Demo Page 6

  D’you really think we’re gonny find Danny and Laetitia?

  Stranger things have happened. But I’d say the odds are a bit on the long side. He laughs. You’ve got pink icing on your face, incidentally. I lick my fingers again and rub at my cheek. You ought to watch what you eat, you know; never can be sure what might be lurking in an anarchist’s cake.

  It’s a fairy cake, I says. It’s the colour of the icing gives you the clue. But I don’t think he’s heard me. He’s away like the clappers again down the side of the demo, weavin past lampposts and marchers takin a break and a wee woman with a dog goin even slower than the demo.

  We must be gettin near the front of the march by this time; I feel as if I’ve walked miles. We’re in a more open bit again, a wider road. There’s a guy on top of some sorta kiosk – un tabaccaio, it’s called – holdin his banner above his head like a football scarf, swayin it fae side to side and singin. I should’ve taen a camera, but I didny think. There’s more room here, so I’m walkin beside Julian. He’s still no really talkin to me – like he’s no that bothered if I’m there or no. He’s goin slower but, and we’re walkin with a group that’s got drums and maracas things and they’re dancin round to the rhythm. If Julian wasny here I would join in; I don’t think he’s in the mood.

  There’s a big grassy bank wae a railing along and a lot of folk are sittin down there.

  That must be the river, Julian says.

  It’s completely dark now and I canny see any river. What, the Arno? I says. The one the Ponte Vecchio’s on?

  It’s the only river that runs through Florence. Want to take a break? We’ve seen what there is of the action. Not much more to see.

  Yeah, alright. We leave the dancin drummers and cross to the grassy bit. Some folk have spread their coats out and are sittin drinkin out a bottles a wine. Right enough, it doesny feel as cold, but I don’t fancy sittin there; it’s covered in dowts and I can see at least one lump a dog shite.

  It’s Danny that clocks me first. I hear his voice comin out the darkness.

  Clare! Clare! Where the fuck have you been?

  I look round and he’s standin up fae among the folk drinkin. He’s got a bottle in his hand and he looks mad.

  Danny. We’ve been lookin for you.

  Where’s Julian?

  He’s here. I turn round and for a minute I canny see him. But he’s kneelin down talkin to somebody. Over there, see?

  I’ve been worried about you all day. Somebody else stands up and moves into the light fae the streetlamp. Laetitia.

  Hi, Laetitia.

  She doesny smile back. Her face is dead serious. Hello, Clare. We’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how exactly we would go about finding a missing girl in a city hosting an extra – what? – eight hundred thousand plus for the Social Forum.

  Well, I’m here now, I says. I look round, but Julian’s still hunkered down talkin. Danny’s dead mad, but he doesny come near me. He takes a long slug of wine. I don’t know what else to say.

  Is that how many people’s on the demo? Eight hundred thousand? That’s amazin. I bet my da would a loved it.

  Loved what?

  I turn round and Julian’s behind me. His dreads look orange under the streetlights. Hi, guys, he says. Now this is amazing. I just said to Clare that the chances of us actually finding you in this crowd were pretty thin. But here you are. Should’ve bought a lottery ticket today, eh? He makes a kinda oh-wellnever-mind face and shrugs his shoulders.

  Where’ve you been? Danny says. His face goes dead dark when he’s mad, wae his black eyebrows pulled thegether and his black hair. Why were you no back at the B&B at two o’clock like we said?

  What’s this, the third degree? Julian says. He’s startin to sound a bit narked.

  We were worried, Laetitia says. Clare’s only sixteen. Danny’s supposed to be looking after her. He promised his father.

  Well, isn’t that sweet? Danny and Laetitia in loco parentis.

  As you can see, Clare is absolutely fine. She’s been with me.

  We went to see the David, I says.

  Yeah, Clare’s first naked man, wasn’t he, Clare?

  And the prisoners breakin out the stone theirsels.

  What the fuck you talkin about? Danny says. I’ve got a feelin he’s gonny be in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

  Michelangelo’s Prisoners. They look like they’re tryin to escape fae the stone.

  Danny takes another slug from the bottle. Some of the people round about are gettin up, shakin out their coats and startin to leave.

