Chapter Three #2
His eyebrows bounce as I take the empty seat by Meg. She’s wearing a black floral dress, fishnets and red Converse, and the sunlight glints off a delicate silver acorn necklace. As she scans me, dark eyes unblinking, I feel like I’m going through the security check at the airport.
‘Meg’s an artist, Michael.’ He shifts his gaze to Meg, jerking his head in my direction. ‘He does that too, drawing and photos and writing and that. Don’t you?’
I nod.
‘Meg moved here just a few years ago, so you won’t have met her before. Michael used to visit all the time when we were kids. Didn’t you?’
I nod again.
Cormac is tilting his head back and forth between me and Meg like a demonic matchmaking cuckoo clock.
I clear my throat. ‘Yeah, we moved today.’
Meg drums her nails on her mug. ‘Well, nice to meet you properly after our little encounter in the kitchen.’
Cormac’s mouth drops. ‘Woo, is that so? Well, here, I’m gonna get some drinks. Same again, Michael?’
‘Sure.’
‘Another… Is that actually tea you’re drinking, Meg?’
Meg hands him her mug. ‘Lemon and ginger, please.’
‘Coming right up, madam.’ Cormac throws me a wink that makes my toes curl so hard they might crack as he disappears into the house.
We sit in silence. I try to tune in on the conversations happening around us, but Meg is impossible to ignore. I can feel her studying me.
‘Sorry about Cormac. He—’
‘Has the subtlety of a drunk baby?’ says Meg.
I snort. ‘Yeah.’ I unclench my hands. ‘He means well.’
Meg smiles. ‘He’s been talking about you for weeks. He’s really excited you’re here.’
A warmth spreads across my chest. ‘Really? Cormac?’
‘Non-stop. He really cares about you. You’re his cool, arty cousin that lives in London.’
I shrug. ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’
‘It’s true. Although I guess you’re now his cool, arty cousin that lives in his bedroom.’
‘On an air mattress.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously!’
‘Wow.’ Meg shakes her head sadly. ‘How the mighty have fallen.’
‘Yeah, apparently they don’t even have a library or sunroom!’
She gasps. ‘Animals! How will you ever survive?’
I shrug. ‘I’m in my reverse Cinderella era, I guess.’
She laughs at that, properly laughs, and I don’t know why but I feel like I’ve achieved something.
‘You’re funny,’ she says. ‘I can see why Cormac wanted to set us up.’
I’m going to be sick on her Converse.
My palms sweat. ‘I—’
She waves her hand. ‘Oh, please. I could tell from the way Cormac talked about you that I might not be your—’ she smiles then, and it’s an open and genuine smile – ‘type?’
There’s a heat behind my eyes. I look down.
Meg pulls her chair closer. ‘Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I can be very direct. And we were having the banter.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I sensed that you were…’
I consider running.
Meg places a hand on my arm. ‘Michael, I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything. I don’t even know you. Look, I’ll go.’ She moves to stand.
‘I’m gay.’ The words fall out of me because I don’t want Meg to go.
She sits back and rubs my arm. ‘That’s cool. I’m bi-queer.’
I exhale. ‘Yeah?’
She grins. ‘Yeah, well, obviously I think that while all labels serve a useful purpose for self-identification and forming a community, they can also be used as a tool of heteronormativity that forces us to comply within limiting boundaries.’
I blink. ‘Obviously.’
She smiles. ‘But, yeah, I’m queer. Welcome to the club.’
I’m grinning like a Disney princess mid-ballad, but I don’t care.
She pulls her chair closer. ‘You seeing anyone?’
I check Cormac isn’t listening. I can’t believe she talks so openly about this stuff.
‘No. Well, kind of. There’s a guy back home.
Back in London. Ben. We were friends, but then we…
But he’s not out at all. Well, I guess I’m not either, but, like, I know I am, but he says he’s straight actually.
So it was kind of a secret thing.’ I take out my phone.
Still no reply. ‘So, no. I suppose I’m not seeing anyone. ’
Meg sighs. ‘No offence, but Ben sounds like a dick.’
I want to defend him, but I can’t so I nod.
