Playing to Win (38 page)

But it wasn’t the pizza guy.

= = =

“Hi” was all Andrew could find the breath to say before Colin stepped out of the flat and into his arms.

Andrew kissed him hungrily, backing him up against the door, which had swung shut behind him. He needed to taste Colin’s hope and happiness while it lasted.

“I cannae believe you’re here,” Colin said, squeezing Andrew so hard he thought his ribs would crack. “Did you tell me you were staying in London ’til Sunday so I’d be surprised?”

“No. I just couldn’t stay away.” He let go, then took both of Colin’s hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight for courage. “Whatever happens, I want to be with you. Whatever happens, I need you to know I—”

The door swung open behind Colin, making him stumble back. Liam caught him.

“Pal, you look pure knackered,” the center-back told Andrew. “Out all day suppressing the vote? Telling poor people the polling station’s closed, so please to put their ballot in this plastic sack and you’ll see it gets counted?”

Normally Liam’s words would have riled Andrew. But knowing what was to happen tonight, he just felt sad.

“Give it a rest, Liam,” Colin said. “Mind, we’ve got to be magnanimous in victory.” He turned to Andrew. “I’ve proposed a major nationwide event tomorrow—Have a No Voter for Tea. Think it’ll catch on?”

Andrew forced a calm smile. “Are you
serving
tea to No voters, or are you eating them for tea?”

Colin laughed again, his voice pitching high with giddiness. “How’d you escape your captors?” he asked, pulling Andrew away from Liam and toward the kitchen. “Does your family know you’re here?”

“Only my brother-in-law.” Jeremy had thrown a fit when Andrew had decided to board a train for Glasgow instead of Edinburgh, but in the end, he admitted it was Andrew’s decision to make, and he promised another meeting with Party leaders at a quieter time. “He swore not to tell as long as I promised to stay off the streets. I’m only permitted to be here and my own flat tonight.”

“Noooo, you need partying in George Square later!” Colin started dancing, hands in the air. “Gonnae become Adam Smith and raise the roof with us!”

Andrew laughed, since it was either that or cry. “Are you drunk?”

“Naw, just happy.” He slid an arm around Andrew’s waist. “Now you’re here, life is complete.”

Andrew’s heart cracked in two at the thought of that radiant smile vanishing. “May we have a minute alone? I really need to tell—”

“Oi!” John shouted, his voice thundering over all the others. “Something’s happening.” He turned up the volume on the television, which was tuned to BBC’s
Newsnight
.

“What is it?” Colin let go of Andrew and pushed through the crowd. Andrew hung back, knowing it couldn’t be good. Here beside the stereo speaker, he couldn’t hear the news over the dance music.
 

Katie frowned and nudged Andrew. “There’s been another YouGov poll, taken today. What’s the point of releasing it now?”

“To give wanks on TV something to blether about,” Liam said.

“Yeah, maybe.” She started peeling off pieces of her beer-bottle label. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Andrew said.

Katie gave him an odd look, then turned back to the TV. “Wow, it’s the president of the polling company.” A moment later, her jaw slowly dropped, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh motherfucking shit…no.”

Finally someone turned off the music, and Andrew could hear the television, where a man was saying, “I can’t see No losing this now. At the risk of looking a complete prat in a few hours’ time, I would say it’s a 99% chance of a No victory.”

Andrew shoved his way between Liam and Robert to find Colin standing frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the television with wide, wet eyes. He looked like a child who’d just seen his dog run over.

On the TV, a bold red-white-and-blue graphic predicted a 54-46% win for No. Just as Jeremy had said.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he told Colin, who didn’t respond or even blink. Andrew slid an arm around him. “It’s all right.”

Colin jerked away, giving him a look that paralyzed. “It’s as good as over, and they’ve not counted a single vote cast today. How, in any universe, could that be all right?”

“This is pish,” Liam said. “Everyone knows polls get it wrong.” He looked around at his stunned teammates. “Right?”

