Jenni Fagan - The Panopticon

The front door slams open and the wee kids run in, ahead of two support workers.

‘Can we see the games room?’ one asks.

John shows the wee laddies the art on the watchtower, and they start taking crayons out of a box and drawing onto it. John is drawing a peace symbol with feet. Two wee lassies run around me and Shortie.

‘Come on, Anais, let’s show them.’ Shortie’s grinning.

‘We’ve got a games room in ours, but we dinnae have a pool table.’ A wee red-haired girl tugs my sleeve, pointing at ours.

Joan brought her record player in and some vinyl — it’s prehistoric stuff, but it’s surprisingly good; she obviously looks squarer than she is.

‘Can we put a record on?’ her wee pal asks us.

She’s got short hair and she’s wearing an Elmo T-shirt. Too cool for school — nothing like the brown cords and brown shoes the social workers used tae dress me in.

‘I cannae be arsed with this,’ I say to Shortie.

‘Anais, you cannae say that!’ She drags me over to the pool table, then helps a wee lassie put a record on.

‘What’s your name then?’ she asks her.

‘Alice.’

‘I’m Shortie, and that’s Anais. Pleased tae meet you.’

The little girl comes over to me and I shake her hand solemnly. The record kicks in and she gets all excited and starts jumping about.

‘C’mon, let’s shake it,’ she says.

‘Shake it?’

‘They watch music videos all the time, duh! Come on, shake it, Anais.’ Shortie grins.

‘Fuck off!’

‘Ooh, you swore! Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,’ Alice parrots.

Jesus fuck!

‘Puh-leeeeeese dance with me?’ She folds her hands in prayer, then begins busting out demented chicken moves.

‘I need a fucking smoke.’

‘Anais!’ Shortie says.

I shake my head at her and walk off.

‘I’m gonnae go for a fag too.’ Alice runs after me and takes my hand.

Joy.

‘No, you’re not,’ I tell her.

‘Aye, I uhm.’

‘No, you wait here. You’re too young to smoke!’

‘I’ll just sit with you then,’ she says happily.

We sit on the front step, up where it’s not so frosty. It’s cold out, but I’m warm enough. Alice is wearing a hat too.

‘Are you cold?’ I ask her.

‘Nope!’

She chatters away. I forgot this. Whenever I meet wee kids in homes it’s the same: they chat and chat. They tell me all about their lives. Even the older kids do; they’ve been doing it with me for years. They’ll come to my room and they just know there’s nothing they can say that will make me pity them or look at them like they’re cheap or dirty, or crap or ugly or hideous as fuck.

The wee girl squeezes my hand, drags me back to the winter sun.

‘I remember you,’ she says.

‘I dinnae think so, Alice.’

‘Aye, aye. I saw you playing on our roundabout in the middle of the night. You were with that guy back in there. He was wearing a dress.’

I laugh.

‘Aye, that was me. The guy in the dress is called John.’

‘So d’ye get tae leave soon and get a house?’ She squints up at me.

‘Hopefully.’

‘Why hopefully?’

‘Well, they want me tae stay on a few years, maybe until I’m eighteen.’

Alice is horrified. ‘Why?’

‘Cos. I did some bad things.’

‘Did you say some bad words?’

‘Aye.’

‘Like shit?’

‘Dinnae say that!’ I laugh at her.

‘Like fuck?’ she asks me, her eyes going round. ‘Did you say cunty-balls?’

‘Uh-huh, stuff like that.’

‘I bet you didnae mean it, though,’ she says, and picks up a stone and throws it. ‘I can tell you didnae mean it. D’you want me tae tell them for you?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ I say.

She leans in against me.

‘Maybe you could just leave and, like, get a house and I could come and live with you? I’d like that,’ she says shyly.

‘That would be cool, ay?’ I say and wipe my face.

‘Can you bake a chocolate caterpillar cake?’

I shake my head.

‘Oh well. Could you learn tae bake a chocolate caterpillar cake?’

I squeeze her hand and she puts her arms up, so I let her clamber over me. I hug her. We rock like that on the porch. I can feel the strain in her. Her muscles all tense and her mind always searching around her to see who’s safe and who’s not. She knows about rooms without windows or doors. She knows I do as well — it’s not a thing you need tae say.

Snow begins to fall, light as ash. Alice sticks her tongue out to catch it.

‘Yum, yum, yum,’ she says.

‘Have you seen Britney?’ I ask her.

‘Who’s Britney?’

‘You’ve not seen Britney? You haven’t seen our resident owl? Well, that’s shocking. Next thing you’ll be telling me you’ve never met a flying cat?’

‘Cat’s dinnae fly, silly!’ she says.

‘Oh, they don’t, do they? C’mon, let’s go and see who we can find first: Britney, the gargoyle, or — Malcolm, the Panopticon’s secret flying feline!’

She’s grinning and totally excited to meet a flying cat, or an owl. I pick her up, sit her on my hips and we walk down the drive to see Malcolm.

SHORTIE WENT TO the jeweller’s earlier and picked up my domino. I’ve hung it on a chain and it’s hidden under my dress. I keep checking it’s still there. I bought my Twenties coat, and a new dress. I now only have £517.26 left. I got my allowance, Pat’s cash. Shortie sold some deals for me at her school, and John must be turning tricks again, cos he gave me two hundred and told me he’d stab me if I didnae take it. I’m almost ready. I ate chicken at dinner tonight, I dinnae ken why — I think I’m losing it. Nerves, ay. It was fucking minging. I’m never eating dead flesh again.

John Kay’s rang the staff earlier. They’ve reserved me a single room. There’s eight people in the unit, an intensive anger-management course every day, group therapy, gym class, lessons, and if there’s nobody tae take you for weekend release, you dinnae get out.

Wee Dylan is booting the head off a snowman on the lawn. Me and Shortie are eating popcorn and watching from the window. It’s dark out there, and the lights from the porch are illuminating the wee circle where the snowman is, but everything else is dark.

‘D’you think Tash will be there tomorrow? She might make it back, ay — she might have heard?’ Shortie asks.

I shake my head.

‘How’d you know?’

‘I just do.’

Angus comes along with some chocolate bars.

‘What are you two cooking up?’

‘Fuck-all!’

‘D’youz want some chocolate?’

‘Aye.’

It’s great to watch Dylan being happy, kicking the fuck out of a snowman. Steven is out there as well, but he’s not bothered about kicking anything, he’s getting out next week. His mum’s cancer is in remission. Dylan is gonnae be lonely, he’ll be one of the only ones in here at Christmas.

‘John cannae wait tae move intae his supported accommodation place in town,’ Shortie says.

‘Aye?’

‘Aye. It’s dead good. It’s like a bedsit, but it’s his own.’

‘Sound.’

‘He’s gonnae make me a meal,’ she says.

‘Is he now?’

‘Aye.’

My heart flip-flops, and I think about the last time we kissed, but she doesn’t look at me; she’s looking out the window.

‘Good. So. We’re agreed then?’ I ask her.

‘Exactly how we said,’ she says.

John comes swaggering downstairs.

‘It’s never too early tae start,’ Shortie whispers.

‘What have you done?’

‘Angus!’ the night-nurse hollers from somewhere.

‘You know how Brian grassed you — for battering that cunt in the village, ay?’ John says to me as he kisses Shortie on the cheek. She takes his hand.