Demo

by Alison Miller

  Would you like one a these? I says to Danny. I lift them baith so he can see what they say.

  No, you’re alright, he says. I can never be bothered with they things. What’s your one say, Farkhanda?

  She turns and beams at him. It says, If Bush said jump into this hole, would you jump, Mr Blair?

  Aye, dead right, Danny says. Good question.

  So, now I know, I think to mysel, but I don’t say nothin. I flick my dreads out the back a my coat, so they spread right across my hood, and I pull Julian’s one ower to the front, so I can half see it hangin there out the corner of my eye. Danny’s no even mentioned the rest a the gang – Julian and Jed and Laetitia. I wonder where they are.

  Where we marchin to? Farkhanda says.

  The Armadillo, Danny says. He’s havin to shout now over the noise. Alang at Finnieston, where the Labour Conference is. Blair’s done a runner but, fucked off afore he was scheduled to, helicoptered out. Couldny face us.

  Cowardy custard, Farkhanda says, and smiles when Danny laughs.

  There must be at least fifteen in the line we’re in. It’ll need to thin down a bit, so we can get along the streets. Then I realize we’re at the Saltmarket already, afore I’ve even clocked we’re out of Glasgow Green. It’s dead disorientatin being stuck in the middle a this many people.

  I catch the tail end a some singin somewhere behind us; it must be the choir. A snatch of an old Scottish song. I’m sure I’ve heard my da singin it, somethin about wind and clouds… blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ower the bay. I mind it now.

  Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet

  Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair…

  It would be good fun singin alang wi them. Better than chantin.

  … Black and white ane til ither merriet,

  Mak the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare.

  We’re kind a near the drummers. They’re in front on the back of a lorry wi all sorts of drums, big ones and small ones and medium-sized ones, batterin them and dancin to the rhythm. A kind a Latin beat. Sambayabamba, it says on their T-shirts. Wouldny mind a go at that as well. Everythin looks mair fun than just walkin wi a placard! I wish I’d a took a whistle instead, and some maracas. I seen two lassies wi plastic bottles full a lentils, shakin them and dancin round each other, blowin whistles, as they’re walkin along.

  Sae, come all ye at hame wi freedom…

  We’re goin uphill slightly now, and the whole sky ahead’s filled wi banners; CND, Unions, Church groups, Muslim groups, SSP, SNP, Lib Dems, Greens, SWP, every colour stretchin into the distance. No Labour but; no that I can see. All they banners make me realize we’re no near the front at all. I think folk must be joinin in right along the route; same as me and Julian done in Florence. I need him here to drag me up to the front. To the vanguard. That was cool.

  Polis on horses are goin up and down the sides, their long navy coats spread ower the horses’ bums. Somebody in the crowd shouts, Gaun yersel, Shergar! In the row in front, a woman squelches through some horseshit and yelps. Which is just as well, cause that warns me and I manage to keep my feet out it!

  There’s guys wi megaphones, stewards, wearin fluorescent jackets and armbands, makin sure the rows areny too long and keepin everybody chantin.

  Who let the bombs out?

  Bush, Bush, Blair.

  Who let the bombs out?…

  Farkhanda’s shoutin wi the best a them. I don’t know why I’m surprised. The noise all around is deafenin. Whistles. Drums. Pipes. Maracas. It’s funny but, you’re wi all they people chantin and you still feel a bit embarrassed. I would rather sing. A couple a rows back some students are singin ‘Give Peace a Chance’. But our bit’s all chantin. Except for Danny. He’s walkin along wi his hands in his pockets. I bet he’d like to sing too.

  Then somebody comes along the line handin out sheets a paper. She says, We’re gonny try and get this section singin; hope you’ll join in.

  Aye, sure, if I know the tune.

  You’ll know it, she says, and hands a sheet to Farkhanda.

  And then it’s started afore I’ve even read what’s on the sheet.

  I do know the tune; it’s ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’…

  If you cannae find Osama, bomb Iraq.

  If you cannae find Osama, bomb Iraq…

  So I’m singin and Farkhanda’s singin and maist of the folk round about are too.

  … Make war not love this season

  If you cannae find a reason, bomb Iraq.

  We dae it twice. Danny’s no singin but. He’s got his mobile out, textin somebody.