“Wrong.” Katie’s voice was laced with misery. “That pollster wouldn’t have gone on TV if he wasn’t sure.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s true,” Robert pointed out. “Mind, all along we’ve said the pollsters weren’t calling the right people. They skipped people who’ve never voted before. Young ones, or working-class folk who never saw the point in voting until now. The missing million.” He looked at Colin. “All those people we worked so hard to register, and then made sure they voted.”

Colin let out a slow, deep breath. “If the missing million turn out, they could make the difference.” Then he turned away, moving stiffly toward the balcony’s open door.

“So there’s still hope,” John said, “which means there’s still a party!” He lowered the TV’s volume and raised the music’s. But when he glanced at Andrew, his eyes were hollow with disappointment.

Andrew followed Colin out to the balcony, where he stood alone, clutching the iron railing and staring out at the city.

“I’m not gonnae jump,” Colin said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Aye, right.” He let go of the railing and started rubbing his right arm, running his fingers over the scars as he scanned the skyline, east to west. “All these numbers are running through my head just now, registration rolls for every council area in this city, expected turnout rates and that. I’m doing all these calculations, wondering, is there a chance? Could Glasgow make up eight percentage points?”

No, not in a million years.
“There are a lot of people here.”

“Aye, and in Dundee, which will definitely vote Yes.” Hope began to return to Colin’s voice as he spoke faster and rubbed his arm harder. “And if we get places like Inverclyde and Perth and Clackmannanshire—which we totally should—maybe there
is
a chance.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Maybe.”

Andrew put his hand over Colin’s, removing the cold fingers from his wounded arm. “I hope so.”

Colin gave him a sharp look, as if only now realizing to whom he was speaking. “No, you don’t. You want us to fail. You always have.”

A pair of confessions tangled in Andrew’s throat, each fighting to be the first out of his mouth. “I know I have. But I want even more for you to be happy.”

“No.” Colin backed away inside the flat, shaking his head. Then he turned and pushed his way through the crowd of Warriors, through the living room and into the hallway.

Andrew followed. “Listen to me—”

Colin spun to face him. “Why did you come back to Glasgow tonight? Did you know we’d lose?”

Andrew opened his mouth, but no words came out, though he knew silence would condemn him as much as an admission would.

“How did you know?” Colin took him by the shoulders. “Was it fixed? Did your Tory mates rig the vote?”

“No!”

“Tell the truth! Did those bastards put the fix in?”

“They didn’t need to, you silly cybernat!” Andrew wrenched himself out of Colin’s grip. “You want the truth? Here’s the truth you’ve refused to hear—Scotland doesn’t want independence. The people waving flags on the streets and shouting on Twitter, they want it. The artists and radicals who are happy to take all sorts of risks, they want it. Perhaps Glaswegians want it. But most people in this country do not.” Though Colin’s eyes filled with hurt, Andrew kept going. “All these months, you and your mates have laughed when we’ve said there was a silent majority who wanted to stay in the Union. You mocked those people like they were an urban legend, like they were the Loch Ness monster. But the silent majority exists. They’ve been afraid to speak up for fear of getting shouted down by you lot. Finally today they spoke, in the only forum that counts—the ballot box. And you are not going to like what they had to say.”

Colin swallowed hard. “How?” he croaked. “How could they want to stay in their chains? How could they not want something better?”

“Some of them do.” Andrew softened his voice, though he knew it wouldn’t take the sting out of his words. “Some think a No vote will get Scotland more powers with less risk. And some just aren’t ready for independence yet. But they might be one day. Things have changed forever, thanks to people like you.”

“No,” Colin said through gritted teeth. “Things will never change. This was our last, best hope for a better world. And we’ve pissed it away because your silent majority didnae have the baws to take this chance. They were too fucking feart, and you know why?” He jabbed his finger against Andrew’s chest. “Because people like
you
telt them the fucking sky would fall if Scotland ran its own affairs. There’d be a Great Tartan Depression, and supermarkets would charge 10p more for bread, and the oil would run out, and the banks would all fuck off down south, and we’d have nothing left but sheep and whisky.”

“Look, it wasn’t—”

“
Youse
called it ‘Project Fear’! That was
your
name for it, not ours. And it worked! Are you proud of that now? Are you?”

