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A ridiculous flash of jealousy surges inside me, and I bite back the insane words, ‘Are you?’
But Finlay continues tiredly, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s a load o’ sexist auld shite. And it isnae exactly known for its journalistic prowess, either, but… well, nor are prize-winnin’ journalists these days. It’ssomethin’.”
“Didn’t know The Daily Toot was still around,” Rory adds with some surprise. “Thought it folded years ago.”
“It’s a newspaper wi’ tits in it. It’s no’ shiftin’ any time soon.”
“From what I can see,” Rory drawls, “the biggest tits are on the front page.”
“So… this is the only thing calling Benji out?”
Hesitantly, Finlay speculates, “Maybe some o’ the mair minor, right-wing publications. As divisive as Luke’s family is, they still like their royalty and dislike revolution.” He glances across to Rory. “Never in my life dreamed I’d be on the same side as The Daily Toot, mind…”
“Then that was depressingly short-sighted of you,” Rory retorts, his voice clipped. “The truth is the truth no matter who’s saying it. And right now, all other papers have deserted our cause. They prize fear, ignorance and money above honesty and integrity. If they’re calling you a bad person for sticking up for the truth, then the only way to win is by telling them to fuck off and not giving them a single penny more.”
“Disnae mean I wantae cozy up tae right-wing crackpots.”
“But you’re falling into their trap. Don’t you see? Being accused of something you aren’t is a silencing technique — ‘Oh no, but I’m agoodperson, you must be mistaken.’” Rory shrugs. “You know your values and you know you aren’t, so what are you so afraid of? As far as I’m concerned, it’s a deliberate rhetorical tactic: put ‘right-wing’ or ‘far-right’ in front of something, and suddenly everyone loses the plot, debating semantics instead of the actual story.”
“Besides, I don’t believe we have wings anymore,” I say carefully, flicking through The Daily Toot. “The balance of power has shifted so far upward in either extreme that we may as well have antlers instead.”
I don’t miss Rory’s look of appreciation, which never fails to warm me. “Yes, apparently liking nice things and wanting a stable country is right-wing now. Who’d have thought?”
“But really,” I continue, trying to untie the knot in my brain. Politics is different here, I get that. It’s not the same as back home, but there are a number of similar shades that are enough to remind me of elsewhere. “What do left and right mean nowadays? It seems… dated, a dichotomy from another century. Old, tired, divisive labels. No nuance allowed.”
“Maybe so but don’t be mistaken,” Rory murmurs. “Benji’s only so successful because Antiro sucked up to both. The hard left sparked his revolution but the hard right hijacked and funded it. Naive footsoldiers are being played by corporate moneymen like my father. An easily pliable puppet assuming control of a country is absolutely in his best interests.”
Although there are pictures of lingerie-clad women on every other page, The Daily Toot’s articles seem surprisingly detailed. I start to get it then: the tits are how they sneak actual stories in. No one takes them seriously, which means they can get away with murder. “I’m amazed this got into Lochkelvin.”
“My father at least favors a wide spread of views at Lochkelvin,” Rory explains, “even if the media don’t. Being political means it’s important to learn what others believe and why, so reading a newspaper with an alternative editorial stance without losing your mind is something of a skill these days. Trotting out something from The Guardian is no replacement for critical thinking.” At that moment, he sounds so much like his father, echoing words I heard one soft, secret midnight, that I glance up from The Daily Toot in surprise. In Rory’s voice, I so clearly hear Oscar Munro’s deep drawl as he, too, denigrated the same paper.
Rory continues blithely, unaware I’ve been struck dumb: “To know you’ll read things you approve of as well as things you won’t, and to be secure in your convictions to knowwhyyou disagree, without pointing fingers and threatening others… well, it’s a much-needed talent. It’s healthy to understand that people hold different views. To disparage them for not being thecorrectviews only demonstrates your insecurity. And besides,” Rory adds, his expression darkening, “everyone against Benji is considered right-wing. You do realize that, right? Even you, my little leftie radical,” he says with a tinge of sarcasm as he glances in Finlay’s direction. “We’re all right-wing when the left goes fucking bananas.”
“I mean, at this point,” Finlay begins quietly, “fuck it. I’d rather have an honest, compassionate social conservative in charge than a tyrannical, hateful liberal liar.”
Rory’s golden eyebrows fly up to his hair. “Well, Antiro’s really done a number on you, huh.”
“Fuck them,” Finlay says, tossing his newspaper aside. “I gie up. I mean, I’ve checked a’ the papers thoroughly and can see they’ve already destroyed free speech. They’ve silenced and threatened the idea o’ debate. They’ve lied that those against Benji are aligned wi’ the right, which — have Ifuck— I have never, ever been, just because both believe idiots shouldnae randomly seize control o’ a throne. Nah, fuck it. I no longer feel any loyalty. They’ve fucked wi’ every value I hold dear. Every label I’ve ever given myself. So I think it’s the left’s turn tae go take a runnin’ jump and fuck themselves.”
Rory blows out a stunned, startled breath. “Wow. Took you long enough.”
Finlay crosses his arms. He looks more heartbroken than happy following this declaration. “Dinnae be too eager,” he mutters. “I dinnae exactly consider these types left-wing. They’re a new breed o’ bullshitter. My actual dyed-in-the-vegan-wool leftist views huvnae changed tae whitever shite these cunts have dreamt up.”
“Either way, I can’t say I’m overly surprised. The left has no, ah,rightto be shocked when right-wing opinion increases. It’s only because the so-called left regards literally everything as right-wing.”
Finlay plucks at his sleeve. It seems this discussion has brought a heaviness he hadn’t anticipated. “I’m startin’ tae think it disnae matter who or whit you support politically. Ye’ll never please everyone, and there’ll always be someone aye frothin’ tae call ye an absolute moon-howler.”
“I guess labels aren’t particularly helpful,” Danny notes, gazing out of the frosted window. “Left, right. It doesn’t matter when the ground shifts and meanings change unannounced. It doesn’t matter when leaders are lying and telling people only what they want to hear. All that matters is the truth, undiluted, and the people too afraid to speak it.”
“How are you meant to debate lies, anyway?” I ask philosophically. “If the ground always shifts, the leaders always lie, the goalposts always move. From every angle, this is a war on truth, not on Luke.”
“Well, truth is typically one of the first fatalities in war,” Rory murmurs, “and war itself is the breakdown of democracy. I expected no less. And for this to happen on my father’s watch,” he adds, voice darkening. “This is the chaos he’s endorsed.”
Finlay lets out a low, long breath. “I’m gonnae go,” he announces, and we all turn to look at him. At Rory’s pained look, he shakes his head. “Naw, dinnae turn those eyes on me. Ihuvtae. If I’m oot there, I can try meetin’ up wi’ Luke whenever he says where he is.”
I swallow. If Finlay is anything, he’s determined. Once he gets an idea in his head, he can’t shift it. But I worry — the exams are only a few weeks away, and he’s planning to sacrifice his remaining time chasing phantoms.
“I can get answers,” he insists. “I’ll dae some snoopin’, get in touch wi’ my auld pals, see whit’s whit wi’ Antiro.”
