Chapter Two
A sharp pain in my collarbone pulls me from the blackness. Someone is pinching me.
‘Ow!’
‘Michael, are you OK?’
My head swims as I sit up. Mum is kneeling beside me on the deck, eyes alert as she scans me.
‘I’m fine.’
Am I?
She kisses my cheek. ‘What happened?’
A memory hovers in my head but I can’t catch it. As I try to pin it down, it slips from my grasp.
‘I don’t know,’ I murmur. ‘I think I fainted.’ Mum frowns so I force a smile. ‘Should’ve eaten that muffin.’
She’s not convinced.
A gruff male voice calls out behind her. ‘Is the wee fella OK? Does he need first aid?’
Crap!
I notice the small crowd of people huddled behind Mum. Every atom of my being screams with mortification as I rally my muscles to get up.
‘Easy, Michael.’
‘Mum, I’m fine,’ I mumble as I stand.
The people start to shuffle away, but a few carry on gawking at me as a member of staff arrives, clutching a first-aid kit. ‘I heard someone collapsed. Is everything OK?’
‘I fainted. Didn’t have enough breakfast,’ I say before Mum can jump in.
He purses his lips. ‘Have you any existing conditions that could’ve caused this?’
I shake my head. ‘I just feel a bit shaky.’ I turn to Mum. ‘Can I get something to eat?’
She nods and rifles through her bag. ‘Let’s get you to the car. We’re docking soon.’ She has that look on her face like she knows I’m keeping something from her. She’s right, but even I don’t know what it is.
I take the muffin from Mum and follow her and the first aider. Before stepping off the deck, I glance back at the cloudy skies, dull sea and grey buildings of Belfast port.
Wait.
There’s a flicker of a memory. I had a headache then I saw something…
‘Michael?’
It snuffs out.
‘Sorry, coming.’
I lift my camera, trying to stop my hands from shaking. I take a photo of the approaching port, and as the shutter clicks a shiver runs through me.
What the hell just happened?
My headache returns as we drive off the ferry. A burst of light hits the docks through the rain, revealing some tourists huddled under an umbrella. Among them is a teenage girl in a yellow T-shirt, holding a Polaroid camera. I strain to look back as we drive on.
Rain peppers the window as we move along the carriageway and into the west of the city. We pass murals of gunmen, Irish and Palestinian flags and of Bobby Sands and other portraits of young men with the dates of their death. Ghostly faces painted on gable walls.
Every few minutes Mum asks how I’m doing.
‘Fine. Loads better.’
And I kind of am. I devoured the muffin as well as a protein bar she had in her bag and am feeling less shaky now, though I’m still spooked by the whole thing.
I fainted once or twice when I was younger, but this feels different.
I remember stepping onto the deck, but everything after that is a blur.
Not like a total blackout. More like it’s been deleted.
Did something bad happen? I saw someone…
Stop! Reel it in.
I’m fine. I didn’t eat, that’s all.
Maybe I’m nervous about the move.
Maybe I’m sad.
Maybe I’m angry.
I sigh.
Mum opens her mouth to say something then stops.
I know there are a lot of things we should be talking about, but I don’t have the energy right now.
If she won’t talk about Dad then I’m not ready to talk about the move.
I cringe as I recall the rest of our chat on the ferry.
I’m definitely not ready to talk to her about Ben.
Like everything else, my sexuality is not something we discuss.
She knows though. I’m sure of it. We’ll have to talk about it some day, but not today. How would I even begin to explain the situation with Ben?
Shit. His message!
He misses me. He’s going to miss me. I don’t care if he misses me as a friend or something more – it’s enough to be missed. That he cares enough to miss me. My stomach thrills at the thought of his dopey smile, his shaved head and his arms. Those arms!
Ben Taylor misses me and that makes me happy.
I decide to keep my reply simple.
I’ll miss you too. Come visit soon?
X
Sent.
Sent without thinking.
So caught up in the thought of those biceps that I put an X.
You idiot.
We can kiss in private, but stating it in a message feels as if it crosses the boundaries of whatever it is we are.
A cold sweat breaks out around my collar as two ticks appear. I picture Ben opening it. He’s somewhere public, maybe chatting to a girl. He gets embarrassed and deletes the message immediately. Or worse, archives it. Archives me. Hiding me away like a guilty little secret.
You ruin everything.
I gaze out of the window, searching for a suitable distraction, and take in Belfast.
The city is in a valley, surrounded by mountains. Mum and Dad both grew up on the same estate at the bottom of the Black Mountain. Uncle Tommy still lives in the house he and Mum grew up in, which they got when Granny and Granda McCutcheon died. Nanny Bet lives round the corner. Family everywhere!
