Demo (31 page)

I always had a feelin she fancied Danny.

You're already a mystery in your own right, Farkhanda. Don't need dreads for that.

And she's like, smilin at him wi her head on one side. Funny how he can just switch it on, Danny. Charm the pants off the lassies. Does it to my ma and all; twists her round his little finger.

The place is even mair crowded now and we're gettin shoved about the more people jostle into the space. That's when it dawns on me.

It's started, I says. I can hear some drummin at the front.

And right enough, you can feel the movement all goin in the one direction now, away fae the Green.

It'll no be very easy reachin Shenaz, I says to Farkhanda.

We look back; it's solid rows a folk as far as you can see.

Impossible, she says.

But she's no one bit bothered; she's quite happy walkin between me and Danny. She holds up her placard and I remember mine. My hand's sore wi carryin them; the batons have got sharp edges.

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. That'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.