‘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.