The Nationalist Read Free Page B

yesterday’s news and today the world was online. The internet had become the main point of call for people looking for the latest updates. The TV would follow later. He picked up a couple of packets of crisps and a bottle of Coke. He needed to eat something and the sugar rush would be good for him. He could feel the hangover starting to bite.
     
    Tony Siddique smelt the young NED before he saw him. The reek of alcohol was strong and he had obviously been out all night. He hadn’t shaved and the bags under his eyes told their own story. He was wearing a blue tracksuit with a double white band down the outside leg and arms. His hair was closely cropped. Tony reckoned he must be about 19. He looked like trouble. The boy stopped and swayed for a couple of seconds at the paper rack before disappearing to the back of the shop. Tony tracked his movements on the CCTV screen behind the counter. Maybe he was wrong. He’s just buying snacks. The boy staggered into view before throwing his items down on the counter. A can of coke missed its target and fell to the floor. The impact split the metal and the dark liquid gushed out of the can, which spun round with the pressure.
    “Oh man, what’s happening,” Dax said. Tony wasn’t happy.
    “Look what you’ve done, you idiot. I’m going to have to clear all this up; it’s going everywhere.” Tony knew he was dealing with a drunk who would be slow to react and easy to handle. He crossed round from the counter. He had raised his voice. The boy looked riled.
    “You talking to me? It’s just a can; I’ll give you the money you robbing bastard.”
    A metal bell tinkled as Bob opened the shop door, “What’s happening? Is this guy giving you grief?” He turned to Tony, “What you giving my pal grief for?”
    “Listen, I’m not looking for trouble.” The atmosphere had turned cold and Tony could sense the danger; he knew that a wrong move could spark off something he would not be able to finish. He backed off. He could feel his heart beat faster. Two against one suddenly didn’t feel like decent odds.
    “Dax, this Paki says he’s not looking for trouble. That’s too bad mate, because you’ve found it. How come you’re open anyway? Looking to make money out of today were you? Was it your lot that did it – are you a terrorist? Do you think you can use my money to make fucking bombs?”
    Tony tried to make a stand but he was worried, “Get out of my shop. I don’t need you in here. This is all being filmed. You’ll end up getting arrested.”
    “Might as well make it worthwhile then,” Bob grabbed Tony by the neck and pushed him back, throwing him against a display unit, knocking tins from the shelves. Tony fell to the floor, “Why don’t you just leave; there’s no need for this.”
    “There’s no need for bombs but you brought them to us didn’t you? We’re trying to help you lot, and look what you do.”
    Bob picked up the first thing to hand, a large can of soup, and threw it full force at Tony’s head. There was a sharp crack, and after that, Tony didn’t move.
    Bob and Dax walked calmly from the shop, both convinced they had done the right thing.

6
     
     
    The TV news agenda was dominated by the aftermath of the attack and every major report came from central Glasgow. All of the reporters asked the same thing – why did this happen? Sandy Stirrit was front of camera on the BBC’s news channel – he was in demand, with live updates every 15 minutes. Given the lack of information he didn’t have much to say, but he was on form and stretching it out.
    “I’m joined now by Brigadier, Alistair Watson. Brigadier, can you describe your reaction to today’s events?”
    “Firstly I would like to take this opportunity to pay my respects to the families of all those caught up in this terrible tragedy. That this could happen at a memorial taking place to pay respect to all those that have paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country, is simply