  Look, let’s go somewhere more comfortable, Laetitia says. She still hasny smiled. She pulls her fingers back through her hair. A bunch of the guys are heading to town to Dino’s on Via Cavour. They’ve booked tables. She bends down for her jacket. OK?

  A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute Saloon… Julian says, and punches the air.

  Naybody laughs. I’m glad Laetitia’s here. Wae Danny in that mood, you don’t know what might happen. I start to breathe normal again. I’m no lookin forward to the walk into town, but.

  I wouldny’ve even noticed the place. It’s on a dark bit of the street. From the outside it looks like an ordinary house or a close maybe. Laetitia pushes open the door and goes in first. There’s another door inside with the top half glass.

  Here we are – Dino’s. Cheap and cheerful, she says. Authentic Italian. She holds out her arms and turns to the rest of us.

  I take a look round. It’s a bit of a dive, if you ask me. Kinda like a cave, with an arched entrance and a curved ceiling. The walls are dark wood up to shoulder height and then it’s a sorta yellowy plaster above, covered in dunts and dirty marks. The tablecloths are white paper and this time there’s no candles on them. Only on the walls in kinda metal brackets. It’s hard to make out the faces sittin round the tables at the back.

  Great, Julian says. Fasta, fasta, bring on the pasta!

  Where’d you like to sit? Laetitia says to Danny. He’s no said hardly a word on the way back.

  He shrugs his shoulders, I’m no bothered. Anywhere. This’ll dae. And he sits down and plonks his half-empty bottle on the nearest table. Laetitia pulls out the seat beside him and hangs her jacket on the back.

  Right, I’m off to the loo first, she says. Want to come and help me find it, Clare?

  She sorta looks right at me. So I goes, Yeah, OK. I put my hands in the pockets of my coat and I follow her out. That’s when I realize the fairy cakes are still there. I pull them out. Laetitia holds open the door of the Ladies for me.

  What on earth is that?

  Fairy cakes. I got them off a couple a lassies on the demo. Would you like one? They’re a bit squashed. I’m only really sayin it for somethin to say, so I’m surprised when Laetitia says, Sure, go on then, I’ll have one. I pull them apart. Most of the yellow icing has stuck to the pink. I hold out that one to Laetitia and go to eat the one with no icing mysel.

  She leans her bum against a basin, picks a crumb of icing off the cake and puts it on her tongue. What were you playing at, Clare?

  What d’you mean? I’ve got maist of my cake in my mouth now and it’s stickin to the roof. I feel like gaggin.

  Oh, I think you know what I mean.

  Honest, I don’t. My voice sounds thick with the cake.

  She turns and stares at me. Her dark eyes are lookin right into mine. I can see mysel in the mirror above the basin; my face is dead white.

  I think I’m gonny be sick, I says. I push open the door of one of the cubicles and lock it behind me. The lavvy’s stinkin. I bend over it and stick two fingers in my mouth to scrape the claggy cake off the roof. I throw the stuff in the pan and shake my hand. Then I’m retchin and retchin but there’s nothin much to come up, just clear liquid and a few crumbs of cake. I chuck the crumbled bun case in on top and pull the flush.

  Clare, are you alright? She sounds anxious. I put down the seat and sit on it.

  Yeah, I’m OK. I j
ust need a minute.

  Are you sure? Why don’t you come and sit in the restaurant?

  In a minute.

  Look, you’ve got me worried now. Please come out. I wish she would leave me alone and go back in with the rest of them.

  Clare, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It’s just you gave us such a scare.

  OK, OK. I’m comin. I get up slow and open the door. She’s standin waitin for me. I’ll just give my face a wash. She moves to the side so I can get to the basin. I don’t look at her. I run the cold water and splash my face and drink some from my hand. It tastes different fae Glasgow water. I dry my face on the towel, then my hands.

  I’ll be fine now. Let’s go back through.

  Right. Great. She sounds kinda cool with me, but she follows me out the Ladies, back to the table.

  Julian looks up, I don’t know what you girls find to talk about for so long in the loo.

  Clare’s been sick.

  He looks at me.

  I think it was the cake she ate.

  I warned you about that. Julian sounds as if he’s pretendin to be annoyed. Never trust an anarchist as far as you can throw their poxy cakes.

