Page 96 of Playing to Win

“And now it’s being sold to Russians who’ll demolish it.”

“A necessary sacrifice to save Dunleven, which matters more than any of us.”Especially me.“You must think me so spoiled. I’ve a perfectly lovely flat, and wherever I find work after uni, my parents will buy me a house. To replace this.” His throat tightened on the last sentence.

Colin looked down at Andrew’s hand clutching the doorpost. “Would another house really replace this? I mean, you thought it’d be yours forever, right? You thought you could come back any time you wanted and just…have a place.”

Andrew huffed out a breath of astonishment, that Colin would understand what hurt him most. “I did. I imagined one day my husband and I would spend weekend holidays here. We’d bring our beautiful children—mine biologically, of course, with Emma Watson as surrogate and egg donor—”

“You’re mates with Emma Watson?”

“I’m joking. Well, not really. We all have aspirations.” Andrew hoped his light tone was convincing, but based on the sympathy in Colin’s eyes, he was failing miserably.

“We should trash the place when we leave,” Colin said. “Break the legs off the bed, chuck the telly in the loch, have a massive pish on all the furniture and rugs, like a pack of wild dogs. That’d teach them.”

Andrew laughed. “We could carve a message to the new owners here on the porch floor. How do you say ‘Fuck you’ in Russian?”

“I’ll Google it.” Colin pulled out his phone. “We are doing this.”

I love you.The words nearly slipped off Andrew’s tongue. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to ruin the levity of the moment. Perhaps he’d say it later, in the dark.

“Oh!” Colin brushed past him into the cottage. “The Big Big Debate’s on.”

“I thought that happened this afternoon.”

“It did, but it wasn’t televised live. This is the recorded version.” He switched on the TV, which was already tuned to BBC One. “Oi, there it is!”

The camera panned over the crowd of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds at Glasgow’s packed-out Hydro arena, where Scotland’s youngest voters were posing questions about independence to four prominent politicians, including Andrew’s personal heroine, Scottish Tory leader, Ruth Davidson. A proud lesbian, Davidson had given an impassioned plea to the Scottish Parliament for marriage equality. Her speech had inspired Andrew’s own coming out (though it had taken him months to find the courage to actually do it). Like Andrew, she’d suffered homophobic abuse from cybernats all year.

Still, he wasn’t in the mood for politics. “Must we watch?” Andrew crawled onto the bed behind Colin, then wrapped his legs and arms around him. “This will just put us at each other’s throats.” He took Colin’s earlobe between his teeth and gave a gentle but firm tug.

Colin caressed Andrew’s thigh. “It’s only another twenty minutes.”

“Then we can go for a swim?”

“Maybe. Shh.”

They watched the debate for five minutes before Andrew asked, “Is it me or is this dreadfully boring?”

“It’s not you. The kids live-tweeting this afternoon made it sound really cool. Maybe the BBC edited out all the good parts. Wouldn’t put it past those biased bastards.”

“The BBC are biased in favor of reality, something you’re clearly—” He stopped himself. After what he’d seen in Drumchapel Sunday afternoon, Andrew could no longer claim that Colin was poorly acquainted with reality.

They kept watching, and Andrew kept his tight hold on Colin. With only a week until the referendum, the polls showed Yes and No neck and neck. Though part of Andrew couldn’t wait for the whole business to be over—especially if it meant the end of his own cyber- and broken-window-related harassment—he also dreaded the outcome either way.

If Scotland voted No, Colin’s heart would shatter. Andrew had never met anyone who cared so much about something bigger than himself. Colin had pinned his every hope for the future upon independence.

If Scotland voted Yes, Andrew’s family would be devastated. It would be like someone—like everyone—had died. It went beyond protecting their wealth and way of life. A three-hundred-year-old Union would be broken, and with it the hearts of those who loved it, not just here in Scotland, but in England, Wales, Northern Ireland, and beyond.

Either way, someone Andrew loved would suffer one of the biggest traumas of their lives.

When the debate ended, he groaned with relief, then went to the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of swimsuits. “The water should be reasonably warm, and by that I mean not quite hypothermia-inducing.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, skin already tingling in anticipation of the cold, clean water.

BBC Ten O’Clock Newsbegan then. Andrew moved to turn off the TV, but Colin stopped him.

“You’ve got to see this one bit. It was brilliant. I watched the raw footage today online.”

Andrew wrinkled his nose when he saw the smug face of Scotland’s First Minister. “Alex Salmond’s press conference? Why would I—”

“Nick Robinson from BBC was a total prat and Salmond completely schooled him. The foreign press were laughing their arses off.”

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