Free Referendum by Campbell Hart Page A

the town; it represented everything she could never have. Earlier in George Square, she’d spent a few minutes in the Commonwealth shop where they’d been selling big versions of the same thing for £100. Who can afford to waste so much money on something like that? She felt a growing sense of resentment at all the people enjoying themselves, when most of them probably weren’t from around here. It was then she realised why she’d come. The Hockey Centre was right in front of the place they said they’d found her dad. She hadn’t been conscious of that as being the reason; didn’t want to think about it, but she’d been circling around the area for some time. The road to the bridge was out of bounds, big sand bags that made up a checkpoint blocked the way and the road was policed by several people at any one time.
    She put off her pilgrimage for a while longer and ventured into the Live Zone. She had to go through a metal detector and the queues were long, but there were things there to take her mind off her own life. Stalls, rides, and games were everywhere. There were thousands of people on the Green; those who couldn’t make the events live were watching the action on a big screen. It felt good to be around people. By one of the burger stalls she almost cried out when a man carrying a pile of steaming hot dogs dropped one, distracted after someone called out his name. But as it dropped Leona’s hunger returned unannounced. She grabbed the food and walked off, savouring every bite in front of a computer simulated competition to outrun the fastest man on earth. No-one could. In the Spiegeltent she watched a band she heard someone say had been big in the 80s. She thought they were OK. Then it was time to go. As the crowd petered out, she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. The exit took her out about 100 metres from the bridge. She stood alone as the stewards closed the gate behind her.
    It was 11:00pm and dark, but she could still see clearly with the cloudless sky guiding her towards the sandstone span. She had been expecting the area to be cordoned off; her dad had only died a couple of days ago. Thinking of the countless flowers she had seen tied to gates and lampposts she expected tributes to be left, but there were none. The only people who cared couldn’t come to pay their respects; they were too busy trying to keep on living. The area under the bridge was empty. The only trace that something had happened was a few inches of police tape which fluttered in the wind from a spike in the fence which separated the walkway from the River Clyde.
    Holding the tape she looked up, trying to see where her dad would have been. All she could see were dark girders which ran out into darkness.
    “How did you even get up there,” she said to the night.
    Then from a distance she heard laughing. From the unlit section of path on the other side of the bridge she saw three figures, pinpricked by the glowing ember of their cigarettes. They sounded drunk so Leona wasn’t taking any chances. Too late, though, they’ve seen me.
    “Alright darling; where do you think you’re going?”
    She started to run and she heard their footsteps pick up the pace as they followed suit. But the road had been blocked off and the security fence barred the way. Cursing she turned to see the three men had moved apart, as they tried to stop her from leaving. Feeling her heart race she had to think of something fast. Looking to the river she made her decision and jumped over the fence.
     
    ***
     
    Niall Murphy felt he was making progress. He’d made short work of the reporter and was pretty confident that he’d have no more trouble from him anytime soon. He’d taken pictures and emailed them to the tabloids anonymously. They’d run a ‘BBC man attacked’ type story but wouldn’t have much to go on. The reporter wouldn’t say anything if he had any sense. More to the point he had something to take to Donald. He’d arranged to meet