‘Have you seen a bar of chocolate?’ Joan asks me.
‘A big huge bar?’
The chef interrupts her, sticking his head out to take a look at me.
‘A big huge bar of chocolate, Anais?’
‘Nope.’
Push my bowl through the hatch.
‘Any toast?’ I ask the chef.
He shakes his head. ‘You’re the girl who wants vegetarian meals?’
‘And?’
‘They’ve not authorised them. What are you living on in the meantime?’
‘Good looks and fresh fucking air, pal!’
He looks like he wants to machete me, in the face.
‘There’s no need for that attitude,’ Joan calls after me.
There is a need for that attitude — I tried being nice to the chef, but he cannae stand us, so fuck him.
‘Where’s John?’ I ask Shortie.
‘He’s at the shops.’
‘Where’s Isla?’
‘She’s in her room.’
‘Where’s Dylan?’
‘He had a visit arranged with his uncle. Watch this, Anais, this is great!’
Shortie bursts out laughing at the TV again. I scuff upstairs.
Morning, beautiful. Can you come on Friday? Please, please, please? I just want tae hang out like old times. I’ve got gear for you as well.
Jay has sent me, like, ten texts making sure I will be there on Friday. I forgot to ask him about what Pat said about his debts, but he’ll no doubt tell me when I see him. He hasn’t been as nice as this to me since I was like twelve, and it’s soothing to have something, anything, nice right now.
Okay x.
My hands stink of vanilla, I like it. I pop my head around Brian’s door and he pushes his glasses up his nose and rubs his hands on his shorts.
‘Do you have any money?’
‘No.’
‘Dinnae fucking lie tae me, you wee prick.’
‘I dinnae, Anais. I dinnae get any until my clothing allowance comes in.’
‘Aye, well, stay away from the Lane, Brian. If I find out you went in one old person’s cottage and ripped them off, or worse … I’ll chop your fucking dick off.’
My room’s a shit-pit; it reeks of vanilla, so I open my window. The staff do room-checks tomorrow so I need to make sure I double-hide the money, and the speed-wraps from Pat, and the other gear. I’ll deal with the gigantic brick of chocolate later.
Isla’s vodka bottle is still lying on the lawn. I need to go and see if I can catch Mike this time. I want this tag off; I could do it before I go and see Jay. I wonder if Jay’s changed much? Eighteen months, it’s a long time to spend inside. Brush my hair and pick out what I’ll wear to go and see him. Isla might chum me up town later. We need to take our mind off Tash, at least until there is news.
‘Isla, d’ye want tae go up town?’
Swing my leg around her door and twirl burlesque-style into her room.
The floor hits me.
Her left hand is open, and someone is screaming.
‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!’
I am on my knees, but I’m still falling. Her hand is out, like she is waiting for Tash to come, but she’s not here and I am up, lifting her under her arms, cradling her, pushing her hair back, trying to clean her face.
Footsteps pound up the stairs.
‘Fuck!’ Joan drops tae her knees, her face white, and she tries tae take Isla off me, but she can’t. Click, click, click.
‘It’s okay, Anais, it’s okay, just let me check her over.’
Adrenaline floods my veins and the faces are there on the walls, but I don’t care. I don’t care about faces, or the experiment or that watchtower staring down. I’m roaring now, really fucking open-mouthed gut sobs, and Joan is feeling for Isla’s pulse — placing her down on the floor. I’m doubled over and I cannae breathe. Her eyes are open.
Angus is at the door, on the phone, in clipped tones, calling for an ambulance. I lean over, tuck Isla’s hair behind her ear.
27
EXPERIMENT — 2. US — 0.
‘Time of death — 8.27 a.m.’
The ambulance man says it quietly upstairs, but we can all fucking hear it. None of us are allowed up there. Dylan’s just back. Steven’s in. Brian’s in. John’s in. Shortie’s shaking like fuck.
The ambulance man takes a big plastic bag intae Isla’s room and I am still crying, but I dinnae care. I feel like someone keeps battering me. Every bit of my body aches.
There are cups of tea on the dining tables — and packets of chocolate biscuits.
‘Have another cup of tea, Anais,’ Angus says.
‘No.’
‘You’re in shock. You need sugar.’
‘I want tae see Isla,’ Shortie says.
‘No, you cannae go up, Shortie. I’m really, really sorry, but we need tae let these men do their job. Okay?’ he says.
Shortie won’t let go of my hand. The two ambulance men come out with a long black bag but no stretcher.
‘Where’s the stretcher?’ I ask.
‘They dinnae need one,’ Joan says quietly.
‘Put her on a fucking stretcher!’
My hands are shaking like fuck, adrenaline is making me buzz and there’s flashes of faces on the walls. The ambulance men stop and look down over the balcony. The glint’s in the room, it’s dense as fuck. The staff can feel it, and we can feel it, and the fucking ambulance men can feel it — we are ready to take them all out. Every last one.
‘It’s okay.’ One of the ambulance men stops and speaks over his radio to someone outside. ‘Can you bring in a stretcher, please, Jim?’
Joan opens the front door.
‘Anais, do you want tae sit down in the office?’ Angus asks me.
I shake my head.
‘Thanks, Jim, bring it up here,’ the ambulance man says.
The stretcher is laid out on our landing. The ambulance men lift Isla carefully onto it. She’s straight now, her back is straight, and she’s not being taken out like the rubbish. I want to wrap her in something soft, take her a pillow and a teddy.
Angus stops shoving a mug of tea at me and puts it on the table, and the ambulance men walk the stretcher along the landing and downstairs. Shortie is crying so hard her face is red. Brian’s in the telly area staring at a blank screen. His programme is normally on just now. He has a wee pile of biscuits by his side. Joan opens the front door for the ambulance men and follows them out.
My skin is hot.
It is teatime, and I am in the train station. I just scored some grass and I am walking past a missing-persons poster, and a face is looking out from a photograph and the name reads Natasha MacRae, fifteen years old, and all the commuters are just walking by.
Click, click, click.
People dinnae want to look. They dinnae want tae see. Nobody will ask.
‘Where did Tash go?’
‘She just went.’
‘Went where?’
‘She just went, Your Honour, got in a car.’
‘Who was driving?’
It could have been anyone. It could have been some sick cunt with a space in his sex circle. It could have been the devil, or the experiment. Probably it was just an average psychopath, Your Honour.
Disappearing. It happens when you blink. It happens as you write down the registration number for a car pulling away. It happens when you ask for the payment and the guy reaches into his coat, and you just know in your bones he’s not going to pull out money. It is happening right now as the ambulance men secure the stretcher with straps, so they can lift it onto the ambulance.
I have to go.
The roof has been discovered. Angus knows we come up here, but Joan doesnae yet. We need this roof, it’s the only place the watchtower cannae see us. I keep imagining Isla and Tash, petals in their hair — kissing on the island. Laughing. Till death do us part. Then her hand, just open like that. And somehow now all I can see is Teresa, an empty bath, her kimono on the floor, and I really need tae drink until I cannae see anything any more.