The Panopticon (20 page)

‘Can I have one of yours?’

Shortie grins at me. ‘Uh-huh!’

‘How many miles is it, Joan?’ Isla asks.

‘It’s eighty miles away.’

‘That’ll take all fucking day. Can you do a ton in this?’ John asks, still under his hat.

‘Can we ditch Boner Brian?’ Dylan pitches up.

‘We won’t have name-calling today,’ Joan scolds. ‘And you and Brian and young Steven will be in a boat with John today. We are looking for teamwork.’

‘Seriously, we should just kick him out the back when we hit the motorway,’ Dylan mutters.

‘Have you got a boner, Brian?’ Steven asks Brian quietly, and then sniggers.

‘He’ll probably rape a fish in the loch,’ Dylan says.

‘D’ye reckon this claptrap could reach eighty?’ John asks, but the staff are pretending not to listen now.

‘Can you swim?’ Steven asks Brian.

‘Who are you gonnae go in a boat with?’ Shortie pops her head into the front and asks the staff.

‘Seatbelt, please, Shona. Angus and I are there strictly tae supervise. We are trusting you all tae behave yourselves and not let us down today.’

‘It’s Shortie, not fucking Shona.’

‘You all have tae be on best behaviour,’ Angus says.

‘Right then,’ John snorts.

‘This will be great, we will fucking tank youz cunts,’ Shortie says to the boys.

She opens her fist. It’s full of green and blue tablets. Nice. Wee Dylan is looking over and nodding at the new boy, Steven. He watches wide-eyed as I pick out three green tablets and swallow them. His mum’s in remission. I hope she gets better and he gets the fuck out of here.

Shortie smiles and closes her fist. I shake my head and tap her hand, so she opens it again. Take three blue as well, just to be safe. She smiles, looking out the window. She’s content to just be here with Tash and Isla and me – everything feels chilled.

‘Are you okay, Anais?’ Angus asks, turning around to look at us all in the back.

‘She’s fine,’ Shortie says.

We turn onto the motorway and the minibus jams in behind a lorry. A school bus overtakes us on the right. Kids are up at the window, making faces at us and sticking their fingers up. Wee Dylan sits up on his seat, pulls down his shorts and flashes them, quick as. Kids on the school bus all fall about in hysterics, then they start to flash back.

‘What the fuck’s that?’ Shortie shouts at them, she shouts it so loud they can probably fucking hear her. She’s holding up her fingers like she’s trying to find a wee maggot with tweezers.

‘And they say our lot are bad!’ Joan shakes her head at the kids on the bus.

One of them rubs his jumper over his nipples, then he makes out like he’s wanking over Joan. She smiles and gives him a wee
Aw, how sweet
wave.

The bus pulls away and, on the back of it, someone has drawn a huge dick and hairy balls in the dirt.

‘Catch up with them,’ Dylan shouts.

‘We urnay in a race,’ Angus says.

Joan hands back some boiled sweeties. Isla rests her head on Tash’s shoulder, and Tash strokes her hair. The sky is blue outside and the countryside is green. It whizzes by and I could just drive around like this every day. Watching the green. Watching the whizz. The blues and greens are lush. Shortie opens her window right up and shouts up at a lorry driver.

‘Honk your horn then – go on, honk your fucking horn!’

She pulls her arm down to show him what she means, and he does: he honks it and it’s a big old blaring horn, a metal one right on top of his truck. He does it three times as the minibus overtakes him.

‘Brilliant,’ Shortie says breathlessly, coming back in the window, ‘totally fucking great!’

We drive around the car park for a second time until Joan spies a car pulling out and swerves for the space; the clutch screeches.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. This bus needs serviced!’ she says.

We pull up alongside a family eating sandwiches. The man in the front rolls up his window, casually flicks the lock on his door.

‘We should get rid of the Social Work Department stickers,’ Angus says.

It’s good to open the door and get out. It was getting claustrophobic in there. Everyone piles down, lighting fags. Dylan kicks Brian. He’s doing that whenever Angus and Joan urnay looking. He boots him as I walk by. Brian takes a blade out of his pocket and shows it to Dylan as a warning.

‘Worried, ay,’ Dylan says.

We follow the staff towards the boathouse.

‘People are looking,’ Isla says.

‘No, they’re no. Or they just think me and Joan here have had a lot of kids!’ Angus insists.

He slaps his hand around Joan’s shoulders and she leans into him.

