Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

Keep walking. I’m gonnae have to go right by them; fuck it, it’s only kids from the local school. There’s a big lassie lifting her leg — she’s gonnae stamp on someone’s head. She better watch it, you can easy kill someone that way.

It’s starting to drizzle, and all the street-lamps are like orange orbs. I walk by the crowd surrounding the fight, and my stomach lurches.

‘D’ye still think you’re fucking hard now?’

The big lassie lifts her leg again to stamp on Shortie’s face.

‘What the fuck d’ye think you’re doing?’ I shove in and the group parts, then closes around us, so nobody walking nearby can see.

‘She fucking started it!’ the lassie says.

Shortie’s crumpled on the floor; she’s trying tae kick back — but she’s woozy. She grins up at me. Click, click, click. There’s been more than one of them at her. Click. Click.

‘She stamped on my face.’ Shortie looks up at me. One of her eyes is swollen and closing up already.

‘I’m gonnae fucking do it again!’

The lassie thinks she’s hard as fuck cos she’s battered a girl from the home. I grab her by the back of her neck, pull her in, like I’m gonnae snog her face off. Crack ! Bone off bone. Someone boots me in the back and another one’s dragging me down. Nails. Punches. This isnae pain — it’s not what pain feels like. I catch Shortie’s eye; she’s grinning at me, woozy, but she’s still got the fucking glint. It passes between us — dark as night and just as true.

‘Fuck it, Anais, ay; fuck it, and fuck them, I fucking love you.’

Scrabble upright, stagger back — then turn, fly through air. CRACK, she’s down, out; drag her back up by the hair, smack her in the pus — once, twice — a tooth flies through the air. Skelp her fucking sideways, and she’s pushing her feet along the ground, pleading and trying tae get away.

Click, click, click.

There’s a faint voice somewhere, it’s saying again and again: If you dinnae stop her — she won’t stop! And someone steps up behind me, their whole body moves in behind mine. They are grabbing my arms, slowing them down as I keep punching, and Shortie is whispering into my ear, I can hear her, under the roar.

‘She’s had enough, Anais, that’s it — stop, you’re alright. I’ve got you.’

My arms slow, my body relaxes into her hold, my heart is pounding and everything is coming back — louder than before. A siren screeches close by and Shortie is taking me by the hand, leading me over the road, and I’m looking back at them. Someone’s picking the lassie up off the deck.

‘I didnae mean it,’ I whisper and I’m crying, and she’s dragging me on.

It’s misty out now; cars down on the road put their fog-lights on. The ground in the woods is wet — we’re running, and I slip. Shortie drags me up again.

‘Dinnae look back, dinnae. Just keep walking,’ she says.

I’m shaking. I’m really fucking shaking; my teeth are clattering, cos I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as bad as that.

I cannae see the lights behind us any more, we’re right in the forest now.

‘It’s alright, Anais. Here, stop a minute — just breathe.’

Shortie pushes me against a tree, and she’s panting as well. She pulls her cigarettes out, lights a fag in shaky hands and passes it tae me. Then she leans in and kisses me, and I hold onto her, because there is nothing else — no air, no sky, no ground.

HOLD SHORTIE’S HEAD over the sink while blood swirls down the plughole. She pushes a wet roll of tissue across her eye and climbs into the empty bath. I dry her face, her neck. I won’t try to brush her hair, cos her scalp will still be too sore. We placed a towel along the bottom of the bathroom door so nobody can tell that we’re in here.

I clean myself up quickly. The police will be up here any minute now. If the lassie I battered identifies me, then I’ll be straight into a secure unit tonight.

Jay, I got held up … do you still want me to come?

This is what they wanted. That’s what the police said: one more charge, and they’ve got me. It won’t be a secure unit near here; upstairs is never gonnae be finished. They’ll take me to John Kay’s.

Aye, but come now .

Keep dabbing at my face in the mirror, wiping the blood away, but all I can see is dead pigs, and dead Islas, and a dead Anais — hanging in a cell. One vertebrae. Snapped.

There’s a knock on the door.

‘Who is it?’ I ask, trying to make my voice sound even.

‘It’s Dylan — let me in.’

‘Not just now, Dylan, what d’you want?’

‘Brian’s down in the office, he’s grassing you up!’

‘To who?’

‘He’s grassing you tae Angus and Joan — he says you’ve just battered a whole bunch of lassies down in the village. He’s saying you broke one girl’s legs.’

‘Shit!’ Shortie looks up at me.

‘The polis are on their way, the staff had tae ring them. They’re looking for you the now — they dinnae know you’re back here yet.’

‘Dylan?’

‘Aye?’

‘Go downstairs and, if the staff look like they’re coming this way, do me a favour and stop them.’

Are you coming right now? I need tae know, for definite?

Okay A Xx .

Shortie gets out of the bath and opens the door a crack.

‘Can you manage that?’ she asks Dylan.

He nods and she opens the door to let him see that I’m alright. Shortie’s black eye is already swollen up to fuck, but I’ve cleaned up quite good. Dylan looks scared — I dinnae like it.

‘We’re alright. Cross my heart,’ I tell him.

‘Can you keep the staff outside? Cos Anais will be put away, if the polis get her,’ Shortie says.

‘Aye, I can do it.’ He turns away and clomps down the hall.

Shortie gets me out the back interview-room window. She smashed it out with a stone and her jumper wrapped around it, so they wouldnae hear it. I drop to the ground, and look back up at her.

‘You better come back,’ she says.

‘I will.’

Then I am running, down towards the woods. I can see a police car pulling down the drive behind me, but their lights dinnae reach out over the fields. The wind is fucking freezing and I didnae even have time to grab a coat.

Darkness feels safer than daylight. How many times has the dark been my safe place? I begin tae count all the places I’ve slept: bus shelters, graveyards, old cottages, holiday-let caravans in winter when the park is shut, in the woods, disused buildings, a burnt-out car, under a bridge, on the beach, the viaduct. I once slept on a roundabout in the middle of a dual carriageway. I watched the cars all night — it was winter, so I kept my knees tucked up in my top, and newspapers crumpled up and stuffed under it for insulation, and I breathed — with my head inside my jumper, so as not to lose any body-heat. D’you know what that’s called? Resourceful. Stupid. Fucking idiotic. I am not sleeping rough again, not for anyone, it’s not fucking safe and it’s not fucking funny. The woods thin. Nobody is around at the village main road, thank God!

The bus-shelter timetable says forty minutes until the next bus. That’s enough time. The bus’ll stop by the old row of cottages over the road. The cottages are all hunched in a row, their letterboxes set in a grim grin.

I just want Jay to hold me, and stroke my hair. I want the night tae just become us and a bed, and the shadows on the walls. I need to get fucked up, properly.

Tension gnaws my gut, and the adrenaline won’t let me go, I cannae get it out my body. I took two trips when we got back to the unit. I was saving them for a moment like this — I need to see clearer. I had half an E from Pat’s stash as well.