Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘Honk your horn then — go on, honk your fucking horn!’

She pulls her arm down to show him what she means, and he does: he honks it and it’s a big old blaring horn, a metal one right on top of his truck. He does it three times as the minibus overtakes him.

‘Brilliant,’ Shortie says breathlessly, coming back in the window, ‘totally fucking great!’

We drive around the car park for a second time until Joan spies a car pulling out and swerves for the space; the clutch screeches.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. This bus needs serviced!’ she says.

We pull up alongside a family eating sandwiches. The man in the front rolls up his window, casually flicks the lock on his door.

‘We should get rid of the Social Work Department stickers,’ Angus says.

It’s good to open the door and get out. It was getting claustrophobic in there. Everyone piles down, lighting fags. Dylan kicks Brian. He’s doing that whenever Angus and Joan urnay looking. He boots him as I walk by. Brian takes a blade out of his pocket and shows it to Dylan as a warning.

‘Worried, ay,’ Dylan says.

We follow the staff towards the boathouse.

‘People are looking,’ Isla says.

‘No, they’re no. Or they just think me and Joan here have had a lot of kids!’ Angus insists.

He slaps his hand around Joan’s shoulders and she leans into him.

‘They must think Joan’s a right slut then, cos there’s no way we’ve all got the same dad,’ Shortie says. She walks by them, and Joan removes Angus’s hand from her shoulder.

People are looking. It’s the minibus that does it. Our minibus is well embarrassing. It has Midlothian Social Work Department emblazoned across it. It’s that and the young-offenders aura. A children-in-care aura. A we’llfuckyouandyerweepetsrightup kindae aura.

Two young guys with pit bulls walk by. One of them eyes up John as they climb into a fancy four-wheel drive.

We walk past toilets and a café. There’s boats out all over the loch and caravans up on the hill.

On the main desk a young guy is serving, he’s cute. Skinhead. Looks like a monk. I bet his pole’s no mouldy. He hands over lifejackets to Angus, who hands them back to Joan. She doles them out tae us.

‘I umnay wearing that,’ Shortie says.

Isla is already fastening her lifejacket around her so the ties are at the front, and knotting them. I put mine on and slump down on a seat by the picnic area. Dylan and Steven run over to the play area and pelt up the slide.

‘Okay, troops, we are down here.’ Angus points.

This is stupid. I fucking hate boats. Everyone follows Angus to the water’s edge.

‘Come on, Anais.’

‘Coming.’

The sky’s grey and there’s mizzle. It’s so soft on my skin — it’s nothing like rain. It’s even softer than the lightest drizzle! Lift my face up, so it can kiss my skin.

‘I’m not going out if it’s raining.’ Brian hangs back.

‘Away tae fuck, ya wee pleb, yer coming,’ Dylan says.

Brian shakes his head and Dylan drags him onto the boys’ boat.

‘Now, John, as the eldest, you are in charge; and, Tash, you’re in charge of the girls’ boat. You can see the tags out there, look — up the loch, can you see the red numbered tags?’ Angus points.

We all follow where he’s pointing and there are wee flags like at different bits of the loch. We nod.

‘Okay. So you need tae go around each tag, not just past it. You have tae touch each one, okay? Do you know what I mean by going around?’ he asks.

‘Calm it, Angus, we’re not total retards,’ Tash mutters.

‘I’ve got our boat!’ Shortie jumps in and grabs an oar.

Tash lifts Isla on and I hop in the back, but those tablets Shortie gave me are kicking in and my legs are going numb. I think I’m gonnae go and see Pat, before I go to the nuthouse next week. If she still knows fat Mick, and he’s still living there, he’ll maybe be able to get this stupid tag off my ankle.

The laddies rock their boat back and forward until John gives them a look and they stop straight away.

‘Okay, so you go around each tag, to the top, and the team that makes it back first wins the first prize of the day!’ Angus lights a roll-up and beams.

‘Now, two people tae each oar. If you get tired, slow down. Are you listening tae me, Anais? Okay, if you get stuck, use your phone. A lifeguard can be with you anywhere you are within seconds. And look,’ Joan gestures at a tiny kid going out in a topper, ‘anyone can do this one, okay? It’s not difficult, just enjoy yourselves!’

‘What’s the prize?’ Dylan asks.

‘You’ll find out later,’ Angus replies.

‘We’re gonnae beat youz easy,’ Shortie says to John.

Tash pulls our oar back again, but Shortie hasnae begun rowing on the other side yet, so for a minute we go squint. I’m staring at the sky. Shortie nudges me to take the paddle. I’m just watching a cloud.

‘Youz’ll no beat anyone!’ John says.

The boys pull away fast.

‘Come on, girls, dinnae let them get a head start.’ Joan shoves our boat out.

We’re gliding. It feels like flying. I trail my fingers in the water — it’s so cold. Imagine what’s down there in that loch. Big ugly fish. Mud. Reeds. Some dead witch.

The steady splish-splish of oars is rhythmic. Reeds stick up at the edges of the loch and ducks bob their heads, then dive down and waggle their tails as they look for food. Swans glide by.

A pure-black swan emerges from the reeds. I’ve never seen a black swan before, he’s fucking majestic. Take a photo on my phone, and point him out to Shortie.

‘What?’ She looks.

‘D’ye not think he’s stunning?’ I say.

‘Nope, totally fucking boring.’

‘He’s a pure-black swan, look at him, he’s perfect!’

‘Keep your mind on the victory, Anais,’ she says.

She points ahead to the flag we need to hit to beat the laddies. She’s getting right into this boating shit, ay. All this space around us feels good actually, now that I’m here. I never knew I liked to be outside so much. I never knew I liked lochs and views and that, but I could seriously handle living in a cottage by the side of somewhere like this.

Those tablets were strong. They’re trying to take me up and down at once. We’re far out now, the shore looks miles away. Shortie grins at me.

‘You’re alright, Anais.’

‘Aye.’

‘Mind when you moved in, and I fronted up tae you, ay?’

Isla raises her eyebrows in despair.

‘Like, I couldnae have you just picking on me or that. And tae be honest, I just like a wee fight really, but you like a wee fight, ay, Anais?’

‘Not really.’

‘You urnay bad for somebody who doesnae like fighting then. I mean, I got you a few good punches, like, but you werenae bad. I thought you’d be taller, and, like, uglier, and, like, you know, more manly.’

‘What?’ The girls fall about laughing.

Shortie smiles and looks away, waiting for a slap over the head.

‘Noh, cos most fighters are just right hard cunts, ay? Oh, come on, Isla, they are! And you are, like, quite hard, Anais. You’re almost as hard as me.’

‘Shortie?’

‘Aye?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

I pass her a smoke and we’re sniggering, cos it’s stupid, and the water keeps splashing over the boat and we’re a bit pish at this rowing shite, but we give it some welly anyway. The laddies are only just ahead, but they urnay high, though. It’s an advantage — that’s why they’re rowing better than we are.

Shortie points at another boat. ‘Look at those fannies,’ she says so they can all hear her.

A family race by us, wearing matching outfits, and the dad is at the helm shouting at his kids to row harder. Angus and Joan are getting smaller, waving to us away back on the shore.