  This is supposed to be a protest, I says, and you’re just textin your pals.

  Aye, but one a them’s at the demo in Amsterdam and the other yin’s at the one in Rome. He shows me the text fae somebody called Ruaridh in Rome.

  Ciao Danny.

  Give it laldy!

  How come you know people in Amsterdam and Rome? I says.

  He looks at me like I’m daft and puts his mobile away again.

  Anyway, this Ruaridh guy says, gie it laldy, so…

  So…?

  So gie it laldy!

  … Make war not love this season…

  And it’s great, cause he’s the only guy singin in our bit. Farkhanda smiles at me and we sing louder too.

  If you cannae find a reason, bomb Iraq…

  Next thing somebody behind me’s tuggin at my dreads. I turn round ready to gie them a right bollockin, whoever it is. And it’s Julian! I get the fright a my life.

  Well, look at you, Clare, he says, and he’s grinnin fae ear to ear. His hair’s a bit longer fae the last time I seen him and it’s bleached at the top! My hand goes to his dread afore I can stop it, but I don’t think he’s noticed anythin. He’s gelled his hair up into spikes and round the sides is still his ain colour.

  Hi, Clare.

  Oh, hi, Jed. I never seen you there.

  What?

  I says, I didny see you. I shout this time. Jed’s different too; he’s got his hair tied back in a wee ponytail and he’s no wearin his glasses. Maybe he wears contacts now.

  Cool dreads, he says, and smiles. He’s dead nice, Jed. Ayeways makes you feel everythin’s OK. Except it’s no, cause my heart’s lowpin and I’m pure tryin my hardest no to look at Julian. He’s talkin to Danny now.

  Jed, this is my pal, Farkhanda, I says. Farkhanda, Jed, Danny’s flatmate.

  Hi, Jed, she says, pleased to meet you. Excuse me if I don’t shake hands; I need both of them for my placard.

  What does it say? Jed says.

  You no read Urdu?

  No. Punjabi, and no much of that. A wee bit Hindi.

  It says: War Breeds Hatred; Hatred Breeds War.

  Ain’t that the truth!

  I’m lookin at her. She didny even bat an eye!

  Who’s your friend? she says to Jed, and looks at me with her eyebrows up and her mouth puckered.

  Oh, sorry, Jed says. Julian, meet Farkhanda; Farkhanda, Julian.

  Julian? she says, like she’s surprised. Very pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.

  I fire her a look, but she’s high as a kite; enjoyin hersel; windin me up.

  All bad, I hope, Julian says. He’s still smokin roll-ups, I see.

  Of course, she says. What else?

  Julian looks at me then, takes a long drag on his wee thin rollie, and like my insides pure turn to liquid. I think I’m gonny drop my placards.

  Any a yous want a placard? I’ve got one spare.

  Julian’s hand covers mine like an electric shock. I’ll relieve you of this one, if you like. What does it say? He turns it round to read it: BUSH, BLAIR, BERLUSCONI, WANTED FOR TERRORISM. Ace. Last time I saw this message, it was in Italian. And he looks right at me again. Turns the blue headlamps on full beam. Even though I know it’s a trick, it still works on me. My legs are pure jelly!

  Where’s Laetitia? I says. I remember her diary and put my hand ower my bag. Th
at’s when I realize it’s getting heavy, even though I’ve no got that much in it, the strap’s cuttin into my shoulder.

  Julian stops smilin. Frowns. I could kick mysel!

  London, he says. Gone to see Mummy. But she’s at the big demo down there as we speak. He takes his mobile out, flicks it open and shows me a text.

  Ldn packed

  At least 0.5 M

  Prob more. Lx

  Trust me for mentionin her! Great, I says. Is that bigger than here?

  He throws back his head and laughs. Yes, I’d say so. Just a tad.

  Well, this feels as big as Florence to me, I says.

  It’s certainly big for Scotland. He looks sideways at me. Great turnout.

  I look away fae him out to the sides of the march. I canny believe we’re halfway along St Vincent Street already. You never take in where you are when you’re goin along wi the crowd. I notice a lassie walkin back down the line. She’s got short cropped hair and her placard says:

  the only bush i trust

  is my own

  Julian clocks her too. He gies her the thumbs up, waves his placard and shouts, Right on, sister! Even though she’s away by and canny hear him.

