Page 127 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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Oscar Munro does receive some heat, though it’s not quite the inferno Luke hopes for. Several backbench MPs resign together, citing irreconcilable differences over the PM’s handling of the monarchy. As a consequence, and with more resignations predicted to occur, Oscar Munro’s majority in Parliament becomes increasingly uncertain.

For all his prior concern over his father remaining in power and maintaining that precious parliamentary majority, Rory says nothing in support of his father at all.

“Why isn’t he stopping the resignations?” I ask, baffled. “Surely politicians are allowed to disagree?”

“What makes you think my father approves of disagreement?”

“But… then you have a weak party full of followers and no dissent.”

“You say that like my father would consider that a bad thing.”

It’s become clear over summer that Rory’s bitter disagreement with his father has morphed into a deep cynicism over the entirety of his political career. Knocked from Rory’s pedestal, Rory seems less blinkered toward his father’s faults as well as the words of his detractors, which has made Finlay relax somewhat with relief. Somehow, I can’t picture Rory ever crying with worry again over his father’s re-election chances.

On TV, the news picks up on the fact that certain members from within Antiro had managed to be displeased by the Prime Minister’s sycophantic speech. Rory, Finlay and I watch an interview with one fast-talking member in a kind of blank silence.

“It’s just so offensive, frankly, that he’s saying that word,” the protester announces with an irritated expression, his chewing gum rolling so thickly around the cavern of his mouth that the TV screen occasionally flashes with a bright, intense white that contrasts with the dull sallowness of his teeth. “He needs to do better and educate himself more about our cause. I mean, ‘former Royal family’?” he adds, scoffing. “They were never royal.Ever. It’s an important distinction to make and it’s so insulting to those protesting against the Royal family. The fact he thought it was okay to say that proves to me he’s just pandering to Ripes.”

“Ripes?” the reporter asks. Behind her, there’s a placard that readsEND THE ROYAL FAMILYbut the letters “m” and “y” have been crossed-out in the latter word, so that it readsEND THE ROYAL FAIL.

“Royal-inclusive political extremists,” the protester answers promptly.

Beside me, Rory snorts. “Fucking hell. My father bends over backwards for these morons and this is what he gets. The court jesters are letting us know their political views.” He couldn’t look more pleased, a small, vindictive smile tugging at his mouth as he watches the reporter awkwardly wrap up the interview. “Everything’s going to hell in a handbasket and here they are, shaking and crying over semantics.”

“If they say they’re protesting against the Royal family and the use of the wordroyal,” I begin slowly, trying to understand the circular direction their argument has taken, “but they’re saying the Royal family has neverbeenroyal… then what exactly are they protesting?”

“They just want an excuse to watch the world burn,” Rory says darkly. “Protesting makes them look more oppressed, makes them look like the good guys, the grassroots people-power that totally isn’t being bankrolled by the government, so they keep it up as ardently as if my father had paid them.” He pauses and, in a sneering tone, adds, “Oh, wait.”

As he says this, the news cuts to the reporter in the studio, who adds, “We’re just hearing some breaking news,” while holding her earpiece closer.

Finlay, who’d been busy plucking gel into his hair in a futile bid to control it, quickly turns away from the mirror above the mantelpiece.

“Oh Christ, whit noo?” he mutters.

“Following the spate of resignations from the ruling party after Oscar Munro’s anti-monarchy speech yesterday, it has been confirmed that the BRP has stepped in to form a coalition government.”

“Are you fuckin’ joking?” Finlay snaps.

“The BRP?” I ask, the name ringing a bell. “What’s the BRP?”

“The British Republic Party,” Rory answers grimly, and that’s when I remember their minor appearance during the pre-election debate. “Ponsonby’s leader of it. She’s a nutjob.”

“They’re a breakaway group fae the Republic For Britain Party,” Finlay adds, “which itself was an offshoot o’ United Republic.”

“Basically it’s the left doing what it does best and eating itself,” Rory mutters, which earns him a dark scowl from Finlay.

“They’re an anti-monarchist pressure group disguised as a political party. They’re designed tae carry oot the results o’ the referendum,” Finlay explains, “but mair extreme than their previous incarnations. Due tae a decade o’ government inaction on the subject, they feel they’re mair than entitled tae their dues.”

We watch in silence as footage of a squirrelly-looking Julianne Ponsonby appears on screen, shaking hands with Oscar Munro and grinning.

“This means my father can now enact the referendum,” Rory murmurs when the footage ends. “Even with the resignations, he now holds the biggest majority on this issue that Parliament’s ever had in ten years. There may have been a stage where peaceful negotiations were possible, but now?” He runs a hand down his face. “With them in the passenger seat? Luke and his family are fucked.”

He switches off the TV with a small noise of disgust. “I’d bet my life on it they’re the ones bankrolling Antiro. An unholy alliance between Antiro, the BRP and my father.”

“That’ll be the next big scandal,” Finlay mutters. “Ten years from noo, it’ll a’ come oot. I guarantee it. I can see it already, Antiro wi’ their fists in the public purse, sucklin’ coins from Oscar Munro’s fat tits.”

Rory raises an eyebrow. “Mind not talking about my father like that?”

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