Demo by Alison Miller Page B

to stay for the party, but we’re booked into Venice tonight, so we gotta go get the train.
    Venice is beautiful… a one-off … you’ll love it, Juliansays. He’s smilin straight at the lassie. Maybe it’s just me he doesny want to talk to.
    Your dreadlocks are real cool, she says. I would just
love
to have locks, but my mom would go crazy.
    I’m sure your hair is much too pretty as it is, Julian says. Enjoy your trip.
Ciao.
    Yeah,
ciao,
they all say. And Julian puts his arm round my shoulder and starts walkin again. I look back and the lassie’s between the two guys, lookin over her shoulder at Julian. I’m glad his arm’s round me.
    So, just along here and to the left… appropriately enough, Julian says.
    They were nice, I says.
    What, those guys? A bunch of Yanks playing politics while they do the Grand Tour of Europe. I move in closer to his side and press my face into the cold, smooth cloth of his combat jacket.
    Hear that? Julian says.
    What? I pull my head away from his side. There’s a noise like a concert with like music and drums and people shoutin. Is that it? I says.
    That’s it. The reason you came all the way to Florence from bonny Scotland. He says it in this kid-on Scottish accent, the way American actors do in films. Florrr-ence. Scoat-land.
    Oh, reh-ally? I says. And at least he looks at me. Even if he doesny crack a light. We walk along the road, shufflin through all the wee bits a paper in the direction of the music and shoutin.
    The next street we turn into, there it’s there. The noise! It pure hits me. And the amount of people. Thousands. The whole road’s filled fae side to side right up against the buildins. There’s a van wae a loudspeaker blarin out songs and there’s guys dancin around it. It’s movin dead slow. The folk in frontare holdin up their banners and shoutin and chantin. An old guy is leanin out his window, givin water to some of the marchers and there’s folk at loads a windows up above throwin the wee bits of paper. They float down silver in the lights from the houses, but when they fall they’re just bits of newspaper and stuff.
    Christ, what a bottleneck! Julian says, and takes my hand. Let’s see if we can get a bit further along the column. I hate being at the end of a march; the interesting stuff’s at the front. The vanguard.
    He starts walkin and pullin me past the end of the road wae the demo, into the next street. It’s like he’s decided to be nice to me again. Or maybe he’s just excited to be here at last. I have to nearly run to keep up. In the distance I can see the marchers walkin past the far end of the road with red banners and yellow placards. It must a looked amazin in the daylight at the start.
    When we reach the end of the road and come into the side of the demo, it’s the noise that hits me again. Mental. There’s more space but, and Julian pulls me into the middle of the row in front of a guy with a placard he must a drew hissel wae BUSH, BLAIR E BERLUSCONI: TERRORISTI! in big red letters. I canny make out a word of what they’re shoutin. A lassie dressed in green wae a face tae match and wild curly hair is walkin backwards in front of another lassie, paintin a green CND sign on her face. When she clocks me watchin, she holds up the crayon and lifts her eyebrows. She’s even got green eyes! I look at Julian and shake my head. He’s pullin hissel up, cranin to see over the folk in front. The lassie shrugs her shoulders and pulls her mouth down at the corners. Then she smiles at me and moves on to the next person. She’s got a dead nice smile.
    Julian tugs at my hand, Come on, he shouts, see if we canfind the Glasgow contingent. He pulls me out the line round the back of the green lassie, paintin a sunflower on a young guy’s face. On her rucksack she’s got badges and a wee placard stickin out the top that says: DIE GRUÜNEN .
    We get