Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

I wonder if they called the police on me. They will have, I’ll be reported missing. I should stay that way. Clouds race the sky. The grass is sparkly.

Feel around the pillar at the base. It’s old and crumbly, but there are holds if you get your hand right in. I get my first foothold and grip hard, push up at the same time with my feet. I just cling on, feeling around. Hook my hand over the cat’s tail and pull myself up.

The owl swoops right in front of me, then she’s away again, over the field, hunting for mice. I sit down on Malcolm the cat’s back, put my arms around his neck and lean in, somehow he doesnae even feel cold — I close my eyes.

‘Take me tae Paris,’ I whisper.

His wings beat — once, twice, we lift up.

‘Where in Paris, m’lady?’ he asks.

‘Fly me tae a side street in the artists’ quarter, tae a room above a café where I can look out the window and see the same old man who drinks tea and has cake every day.’

‘My pleasure.’

Up, up, up towards the moon. The moon is not quite so terrible tonight; his baldness is luminescent, all his moon craters and valleys stand out. Half-close my eyes as Malcolm’s huge wings beat around me. We swoop low across the treetops — glide towards lights away in the distance.

I grip his neck, knees holding onto his body. His ears turn and my eyes snap open. The gargoyle stares across at me. He’s a demented jester, and someone has put another cigarette out in his mouth. I cuddle into the cat and rest my head on his neck.

The Panopticon windows are lit blue; the night-nurse’ll be in now. That building is not a place to live, it’s a place to grow specimens. The experiment know I’m back. They’re pissed I slipped off their radar for two seconds. They obviously cannae see girls who fly on cats. I’ll pretend I didnae go off their radar, but I know I did. If you can do it once, you can do it again, right?

Someone’s running across the fields. Fuck, who is that? I duck right down as they get closer, but they lope straight towards me and I can see they are wearing an ill-fitting flowery dress.

‘Is that you, Anais?’ John hisses.

‘John?’

‘Fuck,’ he clutches his heart, ‘I shit myself when I saw you. I didnae think anyone’d be up. Where have you been?’

‘I was out,’ I say. I dinnae want to tell him I was out with Shortie and some guys — he’d be gutted.

‘They’ll have reported you missing by this time ay day.’

‘I know.’

‘Why are you on top of Malcolm?’ he asks.

‘Aye, about that, Malcolm’s a shan name for a flying cat.’

‘He’s not a cat, he’s a liger with wings,’ John says.

I slide off Malcolm’s back and stand on top of the pillar.

‘I thought you were gonnae go for me earlier?’ He grins.

‘I was gonnae try and drag you off that windowsill, cos I could tell you were gonnae jump.’

‘I was wasted,’ he says.

‘Blatantly. I’m amazed you didnae break anything.’

‘My ankle is swollen up tae fuck, I think I’ve strained it, ay. It fucking hurt when I straightened up a bit.’

‘I bet it did.’

‘I’d just had shite news — well, Mullet had kept some bad news from me, ay. My mum didnae win her appeal tae get out. She’s fucked up about it, and Christmas is coming and she kept saying she wanted tae get out and we could all be together for Christmas, and I just … I just needed tae get mashed.’

‘’S fair enough,’ I say.

‘Fuck it, d’ye wantae wrestle me … girl-on-girl?’ he asks.

‘I dinnae wrestle, I’d just kick your cunt in.’

‘Aye, well, we’ll skip that then, ay. I thought you might fancy me in a dress!’

‘You make an ugly bird, John,’ I laugh.

‘Fucking hell, Anais.’

He looks serious for a minute. His eyes are round like he’ll cry, and I can tell his anger’s gone. That dress is ridiculous. His nipples poke out over the top.

‘You like my frock though, ay?’

‘Bit slutty.’ I grin.

‘You’ll be wanting tae borrow it then?’

‘Aye.’

‘Are you coming back tae the unit then?’

He nods down at the big shadow at the end of the drive and tries to adjust his dress, but his paps are still well on show. He places a finger over each nipple for modesty.

‘I suppose so.’

I climb around Malcolm’s back, then jump the last bit. We walk on the grass. John limps where his ankle is all swollen. The wee house hidden behind the trees that I saw yesterday is lit up outside, with dim lights on its porch.

‘What’s that place, John?’

‘That’s for under-eights, they’ve got like six of them in there.’

‘What, a home?’

‘Aye. Most of them are under five, though. They bring them down tae visit us sometimes.’

‘That’s horrible. D’ye want a smoke?’ I pull a joint out.

‘Fuck, aye.’ John nods appreciatively. ‘Follow me,’ he whispers and grabs my hand.

‘I saw Tash over in that field earlier, looked like she was getting something?’

‘Oh, that’s their stash,’ he says. ‘I’ve looked for it a few times but I cannae find it. They’re saving up Tash’s earnings from the game — they’re gonnae apply for custody of the twins soon as they’re old enough.’

‘Where’s she working, like?’ I ask.

‘Just on the street. I did it a few times, had one guy used tae pick me up near the bushes by the theatre. There’s fucking hundreds of them there. He was alright, just wanted a wee wank-off, then home tae his wife. I get good money when I do — ’s cos of my huge cock, ay.’ He grins.

‘Aye, okay then!’

I follow John around to the back of the wee house. There’s a kid’s roundabout in the shape of a big sunflower.

‘Madam, your chariot awaits!’

I hop on and he spins it; he has to hoick up his dress, and the big shoes he’s chored look mental. He’s got the joint clamped in his mouth, grinning, one foot on the roundabout, the other pounding the ground.

‘So, really, are you alright?’ I ask him.

‘Suppose.’

‘I met Bethany and Stewart.’

‘Did their foster-mum bring them in again?’

‘No, Isla’s social worker brought them in.’

John cracks his knuckles nervously. He hands the joint back to me and the roundabout slows.

Lean back and watch the stars spin round.

‘She needs tae stop cutting herself, and have you seen Mullet? He won’t go near her if she’s cut; she doesnae let anyone but the doctor touch her, like, but Mullet really makes it obvious. I think she’s trying tae cut the virus out, ay. She feels so fucking bad that the twins have got it, she cannae take it. There’ll probably be a cure by the time they’re older, though, and the kind she’s got she’s probably gonnae live another forty fucking years, ay. It’s just shit though. How come the nice people always get the shit luck, Anais?’

‘How did she not know she had it?’

‘She had the twins at home with her ma, same as her ma had done, same as her granny had done. They never told the school — her ma was scared they’d take the bairns away, and she’s away in the fucking head anyway, Isla’s ma. They didnae find out until Isla took them for their first immunisations. That’s how she found out she had it. Next thing she’s hauled in, her ma’s hauled in, then her da comes back — says he knew he had it the whole fucking time.’

‘Shit! Her dad?’

‘Noh, that’s not how she got it, no like that; her old man’s a smackhead, he used tae tie her tae the bed when they went out tae score, so she took a shot of his gear one night when he was nodding. Game over.’

‘Fucking hell.’

The roundabout’s still spinning and all I can see is stars and John’s head clear as, with the universe behind him. Every other second we whizz past the wee kid’s home again, and a window at the back of the home keeps punctuating the blur of trees, building, window, blur, trees, building, window. A small face peers out from it, then a staff member pops up and switches a light on.