“No, I’m not. I—”

“How many voters did you win over with your stupid tweets?”

“I probably won more Yes votes by retweeting your BBC bias link than I ever won No votes by sharing
Telegraph
articles.” Andrew wanted to hold him, soothe him, but knew it would only make things worse. “Colin, I beg you to stop for a moment and think about all you’ve accomplished. A year ago, Yes was polling in the mid-twenties. You made it a viable reality. You changed so many minds.”

“Not enough!” Colin put his hands to his head and gripped his hair. “I should have canvassed every night. I should have made more calls. I should have done more.” He dropped his hands. “I
could’ve
done more, if I’d not wasted so much time with you!”

Andrew took a step back, his heart plummeting. “Wasted?”

“All those weeknights at your place last week, last month, watching films and fucking, living in a fantasy world. I ate oysters on the half shell in a castle while my people were starving. I flew first class to see a Broadway show while my people hadn’t the electricity for their kids to watch
Teletubbies
.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

“You’re fucking right I am. This country’s future just went down the drain, and you’re telling me, ‘Buck up, old chap, you gave it your all.’” He clawed at his right arm, scraping the scars beneath the thistle leaves. “Like I’m to get a trophy for participation.”

“Colin, please.” Andrew reached for him.

“Don’t touch me!” Colin backed away. “I never want to see you again.”

Panic shot through Andrew. “What? Why?”

“Because I fuckin’ hate you.” Colin met his eyes long enough to stamp home the truth. Then he went to the front door and yanked it open so hard, it banged into his foot.

Andrew looked at the others, who were staring at him in horror. “For God’s sake, someone go with him!”

“I’ll go,” Katie said, just as Robert said, “I will.” They both handed off their beer bottles and found their jackets.

“Take this. It’s cold out.” Andrew pulled Colin’s hoodie from the coat rack, trying not to cry at its familiar feel and scent. “And thank you.”

“He’s our friend,” she said. “More importantly, he’s a Warrior.”

C
OLIN
HAD
EXPECTED
to find a funeral in George Square. Instead, he found a party.

It was the same scene as every other night this week, only bigger, more frenetic. Saltires waved, bagpipes played, people sang and chanted and laughed. It was like he’d stepped into a parallel universe where Yes had won. Where there was still hope.

A familiar voice called his name. He turned to see Katie and Robert sauntering toward him, hands in their jacket pockets. Colin’s hoodie was tucked under Katie’s arm. “Thought you might get cold,” she said as she gave it to him.

Robert gaped at the crowd in George Square. “Why are they celebrating?”

“They must not know we’re doomed,” Colin said.

“Most surreal party ever.” Katie stepped into the street. “C’mon, it’s still history.”

The three of them wandered through the jam-packed square, seeing familiar faces they’d come to know and love this last week. Like the old hippie who’d dyed blue the left half of his long white beard. Like the elfin blond lass who wore a Saltire like a superhero cape, but who was so short, she kept tripping on it when she danced.

They stopped beside a grassy area where a group of uni students sat in a circle, two of them playing guitars. They were singing “Flower of Scotland,” the song Scots had belted out as their athletes won gold medals at the Commonwealth Games. The song that would have been an independent country’s national anthem.

“How will people ever sing this again?” Robert said. “It’s a lie.”

 
Colin wanted to run, far enough he wouldn’t hear the verse about rising, being that nation that once stood against a bigger, greater army. Yet it felt wrong to turn his back.

So the Warriors stood in mournful silence while the happy students crooned the song at the top of their voices. Then the three of them moved on, finding a space to sit at the edge of another grassy area, facing the cenotaph war memorial. Colin pulled out his phone to check Twitter.

“Oh God.” He stared at the screen like it was the headlight of an oncoming train. “Clackmannanshire results expected any minute.”

“Where is that again?” Katie asked.

“Near Fife, but that’s not important. Clackmannanshire is a, what do you call it—a bellwether. Next to Dundee it’s the council area most likely to vote Yes.” He looked at her. “If we’ve lost Clacks, we’ve lost Scotland.”