The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan

manners; she doesnae ask me anything else, and she knows I’m not – you know – a total arse that just fights with people.
    ‘Shortie didnae really mean it,’ she says.
    ‘Did the staff see anything?’
    ‘Noh, John kept them occupied. He fancies Shortie like fuck.’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘Aye. He doesnae admit it, but he does.’
    ‘Does she like him?’
    ‘I dinnae ken. Shortie’s the only virgin I ever met in a home!’ Isla giggles.
    ‘Is she?’
    ‘Aye. She’s frigid. She says she doesnae like guys, but she does. She’s not like me. I wouldnae shag a guy if you put a gun tae my head. I mean I’ve shagged a guy, for a while, but I didnae rate it.’
    ‘Are you and Tash together?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘She seems nice.’
    ‘She’s amazing. She takes a while tae get tae know people, though.’
    ‘How come she wears the moustache? Like it’s cool, it reminds me of an artist,’ I say.
    ‘She likes lassies with a wee bit hair, but she’s not really got any – a bit on her legs, aye, but she’s got tae shave them for work. The moustache she can put on and take off when she wants. Mine’s too blonde.’ Isla touches her upper lip. ‘She’d like it darker.’
    ‘Have you got a kid, Isla?’
    ‘Aye. Twins, they’re with foster-parents. They dinnae let me see them much, ay. Tash’s saving up money for us tae leave care and take them.’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘Aye. She’s saved quite a few hundred already. I really want them back. Their foster-mum’s nice, but I miss them and she cannae understand it, no like I do.’
    ‘Understand what?’
    Isla flicks her fag away.
    ‘We’ve – we’re all living with the same condition, ay. Like you can live a long time with it now, like a lifetime.’
    She looks out over the fields. It’s so quiet up here – we listen tae the birds, and she looks unbearably sad. I’ve seen her getting her meds, ay, the same one’s Teresa’s pal used to take.
    ‘What age are they?’
    ‘Two,’ she says.
    Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    ‘Modern science,’ I say.
    I cannae speak now, I’m an arse-piece, I know nothingabout nothing and I should probably be strapped to that turret over there and shot.
    ‘You get an owl out here at night.’ She grins, changing the subject.
    ‘No way. I heard something hooting the other night but I’ve never actually seen an owl.’
    ‘Me neither, until I moved here. She’s beautiful, really wee, we called her Britney; listen out at night and you’ll hear her. Did the social workers ask you if you wanted tae live away out here in the sticks?’
    ‘No!’
    It’s amazing what the social work dinnae ask. They dinnae ask about the terrible baldness of the moon, they dinnae ask about rooms without windows or doors – and they sure as shit dinnae ask about flying cats. I bet they didnae ask Isla what her dreams are as a mum. They didnae ask me about blood in an empty bath, and they didnae ask about what Teresa was gonnae do when she got out that bath – she was gonnae curl up with me and watch a movie. We were gonnae make microwave popcorn.

8
    THE WATCHTOWER’S EVEN more sinister when it’s dark. The staff urnay around, so I put the big light out and I’ve angled my chair so I’m facing away from the watchtower, but I can feel it behind me. I keep imagining men in suits sitting behind that glass watching, and they’re all wearing shiny shoes – and none of them have noses.
    I’m watching a documentary in Japanese with subtitles, and it feels like there’s no-one in this building but me and the experiment. It’s almost a relief when Shortie stomps in from outside and sits down. She smells like rain.
    ‘Alright,’ I say.
    ‘Alright, what’s this pish?’
    ‘It’s a documentary.’
    ‘Aye, I can see that, but I cannae understand what the fuck they’re spraffing about,’ she says.
    ‘Read the subtitles.’
    ‘Fuck that! What’s wrong with them anyway? Why can they not speak English?’
    ‘They’re foreign, Shortie.’
    ‘Fucking