by Jenni Fagan
People in care are always disappearing. Nobody finds out where they go.
The office is warm. Angus’s got one of those hot-air heaters on. I turn it around so it blows on my legs.
‘I want tae file a counter-complaint for harassment.’
‘Okey-dokey.’
He crosses his legs. The soles on his eighteen-hole Docs are almost worn through. His army shirt’s frayed and his knees poke through his jeans, and his dreadlocks are tied up at the back in a kind of weird green bun.
‘Is that your phone buzzing, Anais?’
‘Aye.’
Part your legs.
He’s fucking bored in that jail.
‘D’you think I should file a counter-complaint against the polis?’
‘That’s not what I said, Anais.’
You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Marry me.
‘They arrested me without cause, and kept me for three days.’
‘Two and a half days.’
‘Whatever.’
I stretch an elastic band I found on the desk.
Will you meet me, Anais?
He’s really putting the pressure on lately, and I’m just trying not to answer.
‘They only kept you for four hours today,’ Angus says.
‘Aye. Great.’
I take out my voucher to top up my phone and tap it in.
‘The police will want you tae make another statement,’ Angus says.
‘They’re harassing a minor.’
I’m getting out the jail, they told me this morning.
What?
In about three weeks, meet me at the safe-house? You better fucking come!
‘I have some more bad news, sorry. Helen has decided tae take annual leave. She’s not gonnae be your social worker any more.’
‘That’s not bad news.’
‘It’s not?’
‘Eh, no!’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll be your main point of contact through the investigation. Helen will be back in for an end-of-client-care review, and she says you have a trip booked to go and see a Mr Jamieson?’
I love you.
I cannae believe he’s getting out, and despite myself I’m thinking – of moving into his, of painting his living room, of getting a flatscreen, and a dog. It’s not that long until I’m sixteen. If the polis dinnae get me in secure, then the social cannae keep me. Fuck that, though. I’d rather go into homeless accommodation and wait to get my own place, then nobody can ever kick me out again.
Will you meet me?
‘Anais, are you with me?’
‘Aye.’
‘Come on then – enlighten me, please?’
His eyes are bloodshot.
‘Angus, are you stoned?’
‘I dinnae take drugs, Anais. So, who is Mr Jamieson?’
‘Read my files.’
‘I could, or we could attempt the archaic habit of conversation.’
‘We’re gonnae visit the nuthouse tae see some schizo, who supposedly met me when I was a baby.’
I ping the elastic band across the room.
‘I see,’ Angus says.
‘Helen thinks it will help if I say hello tae the drooling old fuck.’
‘Help you or him?’ he asks.
‘Are you taking the piss, Angus?’
‘No. No, I’m not. For the record, drooling old fuck is now known as mentally ill, or aged and infirm, or special needs.’
‘You’re special-fucking-needs.’
‘Okay, that’s us done. Are you coming for dinner, Anais?’
‘What is it?’
‘Macaroni.’
‘Sound.’
Everyone is eating already in the dining area. Mullet is sat at the top of the table. I collect a plate and sit opposite Isla and Tash; Dylan and the new boy are on the next table, Brian’s next to Mullet, for safety.
‘Alright.’ Isla smiles.
She looks better than she did yesterday.
‘Alright.’
Mullet peers under the table. ‘Brian, what’s wrong with your trousers?’
‘Nothing,’ he says.
‘That doesnae look like nothing?’
Brian crosses his legs tae cover up a hole that’s been cut in the crotch of his school breeks.
‘’S that for easy access, ay?’ wee Dylan asks.
The new boy sniggers; he seems alright, quiet though. He only got brought in cos his mum’s got cancer and there’s no-one else tae take him. Dylan’s looking after him. It’s good he’s got a pal.
Shortie wanders in and grins at Tash and Isla, and half-smiles at me.
This macaroni cheese really is – the business. I want seconds. John throws the front door open, it bangs off the wall and we all turn around tae look. He marches over and, smack!, he punches Mullet clean off his chair.
