Page 124 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“Whit pish is this?” Finlay suddenly exclaims, gazing down at his tablet. He refreshes the page several times, his face slack with astonishment. “Whit thefuck? My account’s been blocked. I cannae log in.”

“Account for what?” I ask, pouring out soy milk.

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s a news website,” he mumbles, looking stunned, like this could never have happened to him. He tilts the tablet in my direction, showing me the angry red textAccount terminated. “I’ve been postin’ there for years, I’m a regular… My last comment mentioned themildestremark about Antiro havin’ shady ties. Noo I’m banned. Nae warnin’. Nae anythin’. Account terminated. Five thoosand posts, gone.”

“Still think you’re on the right side?” Luke asks without any shred of sympathy.

Finlay says nothing, just stares blankly at his tablet like he doesn’t know what to do with it now.

When the time comes for Oscar Munro’s big speech to the nation, Danny plugs in the TV and sits beside me, his knee brushing mine. Luke wears a kind of bored expression, as though none of this relates to him in any capacity, though he listens with his jaw set and a tension he can’t disguise. Finlay perches on the arm of the sofa, tablet abandoned, rocking back and forth with anticipation like this is the TV event of the year, with Rory lounging against the wall beside him, his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, grim-faced and serious.

My breath disappears the moment I see Oscar Munro again.

Oscar Munro, with all his silver-haired lethal sharpness, stands stoic at a wooden lectern inside Downing Street. I swallow, struck as always by the similarities — and the crucial differences — between him and his son.

I wonder how many people are watching this live right now.

Millions?

“This summer has been one of increasing turbulence,” he begins, his mouth a tight line. “Many of you will be confused, afraid of what has been happening on our streets. I encourage you not to be.”

And so we listen to Oscar Munro recount all the many ways we should place our faith in the brave activists up and down the country who have represented their country so fiercely, so passionately, that they deserve to be honored by their countrymen for their pursuit of truth and justice at any cost.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Finlay whispers. “He’s gone all-in wi’ Antiro.”

He singles out Benji as the bravest of the lot — the youthful, modern face of British politics. Appealing, relatable, articulate. A young man who’s done more for politics in the last year than many of Oscar Munro’s fellow colleagues have done throughout their parliamentary lives.

“It is rarely painless to make history. What is happening at every level is the overturning of a system of lies. We in government have been just as deceived as you at home. And I promise you, for those listening who have been upset by the latest news, that this government will be relentless in getting the answers, and actions, that you deserve from the former Royal family.”

And with that parting shot, Oscar Munro ends his speech. A regional voiceover for the channel warmly reiterates that the speech had been a “political broadcast by Oscar Munro,” before informing us, business as usual, thatEastEndersis coming up next.

Danny switches off the TV. There’s a moment of stunned silence as we consider Oscar Munro’s final, threatening message.

“Makes sense,” Finlay concludes, as though someone had asked a question. “He wants tae be seen daein’ something popular. Whit isnae popular? Royalty. So make them a scapegoat and win over voters. Country’s fallin’ tae shit and the PM’s managed tae convince the people it’s because the Royal family refuses tae abdicate instead o’ his own inept governance. Masterful. Sociopathic, but masterful.”

Rory peels himself from the wall, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s just been stumped by a complicated example of calculus. “What’s he playing at? I bet even now Parliament is stuffed with Royal-sympathizers. Give Antiro an inch and they’ll take a mile. Political beggars have become the bullies, and my father is emboldening them.” He shakes his head, at a loss. “Rule number one: don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

From his space on the sofa, Luke stands abruptly. “I need to leave.” It’s a ripped-out mutter as he paces furiously around the living room. “They’ll arrest me. They’ll torture me. You heard him —at any costs. I need to get out of here…”

“No’ if ye choose tae abdicate,” Finlay replies, as quick as a shot, and Luke scrubs a large, frustrated hand down his face. “They wouldnae go after ye then.”

“Chooseto abdicate? What part of any of this is a choice? Who in their right mind wouldchooseabdication?”

“You’re right, ye dinnae have a choice because ye arenae legitimate. That choice was never yours tae make. That was decided lang before ye were born. But for noo, either ye stay silent or ye abdicate: and that’s a choice. Speaking up or saying nothin’. Only you can decide that.”

“You also don’t have to decide anything right now,” Danny says quietly, and everyone turns to look at him. Luke’s face is stuck in a kind of pleading pain, as though the world hinges on whatever Danny’s about to say. “You’re still your own person, and it’s of my opinion that you should never let bullies, no matter how powerful, control your actions.”

I stare in surprise at Danny, wondering how much courage it took him to say that, at the lack of pointedness in Rory’s direction.

“I’m my own person,” Luke repeats, like the notion is foreign to him. He glances at Rory, as though for confirmation of this.

“You’re more than a house or a crest,” Rory points out. “You’re more than blood and palaces. You are as human as the rest of us, at the end of the day.”

It doesn’t strike me as the most pro-monarchy argument, where royals are supposedly vessels of divinity, but Luke nods as though this is what he needed to hear.

“Then I think I know what to do,” Luke says after a beat, with a dazed glance at me. “I think I know the next move I have to play.”

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