Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

The canopy of baskets sways. The monk is there. So’s Jay; he’s become a skeleton, but I know him by his shoulder blades.

‘Why?’ I’m croaking it out, but he cannae hear me. ‘Why the fuck did you do that?’ I try again.

The twins are playing with a feather headdress and a bouncy ball. Their basket is a double; it’s taller than the others, so they can stand up and play clap-a-hands.

I’m so tired. Lie down and stare up, my eyes are getting heavy.

‘Is it alright tae go tae sleep?’ I ask Teresa.

‘Aye. Just give intae it. Dinnae fight it. Just let go, Anais.’

Her teeth are gone.

I’m sinking into the foliage on the forest floor, and a giant centipede crawls across my stomach, but I dinnae care. I dinnae feel it, I dinnae feel its feet; just a tiny pin, jabbing into my forehead. Then another. It hurts. It’s fucking sore! I open my eyes. Someone is dropping something on my head, sharp enough tae puncture my skin. I touch where one has hit me and, when I take my fingers away, there is blood.

A basket above me is shaking — it’s Tash. She’s shaking her cage and her moustache unfurls — it curls right out through her bamboo cage and all over the sky until it’s dark. It hooks itself around the moon and drags it out the sky.

She’s shouting.

‘Wake up. Right fucking now, Anais. WAKE the fuck UP!’

Dry eyes, sour mouth — there’s burnt spoons on the floor and black bags taped over the windows and the room fucking stinks.

Where are they?

Push myself up. Fuck, I can smell vomit, it’s on my hand. Top lip’s burning, coldsores, cankers in my mouth; my tongue is huge, swollen, and I’m shrinking.

Get up, get fucking up! They’re not here, they’ve gone, the webcam’s away. Shit, retching, lean over. Stop. Stop it! Get fucking up: now, Anais. One foot up, then the other one, use the wall. There’s my jeans. Pull them on — fuck, it hurts! Wrap my arms around myself and sink down, sobbing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Stop crying, get up, finish pulling your fucking jeans on. That’s it, pull them up, dinnae touch the bruises, dinnae stop; get out the fucking flat, now. I rip one of the bags off the windows. Look — there’s still a world down there, there are matchstick prams and Lego dogs. A wee speck of a laddie swings a lead.

Jay. I hope someone kills him.

There was five of them. There was five. There was a webcam. There was five. It’s one of those where a lassie looks all fucked up and underage. Fuck! I can smell them. I can smell them on me. Piss rises up from my jeans.

Toilet. Pull light on. Nobody’s in the flat now, just me. It’s just me, but I need tae go now. One minute, though. One minute. The water’s cold in the taps, my hands are shaky as fuck. There’s a tracksuit top on the floor. Pull it on.

Clever experiment.

I fucking, hate!

I was dreaming of Teresa — she was giving her old punter a hand-job and John was watching and wanking.

Tash kept dropping wee clocks on my face.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I DON’T KNOW how long it took me tae get back here. I cannae remember most of it. Angus was shouting and saying the polis were gonnae be able tae lock me away now, and Shortie was just standing on the stair staring at me.

This is life. Breathing in, and out. The bathroom is white. My legs are purple bruises. There isnae anywhere I dinnae ache, and I think if I died now, it would be peaceful. Tash would meet me, and Isla.

I want tae just slip under the water — but instead I am pulling myself up, and undoing the lid on nail-varnish remover, and cleaning varnish off my toes. I’m cleaning myself as careful as if I were a newborn.

I would rather do anything than be around people like that again. I want out. I want to watch a fire-breather as dawn comes up on the solstice. They cannae have this soul. They have taken everything else and it’s the only thing left that I own. I’m not telling Shortie what’s happened, or anyone else, but especially not Shortie; she’s had enough tae deal with. What would be the point of her feeling hurt as well? Nobody’s gonnae catch those guys, and the polis fucking hate me anyway. What would they do? Clever experiment.

I go back downstairs, into the office, and Angus is still arguing with PC Arnold.

‘So tag her again!’

‘I dinnae think so, Mr Everlen.’

‘Anais, are you okay? You look really pale,’ Angus asks.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you going tae tell us where you have been, Miss Hendricks?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I have no other option than tae take you down the station for questioning,’ PC Arnold says.

‘Come on, look at her — she’s not well, and you cannae take her straight down there and off tae secure, Mr Arnold. She is allowed special consideration, if a family member has died.’

‘Aye, but that wee lassie wasnae related tae Anais, was she?’

‘That’s not the point. The girls develop unusually strong bonds in here, they are a family.’

‘Aye, but they urnay related, are they? We have an order here tae put Anais in John Kay’s. She’ll be kept there until she’s eighteen, I reckon, and that is that!’

‘But PC Craig has improved!’ Angus is almost shouting.

‘Aye, but Anais battered an innocent schoolgirl from our village, Mr Everlen. If that family decide tae pursue it, she won’t be done for grievous bodily harm; it will be attempted murder. She needs locked up.’

‘Tag her — I’ll take her tae school personally, and I’ll go at four o’clock and collect her at the gate. You can monitor where she is: and the rest of the time she’ll be on total house-arrest. We let her go tae the funeral on Thursday — and then she’s all yours!’

‘I dinnae think so, Mr Everlen.’

‘Well, your sergeant said I could legally push for extenuating circumstances tae be taken into consideration, should we prove that Anais was in a state of extreme shock when she got in that fight.’

‘That’s what my sergeant said?’ he asks.

‘Aye, pretty much. And you better check with him before you take her anywhere, or you might be the one who gets in trouble,’ Angus says.

‘I’ll check that with the station.’

‘You do that.’

Angus shows him out.

I walk out behind them. Shortie runs up.

‘So are you gonnae tell me where you’ve been yet?’ she asks me.

‘No.’

‘Fuck off, Anais, what’s the big secret?’

‘I umnay going tae John Kay’s.’

‘How? Are they letting you off? Are they letting you stay here?’

‘No.’

‘Then, what?’

‘D’ye think Dylan could break intae the staff safe?’

‘Aye. How?’

Shortie squeezes my hand and she doesnae need me to tell her. I’m getting out. I dinnae care how. If I don’t, then I will only ever have been nothing, and no-one, and what is the point of surviving this — for that?

‘Anais?’

‘Aye, Angus.’

‘I have an order here, I got it from the head of the social-work department. Dinnae ask. He knows someone I know. Anyway, they are going to make sure that you can stay until the funeral — you have special consideration. I am meant tae take you to school tomorrow, but I trust you tae come back, and on Thursday we will go and see Isla off, okay?’

I well up, and he squeezes my shoulder.

‘D’ye want tae talk about it, Anais?’

‘No. But, Angus?’

‘What?’

‘Thanks.’

I am wearing all warm clothes. They call it dressing for the weather. I’ve never bothered before, but right now I want tae be warm, and safe. Head down the woods. Dinnae let the experiment see you planning.

This is what’s different from yesterday — I’ve got my hair cut into a bob, I dinnae want to smoke, I dinnae want food, but I will eat, and not just chocolate. I will eat soup, and bread, and cheese, and I will stop having a day on and a day off tae stay skinny. I will comb my hair, and brush my teeth and learn how tae be nice to me.