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.
How come they didnae know it wasnae human blood, when they tested the stuff on my clothes? That’s the question. That’s the thing. The experiment have to raise the game, ay. They have to break you. That’s the point, and they’ve not managed it yet. Everything that has been, every single thing, and I’m not totally broke, yet. They dinnae like that.
19
‘LOOK, THEY’RE GONNAE drown Brian.’ Isla points back down the loch.
‘I wish they fucking would,’ Shortie says.
‘They are, look!’
Brian clings onto the boat from the water. Dylan stands up in the boat and batters him across the head with his paddle. A help-boat is motoring up the loch towards the laddies.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Isla urges.
‘Seven, tag seven, woo-hoo, woo-hoo, tag seven, we are kicking your arse!’ Shortie shouts back at the boys’ boat.
‘Spin on it, ya radge,’ John shouts back.
‘You’re the fucking radge, John!’ she says.
‘Aye, you wantae come here and say that?’
‘Try me!’ she hollers and sits down.
We all look at her.
‘What?’ she says.
‘You fancy John.’ I smile.
‘Noh, I dinnae think so!’ She shakes her head. ‘Are you gonnae see Craig again, by the way? He keeps asking me.’
‘No,’ I say.
Isla starts humming a tune. I think it’s ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’. Tash is singing it now, ‘Old McShortie had a pig farmer, EE-I-EE-I-O.’
‘Very fucking funny,’ Shortie says.
Brian’s flapping in the water. He’s lucky he’s got his lifejacket on, cos there’s no danger that’s swimming. He’s getting quite far away from their boat now. Dylan leans over the edge and skelps Brian over the head with the paddle.
‘Oh, ya fucker, did you see that yin?’
Shortie stands up to get a better look. Our boat wobbles like fuck.
‘Stop that, right now!’
A big guy with a beard shouts over a loudspeaker at Dylan. We’re giggling.