‘They must think Joan’s a right slut then, cos there’s no way we’ve all got the same dad,’ Shortie says. She walks by them, and Joan removes Angus’s hand from her shoulder.

People
are
looking. It’s the minibus that does it. Our minibus is well embarrassing. It has
Midlothian Social Work Department
emblazoned across it. It’s that and the young-offenders aura. A children-in-care aura. A we’llfuckyouandyerweepetsrightup kindae aura.

Two young guys with pit bulls walk by. One of them eyes up John as they climb into a fancy four-wheel drive.

We walk past toilets and a café. There’s boats out all over the loch and caravans up on the hill.

On the main desk a young guy is serving, he’s cute. Skinhead. Looks like a monk. I bet his pole’s no mouldy. He hands over lifejackets to Angus, who hands them back to Joan. She doles them out tae us.

‘I umnay wearing that,’ Shortie says.

Isla is already fastening her lifejacket around her so the ties are at the front, and knotting them. I put mine on and slump down on a seat by the picnic area. Dylan and Steven run over to the play area and pelt up the slide.

‘Okay, troops, we are down here.’ Angus points.

This is stupid. I fucking hate boats. Everyone follows Angus to the water’s edge.

‘Come on, Anais.’

‘Coming.’

The sky’s grey and there’s mizzle. It’s so soft on my skin – it’s nothing like rain. It’s even softer than the lightest drizzle! Lift my face up, so it can kiss my skin.

‘I’m not going out if it’s raining.’ Brian hangs back.

‘Away tae fuck, ya wee pleb, yer coming,’ Dylan says.

Brian shakes his head and Dylan drags him onto the boys’ boat.

‘Now, John, as the eldest, you are in charge; and, Tash, you’re in charge of the girls’ boat. You can see the tags out there, look – up the loch, can you see the red numbered tags?’ Angus points.

We all follow where he’s pointing and there are wee flags like at different bits of the loch. We nod.

‘Okay. So you need tae go around each tag, not just past it. You have tae touch each one, okay? Do you know what I mean by going around?’ he asks.

‘Calm it, Angus, we’re not total retards,’ Tash mutters.

‘I’ve got our boat!’ Shortie jumps in and grabs an oar.

Tash lifts Isla on and I hop in the back, but those tablets Shortie gave me are kicking in and my legs are going numb. I think I’m gonnae go and see Pat, before I go to the nuthouse next week. If she still knows fat Mick, and he’s still living there, he’ll maybe be able to get this stupid tag off my ankle.

The laddies rock their boat back and forward until John gives them a look and they stop straight away.

‘Okay, so you go around each tag, to the top, and the team that makes it back first wins the first prize of the day!’ Angus lights a roll-up and beams.

‘Now, two people tae each oar. If you get tired, slow down. Are you listening tae me, Anais? Okay, if you get
stuck, use your phone. A lifeguard can be with you anywhere you are within seconds. And look,’ Joan gestures at a tiny kid going out in a topper, ‘anyone can do this one, okay? It’s not difficult, just enjoy yourselves!’

‘What’s the prize?’ Dylan asks.

‘You’ll find out later,’ Angus replies.

‘We’re gonnae beat youz easy,’ Shortie says to John.

Tash pulls our oar back again, but Shortie hasnae begun rowing on the other side yet, so for a minute we go squint. I’m staring at the sky. Shortie nudges me to take the paddle. I’m just watching a cloud.

‘Youz’ll no beat anyone!’ John says.

The boys pull away fast.

‘Come on, girls, dinnae let them get a head start.’ Joan shoves our boat out.

We’re gliding. It feels like flying. I trail my fingers in the water – it’s so cold. Imagine what’s down there in that loch. Big ugly fish. Mud. Reeds. Some dead witch.

The steady splish-splish of oars is rhythmic. Reeds stick up at the edges of the loch and ducks bob their heads, then dive down and waggle their tails as they look for food. Swans glide by.

A pure-black swan emerges from the reeds. I’ve never seen a black swan before, he’s fucking majestic. Take a photo on my phone, and point him out to Shortie.

‘What?’ She looks.

‘D’ye not think he’s stunning?’ I say.

‘Nope, totally fucking boring.’

‘He’s a pure-black swan, look at him, he’s perfect!’

‘Keep your mind on the victory, Anais,’ she says.

She points ahead to the flag we need to hit to beat the
laddies. She’s getting right into this boating shit, ay. All this space around us feels good actually, now that I’m here. I never knew I liked to be outside so much. I never knew I liked lochs and views and that, but I could seriously handle living in a cottage by the side of somewhere like this.