  I thought you would be wantin to be at the front, I says. In the van guard.

  He shoots me a look and then he smiles a slow smile. Only at demos on foreign soil, my dear. He bends down and whispers in my ear, And only après sex with a beautiful redhead.

  I take a quick look along the line at Farkhanda and Danny and Jed. Don’t think they’ve heard. I hope no. I hope they canny see what a riddy I’ve got either. I bend my head so the dreads cover my face a bit.

  Is Scotland no foreign soil, then? I says. I’m lookin at him through the bars a my dreads.

  Oh, the most exotic of all forreign countrries…

  I hate it when he tries to do a Scottish accent.

  … but that fulfils only one half of the necessary preconditions.

  What’s he talkin about? Oh aye, right; I get it. No that I let on.

  Preconditions for what? Danny says.

  For a nanosecond, Julian looks a bit flustered. Then he says, We were talking about going to the front of the demo. But I do that only in circumstances where it’s possible to steal a march, so to speak, on some rival group. This is much too broad a coalition to bother with that.

  I breathe again! How does he do that? Come up wi a lot a shite like that off the top a his head?

  Danny puts on an American accent. Why do I get the feelin you’re blowin smoke up my ass, as they say in the movies? His eyebrows are up and a smile’s hoverin about his mouth waitin to land.

  Moi? Julian says.

  Aye, you, Danny says. He’s walkin sorta sideways, so he can see Julian better. I don’t think he’s angry; he sounds like he’s bein funny. What rival group have you ever ousted fae the front of a demo? For some reason Danny doesny want to let this go. Maybe he did hear after all.

  What’s this, the Spanish Inquisition? Julian says.

  It’s weird the way guys communicate; sometimes you would think it was all in code.

  Aye, the rack and the thumbscrews are too good for you, ya cunt.

  Great way with words, your brother, Julian says to me. He’s got the handle of the placard under his arm and he’s concentratin on rollin another fag. Wee strands a tobacco are flitterin fae his fingers and blowin away.

  How much further is it? Farkhanda touches my arm. She looks hot, even though it’s a cold day.

  Canny be much further, I says. We’re comin to the end a St Vincent Street by the looks a things. It can only be about, ten, fifteen minutes to the Armadillo now.

  That’s right, dear. A woman in the row in front turns round to speak to us. Ten, fifteen minutes at the most. D’you know, the end a the march is still no started.

  You’re kiddin!

  No, my husband got stuck in traffic, couldny get parked, so he’s away at the end. He’s just phoned me; they’ve no even left the Green yet.

  That’s when I turn and look back. All you can see for miles through the streets a Glasgow is thousands and thousands a people. The road’s pure jammed right across. It gies me a funny feelin in the back a my throat.

  Farkhanda’s looked back too. They surely can’t start a war with all this opposition, she says.

  Of course they can, Danny says. They’ve already decided. They don’t gie a fuck how many people march.

  I look at Julian. I’m afraid I agree with Danny, he says.

  So what’s the point a marchin? I says.

  Farkhanda’s lookin upset now, like she might start greetin.

  I think Jed notices. He says, You have to hope it makes a difference; it sure canny if all you do is sit at home and shake your fist at the TV. You have to hope that all these people together means some thing; that it sends a message to the Bushes and Blairs of this world.

  Like I says, he’s a really nice guy, Jed. He’s cheered Farkhanda up already.

  I agree, she says. You have to have hope. But it’s not up to us. Inshallah, war will be avoided.

  God, I’ve no heard her sayin that afore! She must a got right into all the religious stuff.

  Jed gies her a kinda questionin look. We’ll need the whole panoply of gods for this one, I think. The whole jing bang.

  Hail Mary, Mother of God, I think to mysel, pray for us now in the hour of our need.

  Soon I see the aluminium roof of the Armadillo glintin in the sun and hunners a folk all millin about. The start a the march looks like it’s been there for ages already. When we come right up to the open bit round the conference centre, I notice all the polis in their fluorescent yellow jackets.

  Fucksake! Danny says. Must be the entire membership a the Strathclyde Police Force here the day.

  I think he must be right; I’ve never saw so many polis althegether in one place.

  To protect our glorious leader, no doubt, Julian says.

