurred, expressing thoughts that bent back on themselves. They talked until their exhaustion outweighed their dread.

After Colin stopped responding to soft utterances of his name, but before the call shut down, Andrew took a deep breath.

“I love you, Colin,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I’m too feart to tell you when you’re conscious. But I hope somehow you know it. Especially tomorrow.”

Then, without hanging up, he laid the phone on the pillow beside him, gazing at the photo of Colin linked in his contacts. Andrew had taken the picture whilst Colin was speaking to the crowd of canvassers that Sunday afternoon in Drumchapel. He’d looked confident and happy and so, so fierce.

When his phone screen went black, Andrew closed his eyes, seeing Colin’s image behind his lids. It was how he wanted to remember him, in his dreams and beyond.

Because tomorrow, no matter what, everything would change.

A
FTER
NEARLY
A
year of hoping and dreaming, of chapping doors and making calls, the most important day of Colin’s life passed in a flash.

At seven a.m., he arrived with his dad and gran at the Drumchapel polling station, where they stood in a long, merry queue. Then he went to work at a phone bank for the last push of calls—reminding Yes voters where their polling stations were and finding volunteers to drive those who needed rides. The mood in the Yes Scotland campaign office was sky high.

It was the same on Twitter, where the #VoteYes hashtag showed countless encouraging reports. Teenagers casting their first ever ballots. Old people casting them for the first time in decades, finally feeling they’d something worth voting for. People changing their minds to Yes while standing in the polling booth, their fears giving way to hope, their doubt giving way to faith in their fellow Scots.

We can do this
, Colin thought, a sentiment echoed throughout the nation. This time there would be no glorious defeat, no consoling themselves with how nobly they’d fought. This time, they would win.

= = =

“Ruth says it’s in the bag.” With a satisfied smile, Jeremy set his phone on the tiny pub table between him and Andrew. “I’d love to order champagne, but that might look suspicious.”

Andrew frowned down at his dinner plate, his salmon croquettes barely half eaten. His stomach had been in knots for hours.

As on every election day, there’d been no substantive news, just an entire country gnawing its collective fingernails. The
Times
’s front page read “D-Day for the Union,” and one old chap on the Tube compared London’s atmosphere to that during the blitzkrieg. “It’s like waiting for the world to end,” he’d told Andrew.

Andrew lifted his head to look at his brother-in-law, only now registering his words. “Ruth Davidson?” The Scottish Tory leader had been dispatching hourly voter-turnout updates to senior party members. “What does she mean it’s in the bag?”

“They’ve been sampling postal ballots for weeks.” Jeremy’s dark eyes gleamed. “The No vote is so far ahead with those, the chance of Yes winning is nearly nonexistent.”

Andrew stared at him. “Sampling? Is that legal?”

“Completely. Both sides have been doing it. It’s only against the law if you look to see how a particular person voted.” He raised his diet Coke an inch off the table, then quietly clinked it against Andrew’s club soda. “It’s over, mate. It was over before today’s voting even began. The union’s been saved.”

Andrew couldn’t get his mind around this news. “How do we know for certain? What if Yes has a massive turnout?”

“They won’t, not as big as ours. We’re using the same get-out-the-vote consultants that won Obama the White House. So whilst Yessers have been partying in George Square and trolling on Twitter, we’ve been seeing to it every member of Scotland’s silent majority makes it to the polls.” Jeremy darted a glance around the pub, then beckoned Andrew to lean in close. “I’m hearing fifty-four to forty-six percent.”

“My God.” Andrew imagined Colin’s heartbreak at losing by such a decisive margin. The knot in his stomach doubled back on itself.

“I had a good feeling about today.” Jeremy covered his mouth to hide a giddy smile. “I’ve been watching the online gambling sites. As recently as Monday the momentum was with Yes, but by last night every bet had switched back to No.”

“What changed, I wonder?”

Jeremy gave an animated shrug, palms up. “Last-minute promises by Westminster? Cold feet on the part of the undecideds? Mercury coming out of retrograde?” He sat back and rubbed the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. “I think the Yes campaign simply ran out of time. If the referendum were next week, who knows? They’ve fought well—better than we did. Of course, that doesn’t make them right.”

“Of course,” Andrew said softly, thinking of what Colin had said last night about fighting well but always losing. How it was the Scottish way.

Jeremy sat forward again, his exuberance bubbling over. “I for one can’t wait to see the Nats’ sniveling faces tomorrow morning when their idiotic dreams are crushed.” He made a fist around his paper napkin. “I can’t wait to hear them rant about how they were cheated. I can’t wait to watch them turn on one another like losers always do.” He reached for his drink, then paused when he caught Andrew’s eye. “Excepting your boyfriend, of course. I hope he’s all right.”

He won’t be.
After a lifetime of cynicism and impotent rage, Colin finally believed in something. Once his dream turned to dust, would he take comfort in knowing that Scotland was forever changed? Or would he fall into despair and think all his hope and hard work was for nothing?

Would he hurt himself again?

Jeremy looked at his watch. “Ah! We should head to the station. The Party wants us back in Edinburgh to celebrate.” He opened his wallet and yanked out a twenty-pound note.

“‘Us’?”

“Didn’t I mention it? The leaders want to meet with you. Now that this ghastly referendum business is over, we can finally look to the future of the Scottish Tories.” He slapped the note on the table. “And you, Lord Andrew, are that future.”

Andrew steadied his breath as he followed Jeremy out of the pub. At long last he was being set loose to fulfill his destiny.

