Iain Banks - Dead Air

‘Look, we didn’t fight and win the Second World War-’

‘It’s been interesting talking to you, Mr Willis. Goodbye.’ I looked at Phil as I cut Mr Willis off. ‘We getting crossed lines with the Daily Mail letters page or something?’

‘I think it’s encouraging that we have a spread of listeners of various ages, views and ethnic and cultural backgrounds, Ken,’ Phil said, leaning towards his mike.

‘Phil Ashby, listeners. Voice of Reason. Singing in harmony from the hymnal of Corporate Mission Statements.’

‘That’ll be me, then. Hi,’ Phil said, right up to the mike. ‘Who’s our next caller?’

‘It’s another Steve, from Streatham.’ According to the screen he wanted to talk about Scotz & & Erop & U.

‘Streatham Steve, hello.’

‘Awright, Ken? Ma man!’ a deep voice shouted. I looked at Phil and crossed my eyes.

‘Steve, you’re doing some violence to the mike on that mobile. I’m sure if you return it promptly to its owner they may not press charges.’

‘Wot? Agh, ha-ha-ha! Na, mate, it’s mine.’

‘Well, bully for you. And the exact flavour of your beef would be what?’

‘Wot?’

‘What is it you want to say, Steve?’

‘Yeah, I don’t want to be a European!’

‘You don’t? Right. Which continent should we tow the British Isles to lie off then?’

‘Na, you know what I mean.’

‘Indeed I do. Well, so vote against it whenever you have the chance.’

‘Yeah, but it’s still gonna happen, innit?’

‘Fraid so. It’s called democracy.’ I hit the FX for Hollow Laughter.

‘Yeah, but the fing is, I blame you Scots, don’t I?’

‘Ah-hah,’ I said. ‘Any particular reason, Steve, or is this just some generalised anti-Caledonian prejudice?’

‘Yeah, the government’s all Scotch, innit? The Labour Party. They’re all Jocks, aren’t they?’

‘Very high proportion of the top jobs, yes, Steve. The Dear Leader himself, our prudent Chancellor is a Scot-’

‘Worse, he’s a Fifer,’ Phil cut in.

‘Na, Phil, sorry,’ I said.

‘What?’ Phil asked.

‘Yeah,’ Steve said, ‘That’s what-’

‘Hold on, Steve, pal,’ I said. ‘Come back to you in two seconds, but I just need to straighten something out with Producer Phil. Okay?’

‘Ah,’ Steve said. ‘Yeah…’

‘What?’ Phil repeated innocently, blinking behind his glasses.

‘Sorry, Phil, pal,’ I said. ‘But you can’t do that.’

‘Can’t do what?’

‘Bring up divisions or petty squabbles between different bits of Scotland. Our internal prejudices and micro-management bigotries are our own affair. We’re allowed to indulge in that but you’re not. It’s like black people can call each other nigger but us white folks can’t. And rightly so, I might add.’

Phil nodded. ‘Things don’t mean what the sayer says, they mean what the listener hears.’

I hit the FX key for a quiet, minute-long sample of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’, and over it said, voice raised, ‘Still our most elegant formulation of what really would be one of our mission statements if we didn’t spit on such foul aberrations from a great height and grind the ordure-jammed cleats of our Jockboots into their snivelling faces.’

‘Along with,’ Phil said, ‘If you don’t give people justice, they’ll take revenge.’

‘And, Never underestimate the greed of the rich.’

‘Not forgetting, Ditto the ability of people to take exactly the wrong lesson from a disaster.’

‘NMD? Come on down!’ I was laughing again. ‘Or our emission statement: I’m coming! I’m coming!’

‘Or the posh version: I’m arriving! I’m arriving!’

‘Indeed.’ I un-clicked the sample.

‘But anyway,’ Phil said, still grinning.

‘But anyway indeed, Philip.’

‘What it boils down to is,’ he said slowly, ‘that I can’t say the things about the Scots that you say all the time.’

‘Of course not! You’re English. A few of us clever Jocks still blame you for the whole Glasgow-Edinburgh antipathy thing. The good citizens of each very-much-equally-worthy conurbation just loved each other to bits until you guys came along. And frankly the utterly preposterous idea that if we hadn’t had the English to unite us in hate we’d still be a bunch of bare-arsed hill tribes marrying our sisters and murdering each other in caves holds no water with us whatsoever, no sirree. We reckon you were just dividing and conquering. So, like I say, just don’t start, okay?’

‘It’s a good job you’ve got us to blame,’ Phil said.

‘It most certainly is,’ I agreed emphatically. ‘Just don’t for a nanosecond expect the least scintilla of gratitude.’

‘As if,’ Phil said, smiling. ‘As apparently the young folk say, these days.’

‘Yeah, you’ll prise that copy of Clueless out of the video one day, Phil.’ Phil laughed silently and I went back to Steve. ‘Steve. Yeah. All these Scots in Westminster? Hear what you’re saying, but don’t forget: if you think the Scots are crap, and they’re the ones who’ve clawed their way to the top of this particular greasy pole, what does that say about the English politicians?’

‘I fink it’s a conspiracy, mate.’

‘Brilliant! Phil; a conspiracy form.’ I picked the paper copy of the running order from the desk in front of me and rustled it near the mike. ‘Thank you. Steve? Ready; shoot.’

‘Cos, like, you want to get us into Europe, don’t you?’

‘We do?’ I smiled widely at Phil. ‘Yeah! We do! You’re right. Steve, I think you’re on to something here. Possibly a rehab programme. But listen, this makes sense. It’s a Scottish conspiracy to get revenge for three hundred years of oppression, which we secretly feel we never did resist strongly enough.’

‘I fink it’s cos you’re jealous.’

‘Of course we are. Our invasions of you lot never worked. Same with yours of us, though obviously our impression is very much that you were always much better at killing lots of us than we were at killing lots of you. Then you guys realised where our weak spot is and just bought us. That was smart. Except we’ve never forgiven you for being cleverer than us; we’re supposed to be the canny ones in this relationship.’

‘Yeah, cos you lot do want to be in Europe, dontcha?’

‘Naturally. Scots’ll make great Europeans. When we hear the English say, We don’t want to be ruled from a distant capital where they speak differently from us and impose an alien currency on us, we think: hold on, we’ve had that for three centuries. We’ve been there, we’ve had the conditioning, we’ve done the apprenticeship. London, Brussels, what’s to choose? Better to be wee and ignored in a potential superpower than wee and ignored in a post-imperial backwater where the only things that arrive on time are the corporate bonuses.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Steve said.

‘Excellent work there, Steve. Fine contribution. Breaks my heart we don’t pay anything.’

‘Sawright.’

‘Of course this does mean, though, Steve, that having started to uncover the conspiracy, the people who really run the country are now going to be after you. Basically you’re on the run from here on in, chum. Sorry. And I’d get moving now, frankly, because these people don’t hang around. They’ve been known to collar somebody while they’re still making the phone call that alerted what little remains of our so-called free society to the threat in the first place. I’m not kidding, mate, while they’re still-’ I’d clicked Steve’s line off. ‘Steve? Hello? Steve? Steve? Steve! Are you… Dear God, Phil,’ I said in hushed, strangled tones. ‘They’ve got the poor beggar. My God they’re fast.’