‘You fucking liar!’ John roars at him.
Mullet thuds off the wall. Fucking hell! Wee Dylan and Brian snigger, Tash’s mouth falls open, and Isla steps away from the table.
Mullet puts his arm up. ‘Calm down, John, what the fuck are you doing!’
‘John, what is it?’ Angus asks, looking edgy, like he already knows the answer and it’s not a good one.
Brian skulks intae the kitchen. He takes two puddings and disappears upstairs.
Mullet launches himself up and ontae John’s back, and they hit the deck. Mullet yanks John’s arms back in a restraint. Tash giggles.
‘This is not acceptable behaviour, John. Calm down, we can talk about this!’
Mullet shoves John’s face further intae the carpet so he cannae even reply. He drags him up off the floor and marches him off towards the interview rooms; they tussle through the doorway, then another door slams and there are thuds, and Fuck’s sake, then silence.
‘I need a smoke,’ I say.
Wee Dylan nods and follows me out, he’s started to do that recently; he likes my stories, he likes me, ay – all the kids do. I’ve never lived in a unit where they’ve not. We walk around the back and it’s a nice day out.
‘D’ye want one of my fags, Anais?’
‘What are they?’
‘Regals.’
‘Aye, alright. Gimme a few for later.’
‘Here.’
He gives me five, I give him two back. He’s wee and freckly and cute.
‘I cannae believe John smacked Mullet!’ He grins.
‘I know, it was a stoater unnaw.’
‘D’ye ken what he’s pissed off for?’ he asks.
I shrug.
‘So they made you go canoeing?’ he asks me.
‘What?’
‘Isla said it was a funny story. The social workers sent you canoeing tae heal you.’
‘Aye.’
‘From what?’
‘Everything,’ I say.
Wee Dylan rolls a joint carefully.
‘Is that a good one?’ he asks me.
‘Aye. Okay, when you exhale, click your jaw, like this – look, can you see my jaw click?’
I blow a perfect smoke-ring.
‘Aye, I’ve got it!’
Wee Dylan opens and shuts his mouth à la goldfish in a bowl.
‘No, you have to exhale and click, click, fucking click! Here, put your hand on my jaw, feel – can you feel that click?’
‘Aye,’ he says.
He blows a reedy smoke-ring and jumps up and down. That’s how I got started, he’ll never stop now. He blows another one, but it’s totally pish.
‘That was a good one, Anais, ay?’
‘Nope.’
‘Was it pish?’
‘Keep practising.’
Brian skulks around the corner, the new laddie Steven is following him. Wee Dylan nods to Steven.
‘See you later, Anais.’
They follow Brian around the back of the building.
It’s quiet inside. I go upstairs wondering where everyone’s fucked off to. My room’s well sorted these days. Along one wall are my books – a
rranged small to big. Then along the next wall are shoes, wedges, plimsolls, espadrilles, a pair of Chinese slippers.
I love you.
I stare at the text for a long time. He used to say that. He used to say he loved me. He’d say it in the middle of the night, in his bed, naked and in the dark, just one candle, his eyes black and nothing else in the world but us, and the gear, and kissing, and him pushing me down, and the shadows on the walls. That was before he went inside. Lately I’m beginning to realise that Jay isnae what I thought he was when I first met him. He’s pushy. He’s interested in himself, not me, and sometimes he’s really fucking mean. I need to get my shit together and it won’t happen with him.
I love you too, but I cannae be with you again. A Xx.
I press Send.
12
THE WHIRLY WASHING line in the back garden sags. Brian’s tied to it by his wrists. Steven hauls the whirly around in circles so that Brian is dragged along with it, his feet flapping away like dying fish.
‘Spin on it, cunt-pus!’
He’s trying not to get dragged along in front of Dylan again, but it’s no use. Crack! Dylan punches Brian a fucker and his head flies back. Then he snorts up a greener and gobs it right in Brian’s face. A flood of pish darkens his crotchless breeks. Thick yellow snot drips off his glasses.