‘This place has changed so much,’ Mum says. She always says this when we visit, but even I can see the differences this time. There are new buildings on familiar streets, new estates popping up on stretches of green. Mum points out one as we drive past.
‘There used to be a Roma community living there. That whole stretch was full of caravans.’
‘Where are they now?’ I ask, trying to imagine caravans in place of the identical red-brick houses.
Mum shrugs. ‘No idea.’
A flash of sunlight hits something in the estate and my headache flares.
I rub my temple. ‘I’m fine,’ I say before Mum can ask.
‘Well, sure, would you look at the size of you. Proper wee heartbreaker!’ says Aunt Sheila, planting a kiss on my cheek. ‘You’ve shot up. Hasn’t he, Tommy?’
Uncle Tommy grips me in a bear hug. ‘He surely has. How’re you keeping, Micheál?
’ He always pronounces my name ‘mee-haul’, the Irish way.
I don’t know why but it feels like a dig.
Maybe because although I say some words with a Belfast twang (Ben always teases me about how I say towel – ‘toy-yull’), my accent is very English.
‘Yeah, good, thanks. How’re you?’
‘Happy to have my unofficial godson in the house.’ He speak-shouts with a slap on my back. I was never christened so this feels like another dig.
I glance at Mum, who rolls her eyes. ‘Give over, you.’ She gives her brother a big hug. ‘Thanks again for having us.’
‘Of course. Sure, where else would you stay?’ Aunt Sheila gives her a kiss. She points at the suitcases in the car boot. ‘Is that all you’ve brought?’
It’s a pathetically small amount of belongings, considering we’ve moved to a different country (kind of).
Mum lifts her bag. ‘The rest is getting sent to a storage place.’
‘Amount of stuff you and Jack had, it’d probably fill our whole house,’ says Tommy with a smirk.
We all freeze at the mention of Dad.
Sheila tuts, breaking the silence. ‘Shut you up and make yourself useful with those bags. Aoife, let’s get the kettle on and leave these strong men to the hard work. Cormac,’ she calls, ‘come help!’ She pulls Mum towards the house.
Tommy appraises my arms. ‘I’ll take this big one. Can you manage your wee suitcase, Micheál?’
I ignore the dig and give a thumbs up as Tommy carries Mum’s suitcase into the house.
‘All right, cuz?’ Cormac swings round the gate with a grin. He’s a little taller than me, with the standard McCutcheon ginger hair, cropped short. We have an awkward hug and then he steps back to take in my clothes. Skinny jeans, oversized green jumper and battered Doc Martens.
‘Is this how they dress in London then? You look like you’re in a Netflix show! Well fancy.’
‘Thanks. I’m taking that as a compliment.’
He laughs, a loud bark of a laugh. ‘Right, let’s get you in. My da bought you an inflatable bed. Had a go on it myself. It’s class. Like sleeping on a bouncy castle.’
‘That’s the dream!’
Cormac slaps me on the back. ‘Exactly! Nothing but the best for you.’
We take the suitcase and remaining bags from the boot. As we walk towards the house, my headache flares again. I make a grab for the gate.
There’s a flash behind me and pain prickles my neck. I rub my eyes, and when I take my hands away the whole street is filled with a shimmering light. I drop my bag, staggering back from the gate and into Cormac.
‘Michael?’
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Cormac holds my elbow. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m fine. It’s only a headache,’ I say through gritted teeth. The pain is like a hot needle in the middle of my forehead as orange and red blooms behind my closed eyes.
I fight the urge to open them. This is what happened on the ferry. I saw something. In the light. What was it?
‘I’m getting your ma!’
‘No, please. I’m fine,’ I wheeze.
A bird flies somewhere above me, its wingbeats matching my heart.
The light surges against my eyelids, like a wave crashing against the side of a ship. Then it fades.
I open my eyes and everything is as it was before.
Cormac’s eyebrows are practically on top of his head. ‘D’fuck was that? You want me to get Auntie Aoife?’
‘No. Just been feeling a bit dizzy today. Don’t tell her. I don’t need a lecture.’
Cormac frowns. ‘All right, if you’re sure? I don’t want to get in trouble with your mummy.’
People here say mummy no matter how old they are.
‘I’m sure.’
He smiles. ‘If you wanted me to carry your stuff you should’ve said. No need for the dramas. This is West Belfast, not the West End, daahling.’ He lifts my suitcase and heads into the house.
I make a mental note to google ‘seeing flashes of light’.
No. Actually, I won’t be doing that.
Whatever the hell is going on, I’m not going down a Dr Internet rabbit hole. What if it comes up with something serious? What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I’m like Dad?
I shake that thought from my head. I am nothing like Dad.
‘Michael, love, how do you take your tea?’ Sheila calls from inside.
I roll back my shoulders and head into my new home.