Those tablets were strong. They’re trying to take me up and down at once. We’re far out now, the shore looks miles away. Shortie grins at me.

‘You’re alright, Anais.’

‘Aye.’

‘Mind when you moved in, and I fronted up tae you, ay?’

Isla raises her eyebrows in despair.

‘Like, I couldnae have you just picking on me or that. And tae be honest, I just like a wee fight really, but you like a wee fight, ay, Anais?’

‘Not really.’

‘You urnay bad for somebody who doesnae like fighting then. I mean, I got you a few good punches, like, but you werenae bad. I thought you’d be taller, and, like, uglier, and, like, you know, more manly.’

‘What?’ The girls fall about laughing.

Shortie smiles and looks away, waiting for a slap over the head.

‘Noh, cos most fighters are just right hard cunts, ay? Oh, come on, Isla, they are! And you are, like, quite hard, Anais. You’re almost as hard as me.’

‘Shortie?’

‘Aye?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

I pass her a smoke and we’re sniggering, cos it’s stupid, and the water keeps splashing over the boat and we’re a bit
pish at this rowing shite, but we give it some welly anyway. The laddies are only just ahead, but they urnay high, though. It’s an advantage – that’s why they’re rowing better than we are.

Shortie points at another boat. ‘Look at those fannies,’ she says so they can all hear her.

A family race by us, wearing matching outfits, and the dad is at the helm shouting at his kids to row harder. Angus and Joan are getting smaller, waving to us away back on the shore.

‘Tagged it.’ Shortie reaches out and slaps flag number one.

The boys are still ahead. My phone begins to ring. Isla leans back to row. She has fresh cut marks right across her stomach.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

I have to let my oar go tae get my mobile out. I pick it up again quick, and row with one arm. Shortie takes most of the strain for me. Thank fuck. My arms are going like jelly now as well as my legs. I need to snooze.

‘Alright?’ I answer the phone.

‘Alright, gorgeous!’

‘Jay.’

‘I cannae wait tae see you at the safe-house.’

I dinnae speak.

‘What are you doing? Are you naked?’

‘Noh. I’m in a boat.’

‘What the fuck are you doing in a boat?’

‘Floating.’

‘Aye, okay.’

‘Noh, I am. Listen …’

I hold the phone out so he can hear the oars and the water.

‘It’s quite nice actually. I thought I hated boats, but uhm urnay minding this,’ I say.

‘Is it a yacht?’

‘Aye, the social-work yacht!’ I giggle and so do the girls.

Isla is rowing as hard as she can. She’s got right into it now and our boat is drawing even with the laddies. As we get nearer I can see that Brian is hunched in a corner of the boys’ boat, with his knife out. Dylan’s scooping water up with a crisp bag and splashing him in the face.

‘Can you call the staff?’ Brian whimpers.

‘As if,’ Shortie snaps at him.

We glide past them in three long hard strokes.

‘Call the staff!’ he yelps.

‘Did that fucking dog have staff tae call – did it, Brian? You fucking freak.’ Shortie shakes her head. ‘Fucking arse-piece.’

‘Loser.’ Tash smirks at John.

We put metres between us in seconds. John shrugs his shoulders and keeps rolling a joint. I’m listening to the silence. Jay’s listening to us.

‘Who’s all there?’ he asks.

‘Just me and some of the other folk from the home.’

‘I thought you didnae hang out with anyone in the homes.’

‘I dinnae.’

‘D’ye think any of your wee pals could bring me in some gear tae the jail, like before I get out? I’m in a wee bit debt, Anais, ay. I could do with the help?’

‘I cannae. I’m already in shit with the polis.’

‘You know what, Anais?’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

He hangs up.

‘Anais, are you alright?’ Isla asks.

‘Aye, I’m fine.’

I feel horrible. I feel like he’s crawling under my skin and making it so I cannae not go and see him at the safe-house, but I cannae think about it any more. Today is not about him, and it’s not about almost-dead pigs. What if she dies? Will I feel bad then? I cannae say. I dinnae feel bad now, but I probably should, but I didnae kosh her so how is it my problem? I trail my fingers in the water.

These pills are settling in now. It’s a nice buzz.

Start rowing again. Water ripples out when the oars dip in. I look back at the boys’ boat. Brian’s pinned in his corner, jabbing the knife out any time Dylan goes near him.

Way down on the shore Joan appears to be waving, or maybe she’s trying to warn them to stop. I squint. It’s hard tae tell.