Page 114 of Playing to Win

Jeremy snorted. “Of course he would, in the long run. Which is exactly why you should have your youthful dalliances now, get them out of your system.” At Andrew’s shocked look, Jeremy added, “I know at your age, every relationship feels like the be-all and end-all. When I was twenty, I met a woman I swore I’d marry. Luckily I didn’t swear it out loud, because a year later I met your sister. Now hurry or we’ll be late.”

He ushered Andrew ahead of him through the revolving door. Outside, the doorman waved over a taxi.

“Euston, please,” Jeremy told the driver, then sat across from Andrew. “Reggie’s packed your things at the Knightsbridge house. He’ll meet us at the station.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess?” Andrew didn’t like anyone, even his bodyguard, touching his stuff. And since when did Reggie take orders from anyone but him?

“I know this must feel overwhelming,” Jeremy said, knee bobbing with excitement, “but get used to it. You’ve an illustrious career ahead of you, and it’s well-deserved. When I see sharp young people like you, I don’t fear for the future.” He leaned forward and gave Andrew a brotherly pat on the knee. “I welcome it.”

With a tight nod, Andrew turned his head to watch the London streets passing by. He knew most of his brother-in-law’s words were mere flattery. The family and the Party no doubt sensed Andrew was drifting away, and this was their softer, kinder attempt to win him back. Whilst George wielded the stick, Jeremy offered the carrot.

Still, Andrew believed that if given the chance, he could rise to the top. Heshouldrise to the top. Success in politics was about much more than intelligence and hard work. It was about pleasing the right people. Staying on-message. Being a team player.

And seizing opportunities, no matter when or why they were presented. No matter what the cost.

= = =

Colin’s knee—all of him, really—was relieved when football practice dismissed early. The Warriors were pure ready for Saturday’s match, and no one could focus anyway. Like her players, Charlotte wanted to get showered, changed, and in front of a TV, pronto.

By the time polls closed at ten p.m., Colin and most of the other Warriors had gathered at Fergus and John’s flat, though no results were likely to be announced until after midnight.

“Welcome to our all-night referendum bash!” Fergus stood before the partygoers, stretching his long arms across the kitchen doorway. “First, a few ground rules.”

Laughter mixed with groans. The Warriors captain’s list of team rules was infamous and ever-growing.

“Rule One,” Fergus said, “No getting hammered. We’re forty hours from our next match. Anyone caught drinking more than one beer an hour will be cut from Saturday’s starting eleven.”

Colin raised his hand. “Can we bank our beers? Like if I drink nothing until two o’clock, I can have all five at once?”

Fergus shook his head. “No banking beers. No rollovers.”

“No way,” Robert murmured over Colin’s shoulder. “How can we stand the suspense if we’re sober?”

“Seriously.” His heart felt ready to give out after a long day of racing and pounding. Colin had probably burned an entire six pack’s worth of calories through stress alone.

“Rule Two,” Fergus continued. “No fighting. Some of you support Yes, some of you No. Emotions are running high, as we’ve seen at practice. Polite debates are one thing, punch-ups are another.”

“My God, you’re so adorably middle class.” John stepped in front of Fergus and announced, “Rules Three through Ninety-Six will be posted prominently in every room. You must read and sign them before receiving your allotment of pizza. But please, enjoy yourselves.”

Fergus joined in the mocking laughter, then stepped aside to let them into the kitchen.

Not long after, Colin came across John at the table refilling giant bowls of crisps, pretzels, and Wotsits. “Is Fergus serious about the one-beer-an-hour rule?”

“Aye, but he won’t enforce it.” John smirked. “He trusts youse to be responsible adults.”

“I usually don’t drink so close to a match.” Colin raised his beer bottle. “But this is indyref night. Time to celebrate!”

“You know Yes is still the underdog, right?”

“Maybe a week ago we were. But today, I can feel it through all Glasgow. We’re ready.”

“If only Scotland was nothing but Glasgow.” John munched a Wotsit, then sucked the cheesy residue from his fingertips. “Actually, that’d be a nightmare. Can you imagine our city council as Parliament? Fuckin’ banana republic we’d be.” He gathered the empty snack bags and shoved them in the rubbish bin. “As for Fergus, he wants to keep life as normal as possible for the Warriors during these mad times. Yes or No, there’ll always be the football.”

“There’s more to life than sport.”

John put a hand to his heart. “Och! I’ll pretend I didnae hear that.” His phone buzzed inside his shirt pocket, and he quickly checked the screen. “Pizza’s arriving in a minute. Gonnae open the door for the man when he comes? I need to, erm, arrange these snacks. Fergus likes them done a certain way.”

“Nae bother.” Colin went to the front door and peered through the peephole. When he saw a figure approach from the left, he opened the door so the pizza guy wouldn’t risk dropping his delivery in order to knock.

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