Demo (30 page)

WANTED FOR

TERRORISM!

One's in black and the other's in red. I couldny really think of anythin else to write. My da's got one a the

NOT IN

MY NAME!

posters, and my ma's made her ain too,

NO BLOOD

FOR OIL!

I've stuck my two ontay the batons wi the staple gun. My da sanded the wood, but he says to me and my ma, Better wear gloves in case you get a skelf. My ma gies him a wee peck on the cheek then, and he lassoes her wi his scarf, pulls her tay him and gies her a big kiss on the mouth. That's about the first time I've saw them bein nice to one another since Danny's left!

Do you think Farkhanda's comin, Clare? my ma says. We'll need to get goin soon.

Don't know. She says she was. Could we no wait ten minutes longer?

My ma and da have got their coats on already. I'm no really wantin to wait either; I'm scared in case I miss Danny. He'll be wi Julian. And Jed and Laetitia.

Yous go yoursels. I'll wait a wee while longer, I says.

You sure now? It's gonny be a huge crowd the day, they're sayin.

Aye, Ma. I went to Florence, remember? There was a
million
folk marchin there.

Oooh, awful sorry, she says. A seasoned campaigner already.

My da gies her a wee squeeze round the shoulder and winks at me. Right, hen, we'll see you…

And the doorbell goes at this point.

Farkhanda, I says.

My da's nearest the door, so he opens it and I hear Farkhanda's voice.

Hello, Mr Kilkenny, sorry I'm late. Is Clare still here?

She sounds a bit upset.

Aye, hen, come in, come in. I wish my da wouldny do that, call my friends
hen
. It's bad enough when he does it to me. He stands to the side to let her in, and she steps into the lobby.

I'm lookin at her and I don't know what to say.

My ma looks at me, then at Farkhanda. Hello, Farkhanda, she says. How you doin?

She's dressed in black fae head to toe. No just her hijab. She's wearin a sorta long black coat right down to her feet.

I'm sorry I'm late, Clare. I couldn't get away any earlier. There's tears in her eyes, but she blinks them away. I made my own placard in case we didn't have time. She hauds up this big piece a white card. It's got red writin on it. Urdu, I think.

What does it say?

Death to the Infidel.

What?

No really. She smiles for the first time and looks ower at my ma and da. No really. But a brother a one a my sister's pals wrote that on his banner. His mother made him burn it.

Good for her, my ma says, though you can understand why people feel that way.

So what
does
it say on your placard?

Tell you later.

You've no got a handle for yours, hen. Would you like one?

There's nay wood left, Da.

Well, we'll just need to improvise, my ma says. You go and get your coat on and we'll find somethin.

Thanks, Mrs Kilkenny. Farkhanda follows me into my room. I pick up my coat and my bag off the bed. I've already got Laetitia's diary in it. I've no forgot.

Clare?

What?

Will you do something for me?

Depends what it is.

She's standin wi her back to my granny's mirror. Fae the front she looks dead young, wi her big round eyes. But the reflection of her in the mirror is like the back of an old woman.
Out a fairy tale or somethin. The old woman in the forest wi a long black cloak. She reaches intay a pocket in the side a the coat and pulls somethin out.

Will you wear this for me? she says.

It's a braid of her hair. Black and smooth and glossy, about the same thickness as my dreads. And she's wove a ribbon through it, the same dark red as
my
hair near enough, and tied it off with thread at one end and a red bead at the other.

I know I shouldny greet, but I have to swallow and swallow to stop mysel.

We've no got time for that, Clare. Will you wear it or no?

I nod my head. I canny speak.

Thanks, she says. You're a pal. And she gies me a hug. All I can see is this black cloth. Thick black cotton. Her body feels hot underneath.

She pulls away. There's no time to sew it the now. Maybe after. But this should fix it for the day at least. And she takes out this vicious-lookin hairpin.

Holy Mary…! I says. Watch what you do wi that. I don't want my brain skewered.

I look at her standin there, wi the pin in one fist and the braid in the other, her black robes blottin her out, and we both laugh.

