Page 113 of Playing to Win

We can do this, Colin thought, a sentiment echoed throughout the nation. This time there would be no glorious defeat, no consoling themselves with how nobly they’d fought. This time, they would win.

= = =

“Ruth says it’s in the bag.” With a satisfied smile, Jeremy set his phone on the tiny pub table between him and Andrew. “I’d love to order champagne, but that might look suspicious.”

Andrew frowned down at his dinner plate, his salmon croquettes barely half eaten. His stomach had been in knots for hours.

As on every election day, there’d been no substantive news, just an entire country gnawing its collective fingernails. TheTimes’s front page read “D-Day for the Union,” and one old chap on the Tube compared London’s atmosphere to that during the blitzkrieg. “It’s like waiting for the world to end,” he’d told Andrew.

Andrew lifted his head to look at his brother-in-law, only now registering his words. “Ruth Davidson?” The Scottish Tory leader had been dispatching hourly voter-turnout updates to senior party members. “What does she mean it’s in the bag?”

“They’ve been sampling postal ballots for weeks.” Jeremy’s dark eyes gleamed. “The No vote is so far ahead with those, the chance of Yes winning is nearly nonexistent.”

Andrew stared at him. “Sampling? Is that legal?”

“Completely. Both sides have been doing it. It’s only against the law if you look to see how a particular person voted.” He raised his diet Coke an inch off the table, then quietly clinked it against Andrew’s club soda. “It’s over, mate. It was over before today’s voting even began. The union’s been saved.”

Andrew couldn’t get his mind around this news. “How do we know for certain? What if Yes has a massive turnout?”

“They won’t, not as big as ours. We’re using the same get-out-the-vote consultants that won Obama the White House. So whilst Yessers have been partying in George Square and trolling on Twitter, we’ve been seeing to it every member of Scotland’s silent majority makes it to the polls.” Jeremy darted a glance around the pub, then beckoned Andrew to lean in close. “I’m hearing fifty-four to forty-six percent.”

“My God.” Andrew imagined Colin’s heartbreak at losing by such a decisive margin. The knot in his stomach doubled back on itself.

“I had a good feeling about today.” Jeremy covered his mouth to hide a giddy smile. “I’ve been watching the online gambling sites. As recently as Monday the momentum was with Yes, but by last night every bet had switched back to No.”

“What changed, I wonder?”

Jeremy gave an animated shrug, palms up. “Last-minute promises by Westminster? Cold feet on the part of the undecideds? Mercury coming out of retrograde?” He sat back and rubbed the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. “I think the Yes campaign simply ran out of time. If the referendum were next week, who knows? They’ve fought well—better than we did. Of course, that doesn’t make them right.”

“Of course,” Andrew said softly, thinking of what Colin had said last night about fighting well but always losing. How it was the Scottish way.

Jeremy sat forward again, his exuberance bubbling over. “I for one can’t wait to see the Nats’ sniveling faces tomorrow morning when their idiotic dreams are crushed.” He made a fist around his paper napkin. “I can’t wait to hear them rant about how they were cheated. I can’t wait to watch them turn on one another like losers always do.” He reached for his drink, then paused when he caught Andrew’s eye. “Excepting your boyfriend, of course. I hope he’s all right.”

He won’t be.After a lifetime of cynicism and impotent rage, Colin finally believed in something. Once his dream turned to dust, would he take comfort in knowing that Scotland was forever changed? Or would he fall into despair and think all his hope and hard work was for nothing?

Would he hurt himself again?

Jeremy looked at his watch. “Ah! We should head to the station. The Party wants us back in Edinburgh to celebrate.” He opened his wallet and yanked out a twenty-pound note.

“‘Us’?”

“Didn’t I mention it? The leaders want to meet with you. Now that this ghastly referendum business is over, we can finally look to the future of the Scottish Tories.” He slapped the note on the table. “And you, Lord Andrew, are that future.”

Andrew steadied his breath as he followed Jeremy out of the pub. At long last he was being set loose to fulfill his destiny.

Jeremy’s patter continued in the hotel lobby. “Tonight during the bash we can discuss where you stand the best chance of getting elected. After you finish at Glasgow University, you could study law in Edinburgh.” He steered Andrew through the crowd toward the door. “A few wealthy council areas there could very well switch to Tory by the 2025 general election.”

“Generalelection?” Andrew had assumed they meant for him to run for the Scottish Parliament first. Were they aiming even higher, like he’d always dreamed?

“But let’s think out of the box for a moment.” Jeremy slung an arm around Andrew’s shoulder. “East Renfrewshire,” he said in a hushed voice. “We move you there immediately—it’s near enough to Glasgow you can commute to university. You start making connections there now, and by the 2020 general election, who knows? You could be the first Member of Parliament born in the 1990s.”

With a grin, Jeremy let go of him and started to step into the revolving door.

Andrew stopped short. “What about Colin?”

Jeremy pivoted, bumping into an annoyed lady in a red suit-dress. “What about him?”

“You’re not concerned he could harm my political career?”

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