‘Oh. Well. There were only ever three,’ he says.
He seems disappointed in me.
‘What’s an Outcast Queen?’
The monk smiles queerly and my tummy flips over — he is freaking me right out.
‘You dinnae seem mental,’ I tell him.
‘I was in the army before this, Anais. I went to boarding school first from the age of four, all the way until I was a young man — then straight in the army. Both are quite extreme institutions in their own right. They got me early. It’s hard when they get you so young.’
I’m sweating. I need to get out of this room.
‘I couldnae be in the army,’ I say.
‘Me neither — in the end, it was too late, by the time I came here.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask him.
He just stares at me. His white eye’s moving with the other one. I want to believe him, I want to believe that I was born here — not in a test-tube. I dinnae want to have started life as a fucking experiment.
‘What colour were her eyes?’
My heart’s pounding and the shrinking’s coming in. He can fucking sense it.
‘They were just like yours,’ he says.
My mother had eyes and they were the same colour as mine. A nurse comes in with a medication tray for the drooler — she holds her hand out and swallows some tablets down. I want to take them off her. I’d pop anything I could get my hands on right now. The drooler waves at the monk and goes back to sleep.
The monk takes out a worn domino, its numbers four and four — he gestures at me to take it.
‘It’s my lucky one.’
‘We better leave now, Anais.’ Helen appears.
The monk quickly hides the domino; he doesnae like Helen, and she can tell.
‘Thanks for speaking tae me,’ I say.
I walk away and my legs are like fucking jelly.
‘You’ll come back and play me at dominoes?’ he calls after me.
‘Aye. Okay.’
‘D’ye promise?’
‘Aye.’
It’s snowing outside, just lightly, and Helen’s spraffing shite, but I dinnae hear it.
As we reverse out the car park, the monk comes stumbling out the doors. He’s not fast. His bare feet slap off the stones and his pyjamas flap around his skinny body.
‘Stop the fucking car.’
‘Anais, we should just go, our appointment time is over.’
She slows down and I wind down my window, feeling protective of the monk although I dinnae know why.
‘It was snowing, Miss Anais!’
He pants as he reaches the car and grabs at my window.
‘It was the prettiest snow I have ever seen — it began tae fall just as you were born. It was the biggest snowstorm for fifty years that winter. The snow was so thick, it covered everything and it sparkled and the moon was full, Miss Anais — a great big one. I remember, cos hardly anyone was asleep. We all heard your first cry, you sounded so fierce!’
I let him see my tears, it’s important — I dinnae know why, but it is.
‘I looked out the window, not long after she jumped. That big one right over there, see. I looked out the window tae see where she went, but she was gone, and her footprints were filling up with snow, they disappeared by the light of the moon. It was such a big moon,’ he whispers.
‘And she was gone?’
‘Aye.’
The monk grasps my hand. He’s frail. He’ll not be here much longer, he’s on his way out. I’ll look it up when I get back: snow and a full moon, the coldest snow in years is bound to be on record. Maybe there’s even a photo. The monk slips the domino into my hand.
‘For luck,’ he says.
‘Good to meet you then, Mr Jamieson. We need to go!’ Helen says.
I turn and glare at her. If she starts on him I’m gonnae fucking slap her.
‘They dinnae own you,’ he whispers.
‘Bye then,’ Helen calls loudly.
I turn the domino over in my hand, and slip it in my pocket before Helen can see. The car begins to reverse and I stick my head out of the window. The monk steps back and stamps his feet together hard.
‘Good luck, daughter of an Outcast Queen,’ he salutes me.
All the way down the drive I watch him recede. Still saluting. Still barefoot, standing in his pyjamas.
25
WINCE AT THE light in the living area — that watchtower seems bigger than ever. The night-nurse has just come on duty. I am watching her tae see if she speaks to anyone in the watchtower again. I can imagine her up there, while we’re asleep, doors locked, playing chess with the experiment, all of them naked. Playing for our souls.
The boys are in the pool area. John is wearing new clothes — Shortie says he’s moving out soon.
‘Where have you been?’ the night-nurse asks me.
‘Up town,’ I say.
She grabs me by the chin and tilts my head up into the light.
‘I am a hundred per cent certain your pupils are dilated.’
‘D’ye want tae let go of my fucking chin?’
‘Do you know I haven’t once seen you with undilated pupils, Anais Hendricks!’
‘Aye? Well, maybe I’ve seen you!’
‘Seen me what, Miss Hendricks? What have you seen me do?’
My mouth tastes like dog-ends. The night-nurse snorts. Tonight’s interrogation is over. She’s wearing a blue suit and her soft albino hair is neatly tied up at the back. She sashays away.
‘Upstairs then, boys,’ she says.
‘Have you seen Isla?’ John asks me.
‘No, I’m going tae see her now.’
‘I cannae believe it about Tash, ay?’ wee Dylan says. He looks scared — I give him a wee kiss on his cheek. It’s horrible for everyone knowing she’s still out there. I cannae even remember the last time I sat down and ate, or anything.
The kitchen’s still open — someone’s forgot to lock the larder door. Sneak in, quiet as. There’s a catering-size block of chocolate in the larder, it’s the length of my arm. Shove it up under my jumper, grab a few bags of crisps and some vanilla essence.
Imagine being the daughter of an Outcast Queen, imagine being a daughter! Imagine if flying cats were real and you were special, not just a total fucking no-mark.
They say the devil’s best trick was to make everyone believe he didnae exist. Maybe God’s just a scientist. This is all an experiment gone wrong, every single one of us, just wonky as fuck because of some chemical cock-up that was meant to produce something less faulty.
Click, click, click. The car doors all close, Tash looks in the side rear-view mirror, watches Isla get further away.
Everything’s fucked.
How do I know I’m not an experiment? I dinnae. Fact. And the other fact is this: nobody knows, cos we’re all just wandering about with no fucking idea what the universe is, or what death is or what happens after you die. Maybe I’m just going schizo.
But, if nobody knows anything about anything, then who’s to say there’s not an Outcast Queen who smokes cigarillos, and sends out winged cats to watch over her daughter?
What if schizophrenia makes you believe in flying cats? Probably it does. That, and it makes you see faces where there urnay faces — next it’ll be voices, then it’ll just be me and the monk playing dominoes until the meds run out.
Back in my room I open the top latch of my bedroom window and stick my head out — it is such a relief to see her face.
‘Hey, Isla.’
‘D’ye want first on?’ she offers.
‘Nope, I’ve got something better to smoke. D’ye want some?’
‘Aye, sound.’
Tie a hunk of chocolate and some grass together and swing it along to Isla. Her eyes are red and puffy.