  Oh, for Christsake, Laetitia says. Do you have to make a political point out of every fucking thing, Julian? It was a cake. End of story.

  Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought it was you feminists who tried to sell the idea that the personal is political? He seems to be enjoyin hissel. His eyebrows are arched, lookin at Laetitia, and he’s got a daft smile on his face. Certainly the fairies who made them seem to think baking buns is a political act? Bake cakes, not bombs! Wasn’t that their slogan, Clare?

  Laetitia pays no attention and sits down beside Danny. He’s got his elbows on the table and a stubby glass of red wine in his hands and he’s starin into it. I don’t know where to sit. The place is fillin up now and it looks like everybody comin through the door is fae the demo.

  Julian pats the chair beside him, Come on, Clare, sit down. Tell us what it was about the cake made you sick. The politics or the baking? I sit beside him but I don’t say anythin. Laetitia’s opposite me and she’s reachin for an ashtray fae along the table. She takes out her lighter, clicks a flame to the roll-up in her mouth and draws on it deep. Her face is lit up for a minute and you realize how dark it is in here. The candles on the walls make big shadows that flicker across the arched ceiling when folk go past.

  Leave it, Julian, she says, and the smoke comes out her mouth with every word. You’ve had your fun. Let Clare be.

  OK, Mummy, I promise to be good. He’s talkin in a wee boy voice. Like Christopher Robin or somebody. Danny draws him a black look but doesny say nothin. I’m wonderin if I could find my own way back to Mr Abensur’s fae here.

  The waiter’s takin orders at the next table, so I pick up the menu fae between the salt and pepper. This time I’m makin sure I get a pizza.

  You alright to eat? Laetitia says. She looks concerned and she even smiles at me.

  Yeah, I’m fine now. I’ll have a pizza wae ham, tomato, onion and mozzarella. I pass the menu to Laetitia.

  Pizza. What a good idea. I’ll have a pepperoni one. And I’m going to have a side salad too. Insalata mista, per favore. And a glass of red wine… or three. I’m starving. The waiter comes over and Laetitia gives him our order. What about you guys? she says to Danny and Julian.

  They both reach for the menu at the same time but Danny lets Julian take it and says to Laetitia dead low, I’ll have the same as you.

  Oh, well, Julian says, I see I’m in a minority again. He looks up at the waiter, Can I have today’s special? And wine, of course. Una bottiglia di vino rosso, per favore.

  Il piatto del giorno? E un litro di vino rosso? Sì, signore. Bene. The waiter writes it down in his notebook at the same time as he’s walkin away.

  You don’t even know what it is, Julian. Could be something ghastly. Laetitia blows her smoke straight up. And expensive.

  Hey, what’s with this parental thing you’ve developed in the course of the day? Don’t let it become a habit, will you? You’ll turn into your mother before you know where you are.

  Leave my mother out of this. Laetitia looks angry. Maybe she doesny get on wae her mother. Pour us a glass of that wine, will you, Danny? He pushes the bottle he’s been drinkin on the demo across the paper tablecloth towards her. There’s a pink ring where it’s been standin. She waits for a second or two and looks at him. Then she picks it up and pours it hersel into one a the chubby glasses.

  Clare, would you like some?

  I wouldny mind. Thanks. I hold a glass up to her and she pours. For a wee minute it catches the light fae the candles and looks like a ruby. Cheers, I says.

  Cheers, yourself. I’m glad you’re safe and sound, Clare.

  None for me? Julian says.

  Help yourself. Laetitia pushes the bottle across to him.

  More wine for the son of Poseidon, he says. He pours hissel a glass and takes a good slug. So, Danny boy, how was it for you?

  Danny just looks at him.

  The demo. The demo, dear boy. Julian leans across the table. Did you think I meant country matters?

  Fuck off !

  Julian, cut it out, Laetitia says.

  Yeah, yeah… tears before bedtime. Send for nanny, dahling. Julian pulls his dreads up into a kinda bun on top of his head and sucks in his cheeks. What a spoilsport you are. He sits back, shakes out his hair and sips his drink. Then he starts up again, We met these Americans, didn’t we, Clare, doing the Grand Tour of Europe?

  Aye, one a them wanted dreads like Julian. A lassie. I think she fancied him.