Jeremy’s patter continued in the hotel lobby. “Tonight during the bash we can discuss where you stand the best chance of getting elected. After you finish at Glasgow University, you could study law in Edinburgh.” He steered Andrew through the crowd toward the door. “A few wealthy council areas there could very well switch to Tory by the 2025 general election.”

“
General
election?” Andrew had assumed they meant for him to run for the Scottish Parliament first. Were they aiming even higher, like he’d always dreamed?

“But let’s think out of the box for a moment.” Jeremy slung an arm around Andrew’s shoulder. “East Renfrewshire,” he said in a hushed voice. “We move you there immediately—it’s near enough to Glasgow you can commute to university. You start making connections there now, and by the 2020 general election, who knows? You could be the first Member of Parliament born in the 1990s.”

With a grin, Jeremy let go of him and started to step into the revolving door.

Andrew stopped short. “What about Colin?”

Jeremy pivoted, bumping into an annoyed lady in a red suit-dress. “What about him?”

“You’re not concerned he could harm my political career?”

Jeremy snorted. “Of course he would, in the long run. Which is exactly why you should have your youthful dalliances now, get them out of your system.” At Andrew’s shocked look, Jeremy added, “I know at your age, every relationship feels like the be-all and end-all. When I was twenty, I met a woman I swore I’d marry. Luckily I didn’t swear it out loud, because a year later I met your sister. Now hurry or we’ll be late.”

He ushered Andrew ahead of him through the revolving door. Outside, the doorman waved over a taxi.

“Euston, please,” Jeremy told the driver, then sat across from Andrew. “Reggie’s packed your things at the Knightsbridge house. He’ll meet us at the station.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess?” Andrew didn’t like anyone, even his bodyguard, touching his stuff. And since when did Reggie take orders from anyone but him?

“I know this must feel overwhelming,” Jeremy said, knee bobbing with excitement, “but get used to it. You’ve an illustrious career ahead of you, and it’s well-deserved. When I see sharp young people like you, I don’t fear for the future.” He leaned forward and gave Andrew a brotherly pat on the knee. “I welcome it.”

With a tight nod, Andrew turned his head to watch the London streets passing by. He knew most of his brother-in-law’s words were mere flattery. The family and the Party no doubt sensed Andrew was drifting away, and this was their softer, kinder attempt to win him back. Whilst George wielded the stick, Jeremy offered the carrot.

Still, Andrew believed that if given the chance, he could rise to the top. He
should
rise to the top. Success in politics was about much more than intelligence and hard work. It was about pleasing the right people. Staying on-message. Being a team player.

And seizing opportunities, no matter when or why they were presented. No matter what the cost.

= = =

Colin’s knee—all of him, really—was relieved when football practice dismissed early. The Warriors were pure ready for Saturday’s match, and no one could focus anyway. Like her players, Charlotte wanted to get showered, changed, and in front of a TV, pronto.

By the time polls closed at ten p.m., Colin and most of the other Warriors had gathered at Fergus and John’s flat, though no results were likely to be announced until after midnight.

“Welcome to our all-night referendum bash!” Fergus stood before the partygoers, stretching his long arms across the kitchen doorway. “First, a few ground rules.”

Laughter mixed with groans. The Warriors captain’s list of team rules was infamous and ever-growing.

“Rule One,” Fergus said, “No getting hammered. We’re forty hours from our next match. Anyone caught drinking more than one beer an hour will be cut from Saturday’s starting eleven.”

Colin raised his hand. “Can we bank our beers? Like if I drink nothing until two o’clock, I can have all five at once?”

Fergus shook his head. “No banking beers. No rollovers.”

“No way,” Robert murmured over Colin’s shoulder. “How can we stand the suspense if we’re sober?”

“Seriously.” His heart felt ready to give out after a long day of racing and pounding. Colin had probably burned an entire six pack’s worth of calories through stress alone.

“Rule Two,” Fergus continued. “No fighting. Some of you support Yes, some of you No. Emotions are running high, as we’ve seen at practice. Polite debates are one thing, punch-ups are another.”

“My God, you’re so adorably middle class.” John stepped in front of Fergus and announced, “Rules Three through Ninety-Six will be posted prominently in every room. You must read and sign them before receiving your allotment of pizza. But please, enjoy yourselves.”

Fergus joined in the mocking laughter, then stepped aside to let them into the kitchen.

Not long after, Colin came across John at the table refilling giant bowls of crisps, pretzels, and Wotsits. “Is Fergus serious about the one-beer-an-hour rule?”

“Aye, but he won’t enforce it.” John smirked. “He trusts youse to be responsible adults.”

“I usually don’t drink so close to a match.” Colin raised his beer bottle. “But this is indyref night. Time to celebrate!”

“You know Yes is still the underdog, right?”

“Maybe a week ago we were. But today, I can feel it through all Glasgow. We’re ready.”

“If only Scotland was nothing but Glasgow.” John munched a Wotsit, then sucked the cheesy residue from his fingertips. “Actually, that’d be a nightmare. Can you imagine our city council as Parliament? Fuckin’ banana republic we’d be.” He gathered the empty snack bags and shoved them in the rubbish bin. “As for Fergus, he wants to keep life as normal as possible for the Warriors during these mad times. Yes or No, there’ll always be the football.”

“There’s more to life than sport.”

John put a hand to his heart. “Och! I’ll pretend I didnae hear that.” His phone buzzed inside his shirt pocket, and he quickly checked the screen. “Pizza’s arriving in a minute. Gonnae open the door for the man when he comes? I need to, erm, arrange these snacks. Fergus likes them done a certain way.”

“Nae bother.” Colin went to the front door and peered through the peephole. When he saw a figure approach from the left, he opened the door so the pizza guy wouldn’t risk dropping his delivery in order to knock.