She holds out her hand and the braid uncoils on her palm. I pick it up. It's plaited really tight. Black and silky with the red ribbon through it, and it smells of jasmine and lemons.

It's beautiful, Farkhanda. Maybe I should a done my hair like this. Thank you.

She turns round. My room feels dead small all of a sudden, and there's no much space to move between the bed and the dressin table. The two of us look in the mirror.

OK, where do you want it? she says. The other side fae Julian's?

There's a chap at the door and we both jump. That's us away now, my ma shouts, fae the lobby. Your placard's standin here, Farkhanda, outside the door. See yous later. Enjoy the march.

Aye, alright, I shout back. You too.

And we hear the door close behind them.

No, I think I want it at the same side, about here, I says.

I hold it up just in front a Julian's. Fix it here.

It takes her about three seconds and there it is. A black plait hangin next to the white among the red. And nay sign a the pin.

That's magic, I says.

She's lookin at me in my granny's mirror, wi her lips pulled in ower her teeth. Then she smiles. A sad kinda smile. Aye, it's no bad, is it?

I put my coat on, my white coat, and we stand for a minute lookin at oursels. Me wi my dreads spread ower my hood; Farkhanda wi her brown eyes in her round face and her long black claes.

The black and white minstrels, Farkhanda says. Come on, let's go.

I pick up my two placards. Maybe somebody at the demo will use the other one. Farkhanda's placard's just outside my door, propped up against the wall. My da's took the handle off the kitchen mop and stapled Farkhanda's card to it. The pole's the same red as the writin.

She holds it up high. Hah, she says, I've got a better handle than you. It stands out great against her black coat.

Aye, so you have. You gonny tell me what your placard says now?

She points to the last squiggle and moves her finger back along the line. It says, Dreadlocks and Hijab Unite Against War in Iraq.

Aye, right.

She laughs her beautiful laugh and we step out the door and slam it shut behind us.

This is impossible; we're no gonny find them. I've never saw so many people thegether in the town. No even the Saturday of the cup final at Hampden. There's folk pourin into Glasgow Green fae all directions. No wonder the bus was goin so slow. We couldny work out why at the time. Farkhanda went and had a conversation in Urdu wi the bus driver, but I seen him shruggin his shoulders. He pointed to her placard then, and made some comment and they were baith noddin. But she still willny tell me what it really says.

We were pure inchin along the road at two miles an hour. Eventually we says, the hell wi this, and we jumped off at the lights to get the subway the rest of the way. It was worse! There was this big queue right out the front and along the pavement. Never in my life saw it like that afore. You could tell a lot a the folk in the queue were goin to the demo. Apart fae the fact some a them were carryin placards and one guy had a banner scrolled up around two poles meetin in the middle, other folk had badges and rainbow scarfs and stuff, and there was a kind a quiet buzz about everybody. You knew they wereny goin into town to do their shoppin. I heard one guy behind us in the queue sayin to another that a delegate to the conference –
an actual delegate
– he says, wasny allowed in for wearin an anti-war T–shirt,
because it might upset Mrs Blair
! That canny be true, the other guy says. Surely no. Aye, I wouldny put it past that pusillanimous shower! the first guy says.

What does
pusillanimous
mean? I whisper to Farkhanda.

I'm no exactly sure. Feeble-minded, I think.

Soft in the head?

Somethin like that.

No, it means they've got nay guts, hen, nay backbone, the guy behind says.

We look round at him. He's beamin at us, a guy about my da's age. I smell beer off his breath.

Though feeble-minded's no far off the mark either. What's your placards say?

I turn them round for him to read. Aye, that's the game. And the other guy says, That's the berries. What about yours, pal? he says to Farkhanda. She hauds it up and thinks a minute. I'm waitin to hear what she's gonny say.

Same, she says. Same as hers.

It took us about half an hour even to get ontay the platform, the queue was right up the escalator as well as the stairs. When we finally,
finally
got there, the platform was mobbed too and we couldny get on the first train that came along. It was amazin.