  Oh, shucks… moi ? He points to hissel wae his head on one side. Who is gonna fancy liddle ol’ me?

  Cut it out, Jules, Laetitia says.

  Shore thing, Lou. Just say the word. He kids on he’s zippin his lips thegether. Only the company’s a tad on the quiet side tonight, don’t you think?

  I look round the restaurant. Right enough, it is quiet; maybe everybody’s a bit knackered. And hungry. A boy comes past fae the toilet and a guy at the next table clatters his chair back and stands up. He flings out his arms and shouts, I am Spartacus. I get a fright, it’s so loud. More guys get up – I am Spartacus… I am Spartacus… I am Spartacus… all round the restaurant. Then I see the boy’s got it on his T-shirt: I AM SPARTACUS.

  Laetitia rolls her eyes, Quiet, did you say?

  What’s that mean? I says to her.

  Just a boys’ joke. Pay no attention.

  The waiter comes runnin. Signori, signori. Please sit down. No trouble, please.

  Danny’s perked up a bit. He gets to his feet, C’mon, guys. Nay trouble, ih? Ambassadors fur Glesca an aw that. You can see his face better in the light of the candles and he’s no got the knitted brows any more.

  Somebody shouts, Away and wank, Kilkenny; we wereny doin nothin.

  Danny starts to move across to the guy, but Laetitia’s put her hand on his arm. Leave it, Danny. Leave it.

  He shakes her hand off, but he sits down. Fuck the lot a them, he says.

  Who is Spartacus anyway? I says. But naybody’s payin attention. I look at Julian. He’s starin at Laetitia and Laetitia’s lookin everywhere else except at him.

  I’m away to the toilet, I says, and I pick up my bag. Laetitia’s gazin at the end of her roll-up and she doesny look up. I shove my chair back and get up to go. The place is hoachin now and I have to squeeze past chairs and tables to get to the Ladies. I look back at our table before I push the door open. The three of them are all still sittin there no talkin. Some night this is turnin out to be.

  There’s two lassies already in. They’re standin smokin and flickin their ash into the basins.

  No, one a them’s sayin, no I couldny find him. He was with us when we set off. Last time I seen him he was tryin out his Italian on this raven-haired signorina, as he called her. Bastard! They turn their heads to me and smile, Here’s another redhead. Hi, there. Us redheads and
brunettes must stick together.

  Aye, right, I says.

  And naebody better tell us we’re ginger or mousy.

  I look at them again. The brown-haired one’s got red eyes, like she’s been cryin. No, I says. I push open the door of a cubicle. It’s no as smelly in here as the one I was sick in.

  Too young to understand, one of them whispers.

  Fuck off, I think to mysel. I lock the door, pull down my jeans and sit on the pan. It’s wooden and it feels kinda warm. Like somebody’s just got off it. That’s when I notice it. On the crotch of my jeans. Blood. I can’t still be bleedin. That’s no supposed to happen. It’s no what Mrs Redfern says, anyway, in the sex education class we got. And then it dawns on me. It’s my period’s started. I should’ve knew it was comin cause of the coldsore. I nearly always get a coldsore afore my period. In the winter anyhow. I should a remembered. I tear off plenty of bog roll and wipe mysel. It’s definitely my period. I look through my bag. I’ve no got any pads. The pink tiles on the sides of the cubicle have black cracks runnin through them and there’s graffiti on the back of the door. A few fucks, but mainly Italian. I canny read it. Even if I did have a pad, I’ve got nothin to keep it on wae. Then I remember my knickers. I pull them out my jeans pockets. They’re crumpled in a wee ball and a bit damp but they’ll have to do.

  The lassies outside the door are still talkin, only they’re runnin the water, so I can’t hear what they’re sayin.

  Hey, scuse me, I says. You feel dead stupid tryin to talk to somebody you don’t know when you’re sittin on the pan. Scuse me, I say it louder. Do any a yous have a sanitary pad? Please?

  Sorry I didn’t catch that. What did you say? The water stops.

  A sanitary towel. Any a yous got one you could gie me? My period’s just started. I’ve no got any.

  Oh God, you poor thing. Know the feeling. Here will this do? No pads, sorry. And a tampon appears over the top of the door. I can see the light shinin on the Cellophane between the lassie’s red nails.