I’m in the second-floor bathroom; nobody else is watching. Some people are down in the open-plan area watching TV, but you cannae see the drying green from there. Angus walks by below, but he doesnae look towards the back door. He’s been in a meeting with Mullet.
Steven drags the whirly all the way around again, to where they started, and Dylan belts Brian again and he drops, his legs give and his head falls forward.
He’s still getting battered daily, and nobody gives a fuck, not even the staff. It’s not just the dog-thing. He stinks. He’s got yellow crap in his teeth and you feel dirty if you have tae sit next tae him. John saw him hanging around Cherry Lane yesterday as well. Bad, bad, bad. Old people live down in they cottages, and they dinnae get it. Brian looks like he’s just walked out of one of their old school novels. He steals pity – like golden eggs – then he sucks them dry and places them back real gentle.
It’s just a matter of time.
Cold fish. Spineless. Amphibian. Dylan walks away, wiping blood off his knuckles. Brian’s dank hair sticks tae his face, his arms are bound up, he looks like a pale-faced bug-eyed Jesus.
Dylan glances up and gives me a wave; he’s relieved to see it’s not the staff watching. He told me that he’s in here cos his uncles kept putting him through pub windows – like the toilet ones or even through the beer hatch if they could. He can unlock any alarm system quick as.
Squeeze a spot. It’s just a wee one. I end up making a red mark where there wasnae really anything before. I really need to stop doing that.
‘Tash!’
Isla’s shouting out on the landing. I glance out and John slams his door shut – he’s so angry he’s booting it hard from the inside, and it actually closes all the way.
I step out of the bathroom, fascinated. A closed door? A totally closed door that isnae a staff door, or the watchtower. It hasnae been locked by the central locking system that the night-nurse uses more and more lately. She says it’s keeping us safe and snug, but it actually means we are unable to come out and riot. Glass is being smashed in John’s room. Angus runs past me, up the stairs. Tag along behind him.
‘John, open this door, now!’
‘Fuck you, Angus.’
‘John, step back, I cannae have this door closed. Have you stepped back?’
‘Aye, I’ve stepped back, ya fucking prick!’
Angus tries to push the door, then he ushers us to move away. He throws his whole body weight at it twice, before it gives. Tash comes out of her room and stands beside me.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ she says.
He’s smashed his bedroom window out. I like it, the feel of fresh air right on my skin like that, and one of our windows, all the way open – it’s sort of beautiful. John’s climbing up onto his windowsill and he’s only wearing a T-shirt, he’s not even got socks on, or boxers. He sways on the window ledge, his balls showing below his T-shirt. Angus puts his hands up to show him he isnae gonnae step forward.
‘Calm down, John,’ he says.
‘What’s your fucking problem? I was trying tae have a fucking sleep!’ Shortie snaps as she stoats down to the boys’ landing as well. This day is beginning to feel odd.
‘Can you leave us, please, girls?’ Angus asks.
We dinnae move. John bunches his T-shirt in one hand.
‘Jesus Christ! What’s his problem? You better hope he’s not got a fucking match,’ Shortie mutters.
Angus glares at her.
‘What? At least he fucking doesnae, mate, or you’d be going up in fucking flames, ay! John, look at me, it’s alright!’
He’s swatting the air, he’s out of it – I can see it now, and I dinnae know what he’s taken, and I dinnae know how long he’s been freaking out, but he doesnae look right. I feel a lump in my throat. This isnae like him.
‘Anais, get back out of that room right now. It’s against policy tae approach someone when they’re threatening tae jump!’
‘Fuck the policy, Angus.’
I hold my hand out and John smiles at me, but it’s not really a smile, it’s a grimace. He slows down, dazed, and points to the back garden.
‘What the fuck’s that?’
‘I cannae see from here – what is it?’ Angus asks him.
‘It looks like Brian.’
