Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘The police will want you tae make another statement,’ Angus says.

‘They’re harassing a minor.’

I’m getting out the jail, they told me this morning .

What?

In about three weeks, meet me at the safe-house? You better fucking come!

‘I have some more bad news, sorry. Helen has decided tae take annual leave. She’s not gonnae be your social worker any more.’

‘That’s not bad news.’

‘It’s not?’

‘Eh, no!’

‘Okay. Well, I’ll be your main point of contact through the investigation. Helen will be back in for an end-of-client-care review, and she says you have a trip booked to go and see a Mr Jamieson?’

I love you .

I cannae believe he’s getting out, and despite myself I’m thinking — of moving into his, of painting his living room, of getting a flatscreen, and a dog. It’s not that long until I’m sixteen. If the polis dinnae get me in secure, then the social cannae keep me. Fuck that, though. I’d rather go into homeless accommodation and wait to get my own place, then nobody can ever kick me out again.

Will you meet me?

‘Anais, are you with me?’

‘Aye.’

‘Come on then — enlighten me, please?’

His eyes are bloodshot.

‘Angus, are you stoned?’

‘I dinnae take drugs, Anais. So, who is Mr Jamieson?’

‘Read my files.’

‘I could, or we could attempt the archaic habit of conversation.’

‘We’re gonnae visit the nuthouse tae see some schizo, who supposedly met me when I was a baby.’

I ping the elastic band across the room.

‘I see,’ Angus says.

‘Helen thinks it will help if I say hello tae the drooling old fuck.’

‘Help you or him?’ he asks.

‘Are you taking the piss, Angus?’

‘No. No, I’m not. For the record, drooling old fuck is now known as mentally ill, or aged and infirm, or special needs.’

‘You’re special-fucking-needs.’

‘Okay, that’s us done. Are you coming for dinner, Anais?’

‘What is it?’

‘Macaroni.’

‘Sound.’

Everyone is eating already in the dining area. Mullet is sat at the top of the table. I collect a plate and sit opposite Isla and Tash; Dylan and the new boy are on the next table, Brian’s next to Mullet, for safety.

‘Alright.’ Isla smiles.

She looks better than she did yesterday.

‘Alright.’

Mullet peers under the table. ‘Brian, what’s wrong with your trousers?’

‘Nothing,’ he says.

‘That doesnae look like nothing?’

Brian crosses his legs tae cover up a hole that’s been cut in the crotch of his school breeks.

‘’S that for easy access, ay?’ wee Dylan asks.

The new boy sniggers; he seems alright, quiet though. He only got brought in cos his mum’s got cancer and there’s no-one else tae take him. Dylan’s looking after him. It’s good he’s got a pal.

Shortie wanders in and grins at Tash and Isla, and half-smiles at me.

This macaroni cheese really is — the business. I want seconds. John throws the front door open, it bangs off the wall and we all turn around tae look. He marches over and, smack! , he punches Mullet clean off his chair.

‘You fucking liar!’ John roars at him.

Mullet thuds off the wall. Fucking hell! Wee Dylan and Brian snigger, Tash’s mouth falls open, and Isla steps away from the table.

Mullet puts his arm up. ‘Calm down, John, what the fuck are you doing!’

‘John, what is it?’ Angus asks, looking edgy, like he already knows the answer and it’s not a good one.

Brian skulks intae the kitchen. He takes two puddings and disappears upstairs.

Mullet launches himself up and ontae John’s back, and they hit the deck. Mullet yanks John’s arms back in a restraint. Tash giggles.

‘This is not acceptable behaviour, John. Calm down, we can talk about this!’

Mullet shoves John’s face further intae the carpet so he cannae even reply. He drags him up off the floor and marches him off towards the interview rooms; they tussle through the doorway, then another door slams and there are thuds, and Fuck’s sake , then silence.

‘I need a smoke,’ I say.

Wee Dylan nods and follows me out, he’s started to do that recently; he likes my stories, he likes me, ay — all the kids do. I’ve never lived in a unit where they’ve not. We walk around the back and it’s a nice day out.

‘D’ye want one of my fags, Anais?’

‘What are they?’

‘Regals.’

‘Aye, alright. Gimme a few for later.’

‘Here.’

He gives me five, I give him two back. He’s wee and freckly and cute.

‘I cannae believe John smacked Mullet!’ He grins.

‘I know, it was a stoater unnaw.’

‘D’ye ken what he’s pissed off for?’ he asks.

I shrug.

‘So they made you go canoeing?’ he asks me.

‘What?’

‘Isla said it was a funny story. The social workers sent you canoeing tae heal you.’

‘Aye.’

‘From what?’

‘Everything,’ I say.

Wee Dylan rolls a joint carefully.

‘Is that a good one?’ he asks me.

‘Aye. Okay, when you exhale, click your jaw, like this — look, can you see my jaw click?’

I blow a perfect smoke-ring.

‘Aye, I’ve got it!’

Wee Dylan opens and shuts his mouth à la goldfish in a bowl.

‘No, you have to exhale and click, click, fucking click! Here, put your hand on my jaw, feel — can you feel that click?’

‘Aye,’ he says.

He blows a reedy smoke-ring and jumps up and down. That’s how I got started, he’ll never stop now. He blows another one, but it’s totally pish.

‘That was a good one, Anais, ay?’

‘Nope.’

‘Was it pish?’

‘Keep practising.’

Brian skulks around the corner, the new laddie Steven is following him. Wee Dylan nods to Steven.

‘See you later, Anais.’

They follow Brian around the back of the building.

It’s quiet inside. I go upstairs wondering where everyone’s fucked off to. My room’s well sorted these days. Along one wall are my books — arranged small to big. Then along the next wall are shoes, wedges, plimsolls, espadrilles, a pair of Chinese slippers.

I love you .

I stare at the text for a long time. He used to say that. He used to say he loved me. He’d say it in the middle of the night, in his bed, naked and in the dark, just one candle, his eyes black and nothing else in the world but us, and the gear, and kissing, and him pushing me down, and the shadows on the walls. That was before he went inside. Lately I’m beginning to realise that Jay isnae what I thought he was when I first met him. He’s pushy. He’s interested in himself, not me, and sometimes he’s really fucking mean. I need to get my shit together and it won’t happen with him.

I love you too, but I cannae be with you again. A Xx .

I press Send.

THE WHIRLY WASHING line in the back garden sags. Brian’s tied to it by his wrists. Steven hauls the whirly around in circles so that Brian is dragged along with it, his feet flapping away like dying fish.

‘Spin on it, cunt-pus!’

He’s trying not to get dragged along in front of Dylan again, but it’s no use. Crack! Dylan punches Brian a fucker and his head flies back. Then he snorts up a greener and gobs it right in Brian’s face. A flood of pish darkens his crotchless breeks. Thick yellow snot drips off his glasses.

I’m in the second-floor bathroom; nobody else is watching. Some people are down in the open-plan area watching TV, but you cannae see the drying green from there. Angus walks by below, but he doesnae look towards the back door. He’s been in a meeting with Mullet.