AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finlay pauses at the man who first stood up to the Antiro guy, his hand clapping his back. “You okay, pal?” he asks quietly, his gaze dropping to the man’s bloody lip.
“Aye,” the man grunts. “It’ll heal.”
Palcan be a term of affability here, too. But only sometimes.
“What was that?” I blurt, taking Finlay’s hand in mine. He gives one last wave to his starstruck admirers, looking pretty damn pleased with himself.
“No’ tonight,” he answers me grimly, the showman facade melting away. “I wisnae havin’ Antiro disrupt things tonight.”
I nod, understanding. One night. A night of fun and peace to celebrate the new year. That’s all we wanted. And even then Antiro had to infiltrate.
“Y’know, in the referendum, Scotland voted unanimously against havin’ a monarchy.Anymonarchy.” Finlay’s fingers weave between mine. “We’re no’ the best at kowtowing tae authority. It’s in oor blood. So tae hear one o’ yer ain, a fuckin’ grown man, bringin’ oot the buntin’ for Benji o’ a’ folk… Christ. They need tae shag a woman — y’know, consensually — then they wouldnae a’ be such fuckin’ heidcases.”
“I don’t know,” I murmur slowly, still somewhat reeling from the last few minutes. “You’ve, er,shaggedme, and judging from tonight, you’re still kind of a headcase.”
Finlay treats me to a loud hoot of genuine laughter that makes me think it was all worth it after all, and together we walk arm in arm to the apartment.
* * *
All lights are out. The drapes are pulled over, making the windows look like black eyes. The whole square is unlit, and Finlay struggles with the key, failing to slot it into the hole several times due to the lack of light. When he eventually succeeds, he mutters, “Got ye, ya bastard,” and pushes the door open by the most narrow gap to allow us to fit through.
We don’t risk turning on the lights in the hallway, instead wandering through to the kitchen, which is enclosed and windowless. I collapse at the kitchen table, exhausted, and watch in dreamy contemplation as Finlay bustles around, fixing himself a post-midnight sandwich.
“You know, after seeing you tonight, I think people would vote for you.” It’s all I could think as he’d performed with such statesmanlike poise. Even now, I admire the confident set of his back as he stretches for a banana to chop. He glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’d make a great politician.”
“Ah.” He’s quiet for a moment before joking, “I thought ye were gonnae say I should become a poet. Or a Burns performer, or somethin’. Instead, ye insult me. Ta.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t be bad at those, either. But I think you’re destined for something huge in politics.”
As Finlay sits at the table, he offers me the first bite of his banana sandwich. I shake my head.
“Well, poetryispolitical, sassenach,” he murmurs. “Burns is one o’ the maist political I can think o’, even though he’s brushed aff as some twee Scottish novelty by the twatty London elites. They wullnae hear that oor man’s better than their ol’ Shakey.” He takes a big, victorious bite of his sandwich. “That one I did tonight… It was unheard o’ at the time tae say the things he was sayin’.” He takes another large bite, swallowing thoughtfully. “No’ just about women, though that was radical for the time, but that last line especially — the ‘ca ira’ bit — caused a lot o’ fuss because it’s French. The folk in charge werenae happy about the idea o’ him supportin’ the French Revolution. I like that kind o’ stuff, wee bits o’ history and rebellion hidden in plain sight.”
Finlay wires into his sandwich in record time, clearly famished. “Though the truth o’ it is… even if Iweretae become a politician, God knows whit party I’d stand for.”
“I remember you last year, writing a manifesto like you were possessed. Any of them would be lucky to have you.”
“Aye — and nane o’ them deserve me.” Finlay’s words are brutally honest, not bothering to give his natural talents a fig leaf of modesty. As he chews thoughtfully, a frown pricks his brows. “Sign up tae Oscar Munro’s party, or my maw’s, and ye’re agreein’ tae the leadership’s preordained agenda. Nae debate, nae nuance allowed. Sign up tae an Opposition party and it’s a’ pantomime shite wi’ nae improvement from within, a’ about ‘look how bad theotherparty is.’ Honestly, who could be arsed?”
Behind us, the fire releases a loud pop.
“I’m no’ about that. Approval o’ a political cause — no’ based in fact or anythin’, but because it’s been rejected by yer political enemy. It’s shabby logic. If Oscar Munro champions somethin’ — aye, there’s a good chance it’s a heap o’ shite based on past form, but ye dinnae wipe it aff wholesale just because o’ the messenger. And worse, nae party is a saintly bastion o’ moral goodness wi’ a manifesto o’ pure brilliance, either. Believin’ in that kind o’ guff is the way tae full-on blinkers. ‘My team’s better than your team’ is lazy, selfish thinkin’ that disnae serve the people.
“Anyway, I have no interest in passin’ political purity tests. I’ll no’ be whipped intae believin’ somethin’ I didnae. I’ll believe whitever I want, whether that’s takin’ bits from the good partyorthe bad yin. Feels like basic common sense, though I didnae realize how lonely it’d be — but of course it is when today’s politics is just modern-day tribalism.”
“Lonely?”
He gives me a frank look. “You ever felt politically homeless? Because that’s the way I feel. I’ve been hammerin’ on doors, wantin’ parties tae reform, and still they insist on indulgin’ Antiro’s fuckin’ lunacy at every turn.” He buffs his hands clean of crumbs and shrugs, “Maybe I could stand as an independent. A joke candidate. At least there’s honor in that.”
“Well,” I murmur, “you’d get the teen girl vote at least.”
Finlay exhales a soft laugh. “Aye, the maist coveted political demographic.”
I’m surprised by Finlay’s words, though I know I shouldn’t be. He’s been politically disillusioned ever since Benji came along. “You wouldn’t even join your mom’s party?”
He picks at the crusts of his sandwich, peeling them apart in thought. His expression grows tense to the point of wariness. “There’s somethin’ I recently learned about her,” he begins quietly, looking me carefully in the eye. It’s as though what he’s about to say is something so big he needs my unconditional trust.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