‘Okay, now climb inside the windowsill, come on, pal.’
‘It looks like someone’s fucked him right up!’
‘What?’
Angus leans over the balcony. Eric’s on the phone downstairs tae the police department: you can hear him reporting all the details back to an officer.
‘Can you check out the back, please, Eric?’ he calls down.
‘Come down,’ I ask John right quiet, holding my hand out for him to take it.
He’s flapping his hands, twisting his torso. I can see the gear in his veins; they are big and purple and pulsing and he gives me this evil stare and I get the fear right in my gut. He points at all of us one by one.
‘Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you!’
He points at Angus last of all, and jumps.
13
THE COLD TAP is dripping. My bath water’s not hot, but there’s still a haze and the taps are reflected in the water – so is the wall, and the window and the door. I love looking at reflections in bath water, any kind of water in fact. They’re like wee surreal paintings. I might photograph reflections, in water, in kettles, in things other people dinnae look at, like bins and shit like that. My tits are perfect in water. When I stand up they sit lower, cos they’re heavy, and I cannae put a pencil under one and have it just fall away – that’s only if your paps are medium or small. Sink down until only my nose and mouth stick out. Blow three neat smoke-rings, one shoots through the other. I’m floating up as my mobile begins to ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Alright,’ Jay says.
‘Alright.’ Fuck – my heart totally goes. He hasn’t rung me for months and he’s not texted since I said it was over. I curl my toe around the tap.
‘How’s you?’ he asks.
‘I’m alright, how are you?’
‘Anais, I wanted tae tell you something.’
‘What?’
‘You’re just a wee fucking dirty from a fucking kids’ home, hen, ay?’
I press off, and my heart’s beating now, I cannae believe he phoned just to do that. It rings again straight away.
‘Who the fuck d’ye think you are?’ I say.
‘Come on! I’m only kidding – you’re too over-sensitive, nae sense of humour, that’s your fucking problem.’
‘What do you want, Jay?’
‘I want you back. D�
�ye not want me back, Anais?’
‘I need tae be on my own.’
‘Aye, that’s not what you used tae say all the times you came tae get wasted, when your old dear fucking died, ay? Who took you in, Anais? Who hid you from the polis a million fucking times?’
I drape my legs over the side of the bath, and steam rises up off the bath in wisps.
‘Aye, and all the other lassies made you happy too, Jay.’
‘That’s a low blow, Anais, and it’s not like you were some wee virgin, were you?’
He’s not saying anything, but I can hear him breathe.
‘So, d’ye want tae see me or what?’ he asks.
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe? They’re letting me out, Anais. Meet me at the safe-house, I need you tae come.’
He’s making me feel like I’m all wrong, until I’m confused – I hate it when he turns up and does this. I’m trying not to let my phone get wet from the bath, and I feel like crying. I wish that would stop, it’s a new thing – this teary shit lately.
‘Why are you no gonnae meet me? Are you fucking someone new, Anais?’
‘Fuck off!’
I launch my phone off the wall. The back scuds along the tiles, spins and stops under the back pipe on the toilet. The battery lands under the sink. I slide up, tears hot on my face – not real tears, I dinnae do real tears – blink them back, blink them right fucking back. Fuck! I want to hurt myself. I want to cut or bite or hit my head off something, cos it hurts – it really, really fucking hurts. There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
‘Are you okay in there?’
Christ! It’s Joan.
‘What?’
‘Are you alright in there, Anais?’
‘Aye, sorry. I was just washing my hair.’
‘It didnae sound like it. It sounded like you threw something?’
‘I dropped the soap.’
‘You are aware that bathtimes don’t begin for another two hours?’
‘Sorry.’
Stick my fingers up at the door. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off!
‘Okay, I’ll see you later on.’
‘Okay.’
I hate it when a guy makes you feel cheap. It’s like that in fights. It’s like that when you say no and they do it anyway. I’ve not let that happen for a long time, I learnt – the worst way.