Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

Steven drags the whirly all the way around again, to where they started, and Dylan belts Brian again and he drops, his legs give and his head falls forward.

He’s still getting battered daily, and nobody gives a fuck, not even the staff. It’s not just the dog-thing. He stinks. He’s got yellow crap in his teeth and you feel dirty if you have tae sit next tae him. John saw him hanging around Cherry Lane yesterday as well. Bad, bad, bad. Old people live down in they cottages, and they dinnae get it. Brian looks like he’s just walked out of one of their old school novels. He steals pity — like golden eggs — then he sucks them dry and places them back real gentle.

It’s just a matter of time.

Cold fish. Spineless. Amphibian. Dylan walks away, wiping blood off his knuckles. Brian’s dank hair sticks tae his face, his arms are bound up, he looks like a pale-faced bug-eyed Jesus.

Dylan glances up and gives me a wave; he’s relieved to see it’s not the staff watching. He told me that he’s in here cos his uncles kept putting him through pub windows — like the toilet ones or even through the beer hatch if they could. He can unlock any alarm system quick as.

Squeeze a spot. It’s just a wee one. I end up making a red mark where there wasnae really anything before. I really need to stop doing that.

‘Tash!’

Isla’s shouting out on the landing. I glance out and John slams his door shut — he’s so angry he’s booting it hard from the inside, and it actually closes all the way.

I step out of the bathroom, fascinated. A closed door? A totally closed door that isnae a staff door, or the watchtower. It hasnae been locked by the central locking system that the night-nurse uses more and more lately. She says it’s keeping us safe and snug, but it actually means we are unable to come out and riot. Glass is being smashed in John’s room. Angus runs past me, up the stairs. Tag along behind him.

‘John, open this door, now!’

‘Fuck you, Angus.’

‘John, step back, I cannae have this door closed. Have you stepped back?’

‘Aye, I’ve stepped back, ya fucking prick!’

Angus tries to push the door, then he ushers us to move away. He throws his whole body weight at it twice, before it gives. Tash comes out of her room and stands beside me.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ she says.

He’s smashed his bedroom window out. I like it, the feel of fresh air right on my skin like that, and one of our windows, all the way open — it’s sort of beautiful. John’s climbing up onto his windowsill and he’s only wearing a T-shirt, he’s not even got socks on, or boxers. He sways on the window ledge, his balls showing below his T-shirt. Angus puts his hands up to show him he isnae gonnae step forward.

‘Calm down, John,’ he says.

‘What’s your fucking problem? I was trying tae have a fucking sleep!’ Shortie snaps as she stoats down to the boys’ landing as well. This day is beginning to feel odd.

‘Can you leave us, please, girls?’ Angus asks.

We dinnae move. John bunches his T-shirt in one hand.

‘Jesus Christ! What’s his problem? You better hope he’s not got a fucking match,’ Shortie mutters.

Angus glares at her.

‘What? At least he fucking doesnae, mate, or you’d be going up in fucking flames, ay! John, look at me, it’s alright!’

He’s swatting the air, he’s out of it — I can see it now, and I dinnae know what he’s taken, and I dinnae know how long he’s been freaking out, but he doesnae look right. I feel a lump in my throat. This isnae like him.

‘Anais, get back out of that room right now. It’s against policy tae approach someone when they’re threatening tae jump!’

‘Fuck the policy, Angus.’

I hold my hand out and John smiles at me, but it’s not really a smile, it’s a grimace. He slows down, dazed, and points to the back garden.

‘What the fuck’s that?’

‘I cannae see from here — what is it?’ Angus asks him.

‘It looks like Brian.’

‘Okay, now climb inside the windowsill, come on, pal.’

‘It looks like someone’s fucked him right up!’

‘What?’

Angus leans over the balcony. Eric’s on the phone downstairs tae the police department: you can hear him reporting all the details back to an officer.

‘Can you check out the back, please, Eric?’ he calls down.

‘Come down,’ I ask John right quiet, holding my hand out for him to take it.

He’s flapping his hands, twisting his torso. I can see the gear in his veins; they are big and purple and pulsing and he gives me this evil stare and I get the fear right in my gut. He points at all of us one by one.

‘Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you!’

He points at Angus last of all, and jumps.

THE COLD TAP is dripping. My bath water’s not hot, but there’s still a haze and the taps are reflected in the water — so is the wall, and the window and the door. I love looking at reflections in bath water, any kind of water in fact. They’re like wee surreal paintings. I might photograph reflections, in water, in kettles, in things other people dinnae look at, like bins and shit like that. My tits are perfect in water. When I stand up they sit lower, cos they’re heavy, and I cannae put a pencil under one and have it just fall away — that’s only if your paps are medium or small. Sink down until only my nose and mouth stick out. Blow three neat smoke-rings, one shoots through the other. I’m floating up as my mobile begins to ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Alright,’ Jay says.

‘Alright.’ Fuck — my heart totally goes. He hasn’t rung me for months and he’s not texted since I said it was over. I curl my toe around the tap.

‘How’s you?’ he asks.

‘I’m alright, how are you?’

‘Anais, I wanted tae tell you something.’

‘What?’

‘You’re just a wee fucking dirty from a fucking kids’ home, hen, ay?’

I press off, and my heart’s beating now, I cannae believe he phoned just to do that. It rings again straight away.

‘Who the fuck d’ye think you are?’ I say.

‘Come on! I’m only kidding — you’re too over-sensitive, nae sense of humour, that’s your fucking problem.’

‘What do you want, Jay?’

‘I want you back. D’ye not want me back, Anais?’

‘I need tae be on my own.’

‘Aye, that’s not what you used tae say all the times you came tae get wasted, when your old dear fucking died, ay? Who took you in, Anais? Who hid you from the polis a million fucking times?’

I drape my legs over the side of the bath, and steam rises up off the bath in wisps.

‘Aye, and all the other lassies made you happy too, Jay.’

‘That’s a low blow, Anais, and it’s not like you were some wee virgin, were you?’

He’s not saying anything, but I can hear him breathe.

‘So, d’ye want tae see me or what?’ he asks.

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe? They’re letting me out, Anais. Meet me at the safe-house, I need you tae come.’

He’s making me feel like I’m all wrong, until I’m confused — I hate it when he turns up and does this. I’m trying not to let my phone get wet from the bath, and I feel like crying. I wish that would stop, it’s a new thing — this teary shit lately.

‘Why are you no gonnae meet me? Are you fucking someone new, Anais?’

‘Fuck off!’

I launch my phone off the wall. The back scuds along the tiles, spins and stops under the back pipe on the toilet. The battery lands under the sink. I slide up, tears hot on my face — not real tears, I dinnae do real tears — blink them back, blink them right fucking back. Fuck! I want to hurt myself. I want to cut or bite or hit my head off something, cos it hurts — it really, really fucking hurts. There’s a knock on the bathroom door.