Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘I’m fucking serious, fuck it, you dinnae even need a form. God’s watching or, like, the clouds are watching. Me and Anais would be watching, ay, Anais?’

I nod.

‘I mean, serious, I’ll marry youz right now.’

She skids down onto the shore and grabs up a handful of wee blue flowers.

‘For the beautiful bride.’ She shoves an earthy clump at Isla. ‘Now, this is holy and serious,’ and she falls to her knees in front of them and makes them clasp their hands together. ‘What do youz think?’

‘I think you should,’ I say.

I’m smiling, cos the two of them look so young and happy, and it makes me hopeful. I dunno for what, like — just hopeful.

‘You’re just a diehard romantic,’ Tash says to me.

I’m already scrabbling up the slope gathering petals and flowers.

‘Well?’ Shortie asks again.

‘I’m in.’ Tash grins. Isla leans over and kisses her.

‘Right, you’re not at that bit yet. Go canny, ay; now, turn around tae face each other.’

Shortie looks to the sky, crosses herself, then opens her hands like they’re a prayer book.

‘Do you, Tash — light of our Isla’s eyes — do you promise to take this woman, our Isla, as your lawfully legal wife?’

‘Aye.’

‘You are making holy vows before this loch, these clouds, me and Anais — and they swans over there.’ Shortie points.

‘Okay,’ Isla says.

‘Right. Repeat after me. I, Tash, will look after, treasure and obey my teenage wifey, Isla, and I will never rug-munch another, as long as we both shall live, Amen!’

‘Aye, whatever you said.’ Tash takes Isla’s face in her hands. ‘I do!’

That’s real love. That look, right there, that’s what everyone wishes they had. Even me.

‘And do you, Isla — blushing bride of all blushing brides, beautiful in heart and body and soul and all things — d’ye promise, and I mean promise , tae love, honour and obey the love of your life, our Tash?’

‘I do.’

‘And do you both take these vows until both of youz are dead, for ever and ever and ever, Amen?’

‘We do.’

I slip a ring I’ve pleated out of grass intae Tash’s hand. She slides it on Isla’s finger.

‘I love you,’ Isla says.

‘Till death do youz part!’

‘Till death do us part.’

‘Then I declare with the power invested in me by youz, and Anais, and the island — and those swans over there — that you are now wife and wife. You may kiss the bride!’

They kiss, and Isla’s teary. I throw petals over them and they flutter in the sun.

‘Here comes the brides,’ I begin.

Shortie takes over, ‘Okay they’re barely legal but la, la, la, la, la!’

Isla and Tash join in as well and none of us know the words and it doesn’t matter at all, we just sing it to the tune: ‘La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!’

‘What the fuck are youz doing?’ Dylan stands up and shouts.

Fuck, we didnae even see them sneak up, they’re floating just near the shore.

‘Have youz got drink?’ John demands.

‘All gone!’

Shortie turns the Bacardi bottle upside down.

‘We’re coming ashore,’ Dylan shouts.

‘No, you’re fucking not,’ Shortie shouts back.

‘Fuck youz then,’ John says.

They paddle away for the next flag.

‘War!’ Shortie hollers.

She launches herself into the boat, we run after her, and the laddies are sticking their fingers up, then trying to paddle furiously away.

Shortie’s raging. ‘I cannae believe that boat-guy let them go — we cannae let them beat us. No fucking danger.’

‘Brian’s no in there, he must have been taken back tae the shore,’ I say.

‘We’re kicking your arses!’ John shouts back at us.

They’re getting far away already. Suddenly there’s more boats out around us.

‘No danger, you’re slow as. Losers!’ Isla calls.

I have never seen her look so light and happy — as we paddle like mental, and the sun is high and it’s even quite warm, we look healthier already. A bigger boat comes up behind us. There’s three birds in it and we slow for a second to let them by, but it means the laddies are really getting the lead now.

Shortie turns around and stares at the lassies’ boat, willing them to get out the road.

‘Chavs!’ the blonde lassie says loudly.

Her pals snigger. Shortie slows down paddling and turns right around.

‘What the fuck did you say?’

Isla’s still smiling; she kisses Tash on the cheek and grins happily, looking at her wee woven-grass ring. I like it, I did a not-bad job making that.

‘Oh my God, it’s lesbo chav.’ The blonde nods towards Isla.

‘Fucking ugly one at that,’ her pal adds.

I stand up — paddle in my hand.

‘It’s angry chav!’ her pal laughs.

‘You should watch your fucking mouth. She’ll kick your stinking cunt right intae next fucking week — ya skanky bitch.’ Shortie’s livid.

Tash stands up and the boat is rocking like fuck now. Isla’s face is burning and she tugs at Tash to sit down. I could fucking leather that posh cunt. She’s got stupid designer wellies on, and one of they ski-slope noses. She’s a cunt. She always will be a cunt. She’s the kindae fuck ye’ll meet twenty years on and they just think everything that isnae them is total scum. She is, what Teresa would have called — ignorant as fuck.

I cannae stand it. Isla’s fucking embarrassed — she’s hidden her hand with the ring on it and she’s tugging at her top. The boys have slowed down to see what is going on. Our boat sways as Tash steps forward. Isla nervously pulls at Tash’s jeans to get her to sit back down.

‘My father owns this loch!’ the blonde girl warns us.

‘’S alright,’ I say quietly to Tash.

Daddyownstheloch has shut up; she’s smiling. Let her. It can fucking wait. I shove Tash so she sits back down, still speechless with rage.

‘Fuckin’ posh cunts!’ Shortie shouts after them.

‘Oh, aye, that really fucking told them!’ Tash snaps.

Joan’s putting out the picnic stuff on a table when we pull up to the shore. My arms are achey. It’s hard work, that rowing shit. We drag the boat up the shore and join Joan at the table. There are egg sandwiches on brown bread. Brilliant! I’m hungry now. I dinnae eat, and then I eat. It’s not an eating disorder; it keeps me thin, though. If I didnae not eat — then I’d just always eat, and then I’d be a fat fuck. Fact.

‘We fucking beat youz.’

John swaggers along. He winks at Shortie.

‘Only by default,’ I say.

‘Youz were pish, just face it,’ Dylan says, grabbing a sandwich.

Shortie tickles him. ‘You cheeky wee shit.’

‘I’m gonnae pee myself — stop!’ he yelps, so Shortie tickles him harder.

Isla is sat quiet on a bench watching the water; me and Tash walk away while Angus attends to a hysterical Brian. I turn to glance behind us to make sure nobody’s seeing us go, and it’s alright, nobody’s looking. The loch sparkles, and the trees all along it are thick and dark; they sway as the sun begins to fade.

ANGUS HOLDS THE door open and taps his watch.

‘Where have you two been?’

‘Piss-stop,’ Tash says.

‘Lovely.’

‘You seem tae have cheered up. I told you, a nice day out on a boat and you’d feel a lot better,’ Angus says, quite chuffed with himself.

I grin at him and he slides the door shut behind us.

Brian is in the back-right corner with his fists balled up; he stares at the back of Dylan’s head. Brian’s clothes are still damp, even though Angus dried most of them under a hand-dryer at the bogs. We could hear them in there for half an hour, blasting the dryer while we sat and ate lunch with Joan.