  That’s what my da calls him too, I says.

  Danny draws me a dirty look.

  Wow! Look at that grass, Farkhanda says. Have you ever seen grass that green?

  No in February, I says. Must be fake.

  That’s a good one, Jed says. The greener grass is always fake; the evergreen illusion. He chuckles to hissel. Jed’s dead deep sometimes. You don’t really know what he’s talkin about.

  Anyway, here we are. It’ll be ages before the speakers start but. At least there’s mair space – for a wee while, until the rest of the demo gets here. I turn and take a gander round about me. It gies me a chance to look at Julian without him noticin. He’s standin wi his shoulders hunched and another rollie in his hand. He must be cold; he’s chitterin slightly. He could a done wi his big parka the day, no that wee thin combat jacket. The corner of his black and white Arab scarf is stickin out the pocket. His hair’s the colour a glass in the sun. Like that spun glass.

  Farkhanda comes and stands beside me. I can feel the heat comin off her in waves; her face is dead flushed.

  Alright? I says.

  She gies me a kinda sharp look. Why should I no be?

  Just askin.

  Hey, Julian, she says, what do you think of Clare’s dreadlocks?

  Julian turns to us and the look he gies takes us both in at once. Very fetching, he says. His eyes stay on me a bit longer.

  How d’you like his haircut but? Danny says. No think he’s the spittin image of Oor Wullie? All he needs is a bucket to sit on. Oor Wullie, Your Wullie, A’body’s Wullie.

  Who is Oor Willie? Some arcane Scottish folk legend?

  He doesny look nothin like him, I says. You don’t look nothin like him. Julian gies me a quick smile.

  I keep my eyes off Danny, and turn away again to watch the marchers comin into the square. Folk are getting fed up holdin up their banners and placards, but you can still read a few. NO BLOOD FOR OIL; BLIAR!; BUSH THE FATHER KILLED MY SISTER, BUSH THE SON IS KILLING ME; IF WAR IS THE ANSWER, WHAT IS THE QUESTION? There’s a woman that looks l
ike a granny, white hair, walkin around carryin a wooden tray in front, with a strap to hold it on. The tray’s covered in sandwiches. A card on her chest says, MAKE PIECES, NOT WAR. Reminds me of the fairy cakes! She’s goin about offerin a piece to anybody that wants one. I wouldny mind one mysel; I’m quite hungry. Jed is pure psychic; I see him goin up to her and choosin a handful a sandwiches. He offers her money, but she laughs, willny take it, shakes her white head.

  Farkhanda, he says when he comes back, you can have first choice. Most of them are roast ham, but there’s an egg and a cheese one.

  I’ve no really noticed afore, but Jed’s quite good-lookin; in fact, without his glasses, you would say he’s definitely handsome. You canny hardly see the scar now where that guy Malcolm kettled him. And his ponytail – that makes him look different too.

  Thanks, she says, could I have the cheese?

  Rest of yous alright with ham? I would prefer the egg.

  Don’t tell me there’s another veggie in our midst! Julian says. Heaven forfend.

  I propose a competition, Danny says. He takes a piece off Jed, and stuffs half of it in his mouth right away, chews it fast and swallows it. One pound prize for the best slogan spotted.

  So we all start shoutin and pointin at once.

  BLAIR! DON’T BE A PUPPET TO A MUPPET!

  POVERTY IS A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION.

  Look at that yin. BLAIR STOLE MY HOMEWORKAND STARTED A WAR.

  MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN MAKES COUNTLESS THOUSANDS MOURN. ROB’T BURNS.

  I’ve seen a good one, Farkhanda says. VOGTS OUT!

  In the end we decide no to stay for the speakers. We’d already been hangin about for over an hour and marchers were still comin into the big square. I stood up on a concrete bollard and I seen Shenaz and her pals, so Farkhanda finally went and joined them. It was kinda obvious she would rather a came wi the rest of us, but there was no way. She’d a been in deep shit wi her family if she had. Serious soapy bubble. In a way I was glad when she went, cause it was getting to be a strain. Knowin that Shenaz would be lookin for her; knowin that bein wi me was against the will of Allah or somethin. She telt me one time that some Muslims think all Western lassies are whores and prostitutes. That made me feel horrible. How d’you think I feel? Farkhanda says.