Page 116 of Playing to Win

“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 thereisa 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 likeyoutelt 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—”

“Yousecalled it ‘Project Fear’! That wasyourname 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 sharingTelegrapharticles.” 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. “Icould’vedone more, if I’d not wasted so much time with you!”

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