Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

‘Nah, Pat. Anyway, Jay is getting out — in a few weeks. We might give it a go, ay.’

‘Jay? He’s not coming back here, Anais — I’d be surprised anyway. He’s in debt, and I mean a lot of fucking debt. You remember Mark, don’t you?’

‘Aye.’

‘He owes the troll a bomb, that’s what I heard.’

Pat rifles through Pauline’s cardigan and takes out a wadge of notes.

‘Here, you keep that. I’m being serious, take it — you might need it. I feel like you’re going to need it, and take these wraps. They’re quality speed, so don’t take it all yourself. You’re skinny anyway, but you could sell it for some cash. And this is premium-quality acid; be careful with this shit, it’s very strong! These are some happy pills, they’re downers — here, take them, Anais, you can keep them in this.’

She hands me a wee Tupperware tub.

‘Thanks, Aunty Pat. I might need tae sell them, though.

They want tae put me in a secure unit.’

‘They do, do they?’

‘Aye. They think I’m bad.’

‘That’s what the experiment want them to think.’

I go cold.

She’s moving around, picking things up and putting them down, and I don’t know if she knows what she’s said. Pauline looks weird, sleeping through all this. I can feel the experiment in the room, just like that. Watching through the half-opened slits of Pauline’s eyes.

‘You’re the brainybox, Anais, you could get out. Look at me.’ She gestures at her paintings. ‘Will you see this in art galleries? No, you won’t, cos they don’t want fucking art — they want ideas. Would you like one of my paintings?’

She looks hopeful.

‘Aye — when I get my first flat, though. I wouldnae keep it in a home.’

‘You take one whenever you want.’

She pours half a glass of vodka and hands it to me.

‘Straight,’ she orders.

I drink it down. She refills the same glass and does the same. It’s a tradition; her and Teresa used to do it nearly every night. She first poured me half a tumbler of vodka when I was nine, and I drank it straight then as well — I thought my throat was on fire.

‘You know what they don’t tell you in this life, Anais, it’s this, those …’ She points at a wall of penis paintings. ‘The phallus, the prick, the cock, whatever you want to call it, it’s not the most powerful thing in the world.’

‘No?’

‘No. Like — they think it is, they build skyscrapers and mosques and big weapons in the shape of penises, to make you think that it is.’

‘Why?’

‘Gender wars. Absolute domination, over what they fear. What men fear is a cunt, so they try and make the cock scarier. It’s why they cut off girls’ clitoris, and use rape as a war tactic. It’s why the sentencing for rape is so offensively pathetic.’

She pours another two straight drinks.

‘Men are scary, sometimes, Pat.’

‘Aye, but it’s all up here.’ She taps her head. ‘They want us to think rape’s the worst thing that can happen.’

‘It’s not?’

‘Look — I’ve been raped six ways from Sunday, and it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me. It was not as bad as losing my firstborn, it was not as bad as watching my mother die from cancer. I mean it was bad. I am not saying it wasn’t bad; it was horrific, it made me stab one guy and I won’t even tell you what I did to another. The point is: society’s conditioned us, men and women, to live in fear.’

Pat must be off her meds, but I dinnae want to ask in case she brings out the bazooka. Last time she stopped taking her lithium she bought a bazooka from Fat Mike’s cousin. She keeps it stashed in the airing cupboard, or she used to. The police had to stop her shooting rockets at passing planes last time she went manic; she thought we were in wartime, ay.

‘Teresa always knew they’d come for you,’ she says, draining her drink.

‘Who?’

‘The experiment.’

Heart thumping — cannae breathe. Pauline’s snoring and I want to get out of here, I want to get out of my face and wake up a different person.

‘Penises,’ she says. ‘Wrinkled wee piss-holes — so fucking what!’

‘I better head off, Pat.’

She points at her paintings.

‘When men, and women, understand that they are not the scariest things in the world, for either sex — it’s this!’ She taps her head. ‘That’s when the world’s real revolution will begin. I’m fucking telling you. It’s your own mind that kills you. The most dangerous weapon in the world is a brain. You need to learn to master yours, Anais. It’s like a wild fucking horse in there, I can tell.’

Pauline farts. It’s a sudden, loud burst of sound. Pat is rocking. I wonder if I could find her lithium and put it in her vodka.

‘Do you still see Professor True?’

‘Gave him the grater last Tuesday. He likes it rough, that man does. He misses your mum though, even now. I can get him off, but she really meant something to him. He misses that. She had the touch, did our Teresa.’

There’s a pipe on the table and from here I can see that the dungeon room has been repainted black and there’s a large cat-o’-nine-tails on the wall.

I bet the experiment tune into Pat’s flat every fucking night.

THERE’S A GAP at the back of my drawer, where I can drop the socks down and my hands are wee enough to get them back up. I stuff them down the gap, pull the drawer right out and look. You cannae see anything. I’ve put all the cash Pat gave me in one sock. It is two hundred and forty quid. The wraps and all the gear are stashed in there too.

Tash is on the landing. She’s wearing a skirt and make-up, and her hair is down and curly. She’s got more colour in her skin because she’s been on the sunbeds, and she’s wearing big hoop earrings.

I go out onto the landing.

‘Have you ever heard of Frida Kahlo?’ I ask her.

‘Nope — is she in care, like?’

‘No, she used tae be a painter.’

‘I’ve no heard of her. How?’

‘You look like her.’

‘Good-looking, was she?’

‘Aye.’

‘Anais — Helen cannae make it today. It’s first thing tomorrow now, okay?’ Angus calls up to me.

‘Okay,’ I say.

I feel deflated now. Helen’s such a waste of space. I’ve seen her four times since she’s been back, but she is still doing less than fuck-all to help me prove I didnae kosh PC Craig. She thinks I did. That’s the fucking thing.

Isla and Tash walk away down the stairs.

‘Where are youz going?’ I trail behind them.

‘Up town.’

‘You could stay in and watch telly with me?’

I sound like a fanny.

‘It’s Friday night!’ Tash says.

I watch them walking away. Isla’s not happy. John reckons she almost cut an artery yesterday.

‘Are you alright, Isla?’ I call after her.

‘I suppose.’

They walk through the lounge and out the front. Fuck this — I run out and catch them on the drive.

‘Anais, your feet are bare!’ Tash laughs at me.

‘I can give you some cash.’

‘I dinnae want your cash, I’ll make my own,’ she says.

‘You dinnae want tae go,’ I say, and for some reason I’m almost crying. I dinnae know what the fuck is wrong with me. Even as I’m saying it, I feel like an arse. Tash is just looking at me.

‘We could play Monopoly?’

‘Anais, calm fucking down — the staff are looking.’

Tash tucks my hair behind my ear and I give her a kiss on the cheek.

‘Sorry. I’m just … I dunno. Are you taking down the registrations?’ I ask Isla.

‘Always.’ She lifts a pad.

‘Will you be warm enough?’ I ask.