Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘Why?’

‘You dinnae ken yet?’ John swings back on his chair.

‘Ken what?’

‘Brian’s sick.’

‘What, like good sick?’

‘Noh, no good sick; like fucking very fucking bad sick,’ he says.

‘I’ll try not tae faint,’ I tell him.

‘He raped a dog,’ John says loudly.

‘He fucking what?’

‘Last Thursday. Raped a dog — ay, Brian?’ he shouts.

The curly-haired laddie turns away, his cheeks flaming.

‘Aye, the cunt kidnapped it, raped it, threw it off a wall — broke its fucking legs.’

We both turn to stare, but the laddie’s face is blank. No emotions. Nothing. Sick as fuck. I mean I can be a cunt, but I dinnae batter someone unless they go for me first and I’d never, ever pick on a kid, or an animal, or some old person.

I’ll pick on the polis, aye, but only when they ask for it. PC Craig went tae war with me, not the other way around. Brian rams his index finger up his nose; he knows we can see him doing it, he’s liking it cos we’re watching. He inspects the bogey and then flicks it away.

‘What the fuck’s he in here for then? He should be in secure,’ I say.

John raises his eyes to the locked fourth-floor doors.

‘Jesus Christ!’ My heart sinks.

I’m not going up there with that. Or up north with the kiddie-killers. I’ll not make it. I’m hard, but I’m nothing like them; they urnay even hard, they’re just scum. There’s nothing good in them. Teresa used tae tell me that all the fucking time.

Aye, hen, you cannae reason with scum, you cannae talk tae scum, you cannae associate with scum, cos if there is anything good or nice or decent in you — they’ll break it .

I used to think everyone had some good in them. They don’t, though, do they? I have no empathy for scum. None. I mean, I could kill a kiddie-killer. Easily. It wouldnae make me feel bad, I dinnae think it would make anyone feel bad, not even God.

‘Joan said the secure unit is on hold for now — asbestos or something?’ I ask John.

‘Aye, the staff are gutted, though. I heard in a meeting, they wanted you right up there, you were gonnae be their star pupil.’

Brian has lifted up his top and is picking fluff out his belly button.

‘He’s giving me the boak,’ I say.

‘Aye. He has that effect on people.’

‘Was it a big dog?’

Brian cranes to see if his taxi is coming. He’s pretending not to listen in, but he can hear every word.

‘I dinnae think so! That wee bastard wouldnae pick on a big dog, it was a wee fucking runt, ay. He’ll move on, they start off with animals, then they move on to people — he’ll do a pensioner before the year’s out. He’ll end up with they kiddie-killers up north. Your support worker, Angus, drove the last two up there, did you ken that?’ John asks.

‘No, I didnae.’

‘Aye, the two in the paper.’

‘They should just fucking shoot them.’

‘They give Angus the ones nobody else can handle.’ He smiles at me.

‘Aye, I fucking bet they do. How’d they know Brian raped a dog?’

‘Shortie and wee Dylan saw him; they were just walking back from school, and they see that! Shortie took a run at him just as he pulls his knob out of its arse and throws it off a wall. She leathered him while Dylan ran tae get the staff. They didnae find the dog’s owner, but they’ve got the name-tag, they had tae put it down, like. Probably did it a favour — who’d want tae live after being raped by that?’

I cannae face cereal. Toast. Nothing.

‘So, what are you in for?’

‘Battered my grannie,’ John says.

‘That’s not fucking funny,’ I say.

‘Noh, she didnae think so, either.’

‘Are you fucking serious?’

‘I’m kidding, Anais, calm down — fuck! I’m sorry, okay, bad joke. Nothing major, I used tae do over shops with my mum, and my aunties, down in Leeds. That’s where I was moved from.’

‘You dinnae sound English.’

‘I umnay. My ma and all the family are from Glasgow, they just moved down there a few years ago. Mum’s got an appeal tae get out the jail in a few days, fingers crossed.’

‘I hear the homes are worse down south.’

‘They are. I was only in one, though, so I dinnae know really. They kept me there for six weeks before they sent me here.’

‘Where were you before that, like?’

‘Some loopy teacher was fostering me, until she had a breakdown. I burnt down her work, ay.’

I begin laughing, I cannae help it. That’s the best placement-breakdown story ever, mine isnae such a good one. Prozzie mum gets stabbed — it doesnae have the same funny vibe.

‘Where did she work, like?’

‘She was a teacher in a disabled school.’

‘You burnt down a disabled school?’

‘Aye. I did.’

He looks sad, and I begin laughing again — it’s so wrong you couldnae make it up. I’m beginning to like him.

‘I umnay proud of it!’

Brian’s taxi pulls up outside. He jumps up and hurries out the door.

‘You’re gonnae get battered later,’ John shouts after him.

The door slams.

‘Aye, so then I burnt her hoose down, flat tae the fucking deck, pal — you should have seen it! She’d pissed me off by then, though, d’ye know what I mean?’

We’re laughing so hard the cook looks out. Some woman pulls up outside, jumps out of her car and then posts something through the front door.

‘Christ!’ John says.

‘What?’

‘She’s a local mum, ay. They’ve got a campaign down the village tae get this place shut already. They’re worried we’ll fuck their children. Contaminate their bloodline.’

‘They should be so fucking lucky. Have you seen their kids — nobody wants tae fuck them!’

John laughs and, just like that, I know we’ll be mates.

‘Did you move here from a foster placement?’ he asks.

‘No. I’ve not been in a family for,’ I count back on my fingers, ‘about ten months. I prefer units anyway, they’re less hassle.’

It’s a relief just to chat with someone. In the cells I thought I’d go mental, I hardly ever speak to police in the interviews. Hayley used to be the best person to speak with, until she moved away to Singapore with her dad. She still sends e-mails but it’s not the same. I used to speak to Jay, but not since he got put in jail; now it’s just texts and him being weird.

‘D’ye never find a family you liked, Anais?’

‘Families are overrated. They’re like elephants.’

‘Elephants are sound, aye, with their big ears and that,’ John says.

‘Elephants are cunts.’

‘Noh, they urnay, nae danger!’

‘Aye, they are. I mean, look — if you’re an elephant, you’re only alright if you belong! Like if you’re in the pride or the tribe, or whatever the fuck it is they live in.’

‘What’s the pride?’ John asks.

‘It’s like the group, the family; if you’re in that and you’ve got a ma and a da, or some auntie elephants or some cousins — then you’re alright. They’ll play football with you. They’ll protect you if the lions come, and if you drown in the river they’ll be right sad about it; they’ll stand over your body and sing you some nice fucking songs. They’ll even bury you with branches.’

‘Aye, exactly!’ John says.

‘Aye. But if you’re an orphan? Ye’ll starve. Tae death. Alone.’

He doesnae say a thing for a good minute.

‘That’s no nice.’

‘Noh, it’s not fucking nice,’ I say.

‘What, they’ll no even feed you? What if you’re, like, a three-month-old baby elephant?’

‘You’ll stand there until you’re fucking emaciated. If you approach them, they’ll kick you in the pus, and tell you tae get tae fuck.’