Free Twisted Agendas by Damian McNicholl Page A

they’d get their asses thrown in jail. Instead, they raised an army and used guns to fight and make the English understand the colonies wished
to be free. That was war. And it worked. But to the English, it would have been terrorism, except it was called rebellion back then.” She looked about as if checking to see if anyone was
listening, then took a step closer toward him. “Now let’s consider the British occupation of your homeland. The British have tried for years to make the public believe the IRA are
terrorists. But they’re not. They’re a legitimate, disciplined army. They’ve used their guns and bombs to bring the British to the negotiating table.” She paused and looked
hard at him. “And to answer your other question, I’d have no problem shooting somebody in that kind of situation. I think anyone who cares about freedom and justice would agree with
me.” She paused again. “What’s your thinking here?”
    He wondered now if she might be in the IRA. There’d been Americans in its ranks in the past. She’d stuffed writings into her bra that she didn’t want the police to see. She
owned a gun. She’d gone to Westminster in search of Paisley. Did he dare ask if she was an IRA volunteer? Did he really want to know? Was he just being paranoid? If he shared what he was
thinking and he was wrong, she’d laugh. He’d be utterly humiliated. Worse, she’d think he was ungrateful, and taking advantage of her kindness.
    Horns blared from the traffic circling Trafalgar Square. Two could play the avoidance game.
    “My thinking’s you made your hair a bit too red.”
    “Who’s avoiding now?”
    “You need to tone it down.”
    “Opinion or hair?”
    After they’d eaten lunch, Piper suggested going to the Three Tuns, a student pub that looked seventies institutional.
    “I’ve had class in here,” Piper said, as she set two pints on the table.
    “I figured that was a tutorial going on over there.” He nodded toward a corner where five students and a man with silver hair were gathered around two tables.
    Five minutes later, Todd entered and walked up to them, his eyes fixed on her hair. “Didn’t recognise you for a sec’.”
    “You like?” Piper touched her hair self-consciously.
    His eyes cut to Danny and then he turned back to Piper. “I thought you were studying at home today.
    “I needed a break.”
    Todd set his satchel on the table. “Thought we had a deal, dude.”
    Danny looked at him nonplussed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Weren’t you supposed to let me know when you were stopping by here and she and I’d show you around together.”
    “I’m not showing him round here today,” Piper said, before Danny could reply. “I took him to a few spots round the city this morning and came here for a drink as an
afterthought.”
    “That’s why you took the day off. Sightseeing?”
    Piper sighed. “No.”
    He turned to Danny. “How’s the flat hunt going?”
    “I’ve been looking hard, believe me.”
    “You wanna beer, Todd?” said Piper. “My treat.”
    He ignored her. “Tried any agencies yet? They’d find you something real quick.”
    “Danny’s welcome to live with me as long as he likes,” said Piper.
    “Live with you, huh?” Todd laughed, but it was hard and sharp. “How come you’ve never made me that kind of offer?”

Window shopping
    Notices were posted all over the dusty window of the corner shop and Danny stopped to read them when he came out from buying the milk. They were the usual assortment of
temporary work positions he’d seen before, ads from carpenters and plumbers, housewives offering their services as a babysitter and an old handwritten plea for information about a lost
two-year-old calico cat. The words ‘SHARE HOUSE WITH FRIENDLY OWNER – IMMACULATE CONDITION’ jumped out at him as he came to the last row of ads. Posted eight days ago, he assumed
the room would already be rented, but memorised the telephone number and