Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘Tagged it.’ Shortie reaches out and slaps flag number one.

The boys are still ahead. My phone begins to ring. Isla leans back to row. She has fresh cut marks right across her stomach.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

I have to let my oar go tae get my mobile out. I pick it up again quick, and row with one arm. Shortie takes most of the strain for me. Thank fuck. My arms are going like jelly now as well as my legs. I need to snooze.

‘Alright?’ I answer the phone.

‘Alright, gorgeous!’

‘Jay.’

‘I cannae wait tae see you at the safe-house.’

I dinnae speak.

‘What are you doing? Are you naked?’

‘Noh. I’m in a boat.’

‘What the fuck are you doing in a boat?’

‘Floating.’

‘Aye, okay.’

‘Noh, I am. Listen …’

I hold the phone out so he can hear the oars and the water.

‘It’s quite nice actually. I thought I hated boats, but uhm urnay minding this,’ I say.

‘Is it a yacht?’

‘Aye, the social-work yacht!’ I giggle and so do the girls.

Isla is rowing as hard as she can. She’s got right into it now and our boat is drawing even with the laddies. As we get nearer I can see that Brian is hunched in a corner of the boys’ boat, with his knife out. Dylan’s scooping water up with a crisp bag and splashing him in the face.

‘Can you call the staff?’ Brian whimpers.

‘As if,’ Shortie snaps at him.

We glide past them in three long hard strokes.

‘Call the staff!’ he yelps.

‘Did that fucking dog have staff tae call — did it, Brian? You fucking freak.’ Shortie shakes her head. ‘Fucking arse-piece.’

‘Loser.’ Tash smirks at John.

We put metres between us in seconds. John shrugs his shoulders and keeps rolling a joint. I’m listening to the silence. Jay’s listening to us.

‘Who’s all there?’ he asks.

‘Just me and some of the other folk from the home.’

‘I thought you didnae hang out with anyone in the homes.’

‘I dinnae.’

‘D’ye think any of your wee pals could bring me in some gear tae the jail, like before I get out? I’m in a wee bit debt, Anais, ay. I could do with the help?’

‘I cannae. I’m already in shit with the polis.’

‘You know what, Anais?’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

He hangs up.

‘Anais, are you alright?’ Isla asks.

‘Aye, I’m fine.’

I feel horrible. I feel like he’s crawling under my skin and making it so I cannae not go and see him at the safe-house, but I cannae think about it any more. Today is not about him, and it’s not about almost-dead pigs. What if she dies? Will I feel bad then? I cannae say. I dinnae feel bad now, but I probably should, but I didnae kosh her so how is it my problem? I trail my fingers in the water.

These pills are settling in now. It’s a nice buzz.

Start rowing again. Water ripples out when the oars dip in. I look back at the boys’ boat. Brian’s pinned in his corner, jabbing the knife out any time Dylan goes near him.

Way down on the shore Joan appears to be waving, or maybe she’s trying to warn them to stop. I squint. It’s hard tae tell.

How come they didnae know it wasnae human blood, when they tested the stuff on my clothes? That’s the question. That’s the thing. The experiment have to raise the game, ay. They have to break you. That’s the point, and they’ve not managed it yet. Everything that has been, every single thing, and I’m not totally broke, yet. They dinnae like that.

‘LOOK, THEY’RE GONNAE drown Brian.’ Isla points back down the loch.

‘I wish they fucking would,’ Shortie says.

‘They are, look!’

Brian clings onto the boat from the water. Dylan stands up in the boat and batters him across the head with his paddle. A help-boat is motoring up the loch towards the laddies.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Isla urges.

‘Seven, tag seven, woo-hoo, woo-hoo, tag seven, we are kicking your arse!’ Shortie shouts back at the boys’ boat.

‘Spin on it, ya radge,’ John shouts back.

‘You’re the fucking radge, John!’ she says.

‘Aye, you wantae come here and say that?’

‘Try me!’ she hollers and sits down.

We all look at her.

‘What?’ she says.

‘You fancy John.’ I smile.

‘Noh, I dinnae think so!’ She shakes her head. ‘Are you gonnae see Craig again, by the way? He keeps asking me.’

‘No,’ I say.

Isla starts humming a tune. I think it’s ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’. Tash is singing it now, ‘Old McShortie had a pig farmer, EE-I-EE-I-O.’

‘Very fucking funny,’ Shortie says.

Brian’s flapping in the water. He’s lucky he’s got his lifejacket on, cos there’s no danger that’s swimming. He’s getting quite far away from their boat now. Dylan leans over the edge and skelps Brian over the head with the paddle.

‘Oh, ya fucker, did you see that yin?’

Shortie stands up to get a better look. Our boat wobbles like fuck.

‘Stop that, right now!’

A big guy with a beard shouts over a loudspeaker at Dylan. We’re giggling.

‘I dinnae want tae go back in yet. C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here,’ Tash says.

We all lean back and pull the oars, we’re getting good now — we’ve found the beat of it.

The loch disappears around a corner and we follow it around, to another huge expanse of water, and there are all these wee islands with big trees on them.

‘We should stop.’ Shortie gestures at the island nearest us.

‘Are we allowed tae stop there?’ Isla asks.

‘Aye!’ Shortie says. She looks at me. ‘We can stop? They didnae say we cannae stop. Anyway, what’re they gonnae do — paddle way out here?’

She gestures back at the shore; it is miles away now.

‘I suppose,’ I say.

‘We’ll still beat the laddies. If we see them going by, we’ll go after them. Please!’

‘We’ll beat them even if we doggy-paddle the rest of the way.’ I look back.

The boys are static now. Totally fucked. The bearded man is hooking Brian out of the water and arguing with John.

‘Come on, please, I brought some drink. I have tablets, uppers an’ downers …’ Shortie pleads.

‘I’ve got fags,’ I add.

Pat my pocket to check they’re still there.

‘I’ve got biscuits, and crisps, and drink,’ Tash concedes. She lifts up a plastic bag at her feet. ‘Just in case,’ she adds.

We row around to the far side of the island, out of sight of the boys’ boat. Most of the other boats are further up the loch.

We row right into the island. This is great — we are conquerors, maybe I could name it Anais’s island. Or, island El Radgio. The trees are really tall and there’s still some flowers. I dunno what they are — like wildflowers, or maybe just weeds. They’re pretty, though, ay. This is the last nice day; they say winter’s gonnae arrive tomorrow, and that’s that.

We float in towards the pebble shore.

‘I’ve got it.’ Shortie jumps out.

She lands right up tae her thighs in the water, and we start laughing at her.

‘Fuck!’ she screams.

‘Shut it and pull us in.’ Tash hands her the rope.

‘’S alright for youz tae laugh, you urnay fucking soaking!’

‘Take one for the team, Shortie. Man up,’ I say, grinning.

She wades us in until the boat crunches onto the pebbles. I’m really comfy in this lifejacket now, it’s a portable cushion. I might wear it everywhere.

Tash lifts Isla onto the shore. Shortie kicks off her squelchy shoes and pulls her jeans off and wrings them out.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ she mutters.

I’m giggling watching her. Tash is laughing at Shortie as well, and even Isla is falling back, looking up at the trees and letting out a helpless high-pitched laugh. She sounds like a dolphin clicking, which just makes us all worse.