‘You should have tried knitting, for stress relief.’
‘It cannae be much of a buzz — knitting.’
‘Probably not, ay,’ she giggles.
‘Fucking knitting! I’ll knit you the now. No, Shortie, the lifts were a buzz! I’d leap when they drew level — then you fly up on the other one, all the way. One time the lift got stuck and I couldnae get the hatch open. I was stuck for fucking ages. I lay down and did big fake snores — pretending tae be a dragon. I was only wee really, ay.’
‘I bet it was a class buzz, Anais.’
‘It was, until someone grassed me and the school found out and called out a social worker. She arrived in a green Fiat Punto, I remember that, and I brushed my bowl-cut for half an hour before she got tae our flat!’
‘You … had a bowl-cut?’
‘Aye. She came tae explain about identity problems, tae me, and tae Teresa.’
‘What was her explanation, like?’
‘That was the funny bit, she had a flowchart, on like a stand, and a marker pen — and she explained what psychotic schizophrenia was.’
‘What?’
‘Aye. She reckoned my biological mum was some schizo they found naked outside a supermarket, so she draws this cat on the flowchart, then another bigger cat — with a bib on.’
‘D’ye want a blow-back?’
‘Aye.’
Shortie leans in and blows the hot smoke into my throat and it burns like fuck.
‘Aye, so she divides the flowchart page in half with a green line, then she points at the big crap cat she’s drawn and says it’s a lion,’ I say.
‘A fucking lion?’
‘Aye, and I was like: It doesnae look like a lion, it looks like a crap cat!’
‘What was your mum doing?’
‘Chain-smoking — she’d had tae cancel all her afternoon clients, so she was fucking raging. The social worker was all like: This is what a schizophrenic sees; like you see the small cat, and everyone else sees the small cat, but a schizophrenic looks — and they see a lion.’
‘Trippy shit.’
‘I asked her if I’d get tae be a schizophrenic when I grew up.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said, maybe. Then Teresa went mental, kicked her out. I sat rocking in front of the telly and she belted me across the pus, said if I wanted everyone tae think I was fucking mad — I should just keep rocking.’
‘Fuck, that’s harsh.’
‘I know. I just thought it sounded cool — seeing stuff others people couldnae see, like something out a book. I mean, I also wanted tae be a fucking dinosaur. They didnae seem so worried about that.’
Shortie looks freaked out. We sit, quietly watching the light change over the fields. I wish I’d never said a thing.
24
‘WHAT’S WRONG, ISLA?’ I ask her.
‘Tash didnae come back.’
‘What?’
‘She got intae a punter’s car last night, and she didnae come back.’
I feel sick right away. Step into the office where Isla’s sitting, and Angus is on the phone to the police station already.
‘It was a blue Escort, I’ve got the registration.’ She points at her pad.
‘Isla, have you been out all night?’ Angus asks.
He holds his hand over the phone; she nods tae say aye, she has. She’s pale and shaky.
‘What happened?’
‘I waited where she left me, near the docks — I took down the number, and I waited, then I rang her phone and it just kept ringing.’
She’s crying again.
‘How long did you wait?’
‘All night. Till seven this morning — then I got the bus,’ she whispers.
Her hands are freezing cold and I get that knot in my gut. Tash wouldnae leave Isla there all night — not a fucking chance. We stare at each other, and I can hear a car door click shut. Click, click, click. It feels like someone is pouring lead through my veins.
‘The other lassies on the dock were going mental at me because I wouldnae move. They were shouting that I shouldnae be there if I didnae want business.’
Angus clicks the phone down.
‘Okay, the police have traced the registration — it’s a missing car. It was stolen last week in Rochester. We need to go down and make a statement, Isla. Anais, you have tae go; Helen’s waiting for you.’
Isla grips my hand.
‘I’m going with her, Angus. She needs me with her.’
‘No, sorry, Anais — you going tae the police station is not a good idea. Isla, you are stuck with me until we get back.’
Bad. Bad feeling. Bad in the gut. Bad in the air, and just like that — wee faces flit across the walls, exactly the same as the concrete ones, but these ones are in plasterboard. It’s like someone has half-flicked a light switch, so you can see that the spirit world is actually always there, watching us live our lives.
‘Anais, you have tae go now. Helen’s waiting in the car.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Isla says, blowing her nose.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Aye, go.’
I dinnae like this. Bad, horrible feeling, knowing that Tash is somewhere out there right now when she’ll want to be here. Cold skin. What if she’s got cold skin? What if she’s staring at the sky and the clouds are in her eyes?
I watch Angus lead Isla outside.
Helen’s car reeks of nail polish and aromatherapy oils — bergamot, to be precise. She’s got a wee bottle of it sitting on the dashboard. I can taste spring-onion crisps. They’re all I wanted for breakfast. I hope I umnay pregnant to a pig farmer. I wish I hadnae eaten — I want to be sick every time I think of Tash stepping into a blue Escort. Door shuts. Guy presses lock on all the doors — click, click, click. She turns around, looks him in the face.
Dinnae think. Not about cars. Not about Tash’s earrings, or her hair, or her laugh, or how you want desperately — to see her again.
It’s dull out, and there’s frost everywhere. We drive in silence, out in the country, down the motorway, until we are at the big crossroads in town. People are standing at the traffic lights looking just like people, living normal lives.
Click, click, click.
They’ll find her. They will. Do not think about it. Don’t, or you’ll start to panic.
It’s weird driving through the city after being surrounded by farmland for weeks on end. I cannae believe I’ve been in the Panopticon for over two months now. It almost feels like home, cos of, like, Shortie, and Isla, even Angus, and the roof. It’s a long time since I’ve wanted to stay anywhere. Helen is breathing, just in, and out. Her nostrils flare. Her fingers are long and bony.
‘So you’re leaving — tae, retire?’ I say.
‘I’m taking a gap year.’
‘But, you’re what: fifty?’
‘I am thirty-seven, Anais.’
‘Same difference.’
Helen grits her teeth.
‘Wouldn’t you like to take a gap year, Anais? Go and help people less fortunate than yourself, or work in a sanctuary to save elephants?’
‘No, I fucking wouldnae.’
‘Some day you won’t feel so smart about things. One day you’ll realise it’s up to you, and you alone, to make something of your life.’
‘Fuck off, Helen.’
‘Be rude if you want, it’s not my problem any more. So, today, I want to go through this with you. Focus. Anais, are you stoned?’ she asks.
‘Just a wee bit.’
‘Right. You were born in Warrender Institute, as you already know, and I have finally managed tae find your adoption certificate — well, a copy of it. It was taken in with the rest of Teresa’s documents when they were investigating her murder.’
I flinch at the word. And now all I can see is Teresa’s kimono on the floor in our bathroom. I could slap Helen sideways.
‘Mr Jamieson is really looking forward to meeting you. He was there when you were born, and he remembers it well.’