Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

John stoats across the room and up into the staff’s faces. Isla sprints up behind him and makes sure they’re distracted — so they cannae see what’s happened.

I’m up the stairs first, Shortie’s behind me; when we get tae our landing I push her towards the boys’ toilet and she slaps my hand away, slams the door.

‘Noh, I want tae see my social worker now, ya fucking radge!’

John harasses Mullet, keeping him in the office.

Step into the Ladies, turn on the cold tap. There’s blood. Stop shaking. Stop it. Dinnae look in the mirror. I hate fighting, it makes me feel sick — if I never had tae fucking fight again, ever, that would be such a relief.

Clumps of hair are stuck to my fingers. Flick them away so they swirl around the sink and settle at the top of the plughole.

Red knuckles. They fucking hurt, and there’s a bruise in the middle of my forehead. I yank off a wadge of bog-roll, and run it under the cold tap so I can dab my face.

The bath’s empty. Dinnae think about it. Not about that .

My breath sounds loud, and wee flashes of Shortie behind a rose bush just make me feel — sad. Nobody should go through that. No-one. Shortie’s alright really; she just wants tae be hard, but she isnae, but it’ll not stop her. She’s a social climber.

‘Are you okay?’ Isla opens the door.

‘Aye. Are the staff away?’

‘Aye.’

‘Ta, Isla.’

She pulls fags out her pocket. ‘D’ye want one?’

‘Aye.’

‘C’mon.’

I follow her down the stairs and through the open-plan area.

‘Where is everyone?’ I ask.

‘They’ve all just been dragged away in the minibus. You should think yourself lucky you’ve missed it. These weekend trips tae the park that Joan’s trying tae get us on are truly pish.’

‘The social-work minibus!’ I say.

‘Everyone stares!’ we both say.

‘They want us tae go boating soon,’ Isla says.

‘Fuck that! They sent me on a therapeutic canoeing trip once and I got charged for breach of the peace, and assault.’

‘Anais, that’s too funny. Tell!’

‘The guy was wearing an orange wetsuit and a What Would Jesus Do wristband.’

‘The God Squad — sinister.’

‘Exactly. He went mental cos I was having a fag in my canoe.’

‘How — does God hate smokers?’ she asks.

‘Aye, cannae fucking stand them!’

Isla checks the staff urnay around, then she opens the fire exit and runs up the turret ahead of me. Fuck — I thought it was just me that knew it was here.

On the fourth-floor landing she opens the wee window and climbs straight out. It’s windy as anything today. I climb out behind her and try not to look down.

‘So what happened then, did you stop smoking?’ she asks.

‘No. I double-dragged it down tae the wood and flicked it in the water, and he’s all, like, the fishes, the fishes, cos my dog-end’s floating on the water, and I’m, like — fuck the fishes! Fuck the fucking fishes!’

‘What did he do?’

‘He spits!’

‘What? At you?’

‘Right in my face. Fucking cunt!’

‘What? Fucking hell, what did you do?’

Isla grinds out her fag and pulls another two out for us.

‘I hooked him.’

Isla is giggling so hard she slides forward. I grab her back without thinking. I dinnae like the height up here, but the view is all fields and clouds and autumn colours on the leaves, reds and oranges, golds and russets.

‘So, what happened then?’

‘I thought he was gonnae punch me out.’

‘What a prick!’

‘Exactly, he pulled back his hand like he was gonnae, so I pulled the paddle back — knocked the cunt out.’

Isla’s laughing now, tears are flowing down her face. I cannae help but laugh as well.

‘He was flat out across his canoe and I’m like, fuck — I’ve killed Gaarwine.’ The two of us roar with laughter. It’s so funny it’s not even funny any more.

‘Why were they sending you on a healing canoe trip anyway?’

‘I found my adopted ma,’ I say.

‘What, dead like?’

‘Aye. In the bath.’

‘Suicide?’ Isla asks.

‘Noh. She got stabbed.’

I dinnae know why I said that. I feel stupid now. I normally dinnae say that.

Bring me some gear in, and wank my cock while you’re here. Dinnae be square, kitty cool. We’ll get high as fuck again soon as I’m out, just you and me, and nothing else .

‘Boyfriend?’ Isla asks as I switch my phone off.

‘Not really. He’s inside, keeps hassling me to take him stuff in. He’s in debt though, ay, and I think he’s getting shit inside, but I cannae tell.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye.’

I like Isla. I really like her. She’s one of those people with manners; she doesnae ask me anything else, and she knows I’m not — you know — a total arse that just fights with people.

‘Shortie didnae really mean it,’ she says.

‘Did the staff see anything?’

‘Noh, John kept them occupied. He fancies Shortie like fuck.’

‘Aye?’

‘Aye. He doesnae admit it, but he does.’

‘Does she like him?’

‘I dinnae ken. Shortie’s the only virgin I ever met in a home!’ Isla giggles.

‘Is she?’

‘Aye. She’s frigid. She says she doesnae like guys, but she does. She’s not like me. I wouldnae shag a guy if you put a gun tae my head. I mean I’ve shagged a guy, for a while, but I didnae rate it.’

‘Are you and Tash together?’

‘Aye.’

‘She seems nice.’

‘She’s amazing. She takes a while tae get tae know people, though.’

‘How come she wears the moustache? Like it’s cool, it reminds me of an artist,’ I say.

‘She likes lassies with a wee bit hair, but she’s not really got any — a bit on her legs, aye, but she’s got tae shave them for work. The moustache she can put on and take off when she wants. Mine’s too blonde.’ Isla touches her upper lip. ‘She’d like it darker.’

‘Have you got a kid, Isla?’

‘Aye. Twins, they’re with foster-parents. They dinnae let me see them much, ay. Tash’s saving up money for us tae leave care and take them.’

‘Aye?’

‘Aye. She’s saved quite a few hundred already. I really want them back. Their foster-mum’s nice, but I miss them and she cannae understand it, no like I do.’

‘Understand what?’

Isla flicks her fag away.

‘We’ve — we’re all living with the same condition, ay. Like you can live a long time with it now, like a lifetime.’

She looks out over the fields. It’s so quiet up here — we listen tae the birds, and she looks unbearably sad. I’ve seen her getting her meds, ay, the same one’s Teresa’s pal used to take.

‘What age are they?’

‘Two,’ she says.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

‘Modern science,’ I say.

I cannae speak now, I’m an arse-piece, I know nothing about nothing and I should probably be strapped to that turret over there and shot.

‘You get an owl out here at night.’ She grins, changing the subject.

‘No way. I heard something hooting the other night but I’ve never actually seen an owl.’

‘Me neither, until I moved here. She’s beautiful, really wee, we called her Britney; listen out at night and you’ll hear her. Did the social workers ask you if you wanted tae live away out here in the sticks?’

‘No!’

It’s amazing what the social work dinnae ask. They dinnae ask about the terrible baldness of the moon, they dinnae ask about rooms without windows or doors — and they sure as shit dinnae ask about flying cats. I bet they didnae ask Isla what her dreams are as a mum. They didnae ask me about blood in an empty bath, and they didnae ask about what Teresa was gonnae do when she got out that bath — she was gonnae curl up with me and watch a movie. We were gonnae make microwave popcorn.