By the time we arrive at the Green, we're knackered and I'm needin a pee. So is Farkhanda. But Farkhanda canny go into a pub, even to use the toilet, and every café we've came to is stowed out the door. We're just startin to think we'll need to go behind a bush, when Farkhanda spots a row a Portaloos. The queue's no too bad and they turn out to be no even all that boggin yet, just the chemical smell. So that's us sorted. A bean's a bean, but a pee's a relief, as my da would say!

When I come out, Farkhanda's waitin for me, a figure in black, starin into the distance, her placard upside down at her feet, her hand on the red pole like it's the handle of a parasol. Come to think of it, we could do wi a parasol the day; it's brilliant sunshine and the sky's dead bright, hurts your eyes to look at it. Cold but. I jump down the steps and put my arm around her shoulder.

OK, where do we start? I says. You sure Shenaz is gonny be here?

Well, they says they would be. Her and Mumtaz and Aisha and Kalsum.

Are they all gonny be dressed in black too?

Yeah? So?

I'm only askin.

No, you're not, Clare. You don't approve of us wearin Muslim dress.

It's no that. Honest. It's just…

Just what?

Just… it seems like it's tryin to – I don't know – rub you out or somethin; make you disappear.

Well, it is in a way. Do you think it's better having men looking at your bum all the time, ogling your breasts, spiking your drink, so they can follow you and rape you?

She's got dead angry all of a sudden and her face has went dark. And I'm thinkin, How did we get into the middle of this?

Keys, I says, and I stick my thumbs up, like we used to do when we were wee and didny want to fight. Gonny no fall out wi me? No the day.

She's turned her back on me now and I want to put my hand on her shoulder, but – I don't know – I canny. I go round the front and look at her instead, through the one wee window in the black. Her face is closed down, and I don't know what she's thinkin.

Farkhanda, I says, truce. Please.

Her face is still shut.

I pick up her braid at the side of my head. You want this back? I says.

She tuts and gies a big sigh. No, she says. Don't be daft. And she nearly smiles again. The march'll be movin off soon. Let's see if we can find your brother and my sister.

We prop our placards on our shoulders and move towards the sea of people. At least we can see the war memorial stickin up into the sky. What is it you call they things again? An obelisk? Aye, I think it's an obelisk. We have to fight our way through the crowd to get to it. There must be a lot of people usin it as a meetin point, cause we canny get right up to it. Wee weans wi face paint and home-made banners are runnin about. There's even a choir, a bunch of women in three rows, practisin their anti-war songs.

Gonna lay down those guns and bombs,

Down by the riverside…

They're singin in harmony too. It sounds really good. Oldfashioned maybe, but good. I wonder if it's the choir that woman Bernadette told me about in Florence. Circe, it was called, I think, wasn't it? I never rung her up when I got hame, like she says. No sign a her in the rows. They're all a lot older than me, anyhow. Some a them's older than my ma even.

I think I see Shenaz, Farkhanda says. She's jumpin up and down to look ower the heads of the folk next to us.

I jump up too. Oh aye, I see her, I says. With they other lassies. I don't dare to say it to Farkhanda, but they're no that hard to spot; a wee huddle a black in a sea of colour. We gonny go and say hello?

Yes, if we can get through. Any sign of Danny?

No, I've no clapped eyes on him yet.

It's Julian I'm really lookin for, I think to mysel. He's taller, should be easy to spot in this crowd, even without his big hair.

Hi, Wee Yin. I get a fright. Danny! Standin right next to me. I look round at him. He's thinner and his hair's longer. It seems like ages since I seen him.

Then I watch it dawnin on him. His face is a picture. Jesus
Christ! he says. When did you do that to your hair? Aw no, Clare… no, wait a minute… You're no still…?

No! No, I'm no. I can feel my face goin red and Farkhanda's lookin at me funny.

Hi, Danny, she says then.

Oh hi, Farkhanda. How you doin? Alright? You no talk some sense into Clare?

I helped her to do it, she says. She's wearing one of mine too. And she reaches ower and picks up the black plait to show Danny.

I wish she hadny says that. I know she's tryin to stick up for me, but I wish she hadny says it. I move my head back and she lets the braid fall.

Don't tell me you've got dreadlocks under that scarf and all!

No, she says, and she giggles. But maybe I should pretend I have. Make me more mysterious.