‘So, I take it you’re not out to Cormac. What about your parents?’
Don’t get me started. ‘Nah, they definitely know, but there’s been so much happening recently.’
She nods. ‘Your dad?’
A chill stirs in my stomach. ‘How do you…?’
Meg shrugs. ‘Cormac mentioned it.’
A blast of hot air leaves my nose. How could Cormac talk about that?
‘No, no, no,’ Meg says. ‘It was my fault. I was asking about your dad.’
I turn to face her. ‘What?’
Meg sits on her hands. ‘OK, I know this is going to make me sound like a stalker, but I’m a massive fan of his work.’
‘For real?’
Meg dead-eyes me. ‘Exactly how many award-winning photographers do you think there are from round here?’
‘I guess.’
‘He’s brilliant. His early work especially. The photos he took of the women in Iraq are framed in our politics classroom. Their passion and anger. He really just dropped out of uni and headed there to take photos?’
Dad really does love to cut and run.
‘Yep.’
Meg pulls her chair closer. ‘And that shot of the little boy in Palestine, the horror and trauma in his eyes. The emotions he was able to capture in people. Those stories. He made something of himself, of his art. That’s what I want.’
I pick at my thumbnail. ‘Yeah, well, he’s not been much of anything recently.’
‘From what I hear, sounds like your da’s a bit of a dick too?’
I snort. ‘Yeah, a bit, to be fair.’
Meg shrugs. ‘Most people are.’
‘Except you, of course.’
‘Oh no, I’m the worst. Queen of the dicks!’
‘I thought you didn’t like labels?’
‘Well played.’ She takes my hand again. ‘But I think you might be OK.’
‘Likewise.’
‘All right then!’ Cormac announces. ‘Tea for the lady, beer for my bro.’ He clocks us holding hands. ‘Oh, did I interrupt something?’
Meg places her other hand on mine. ‘I proposed.’
Cormac sets down the drinks. ‘Nice one. Did you say yes?’
I smile. ‘Of course.’
‘Cheers to that,’ says Cormac, and we clink our drinks together.
‘What you celebrating?’ asks a beautiful blonde girl, plonking a plastic glass of white wine on the table.
‘All right, Ellen. Meg is going to marry my cousin Michael.’
Ellen frowns.
Meg strokes my shoulder. ‘It’ll be a winter wedding and the theme is coastal fury.’
Ellen rolls her eyes. ‘You’re mad, Meg. Nice to meet you, Michael.’
As Cormac and the others start talking about Ellen’s new car, I’m distracted by the twinkling lights over the city.
There, in the middle of the town, is a bright light shooting up in the air.
It must be a stadium, or could it be a riot?
I turn to ask Meg and my throat constricts slightly as I see Paul standing there, grinning at something Cormac is saying.
‘You stayed then,’ Paul says.
‘Yeah, it’s a great party. Thanks for having me.’
He laughs. ‘You’re so polite.’
I hope that the darkening evening will swallow up most of my blush.
Cormac puts an arm round my shoulder. ‘Give me time. I’ll make a Westie of him yet. Now repeat after me, Michael: “This party is great craic.”’
‘Cormac!’
Meg nudges me. ‘Go on. I’m not marrying someone with an English accent.’
Ellen giggles. ‘Do it.’
My eyes dart to Paul, who smiles. ‘Have a go.’
‘Fine.’ I puff out my chest and in my poshest English accent say, ‘My word, this party is excellent craic.’
Cormac laughs. They all do.
Am I funny in Belfast?
I take another swig of my beer and take in the view of the city. There’s that shimmering light again. It’s too bright but I can’t look away. I glance around the table but nobody else seems to be seeing it.
‘Ugh, get a room, you two,’ says Meg.
I turn round and see Paul and Ellen kissing. My stomach runs cold.
‘That’s a good idea,’ says Paul. ‘Come on, you.’ Ellen picks up her wine glass and takes his hand. ‘See you later,’ he says, and then he looks right at me and winks.
I’m fucked.
Cormac and I tiptoe in around midnight. Everyone is asleep and I’m a little tipsy.
I set down the air mattress and collapse onto it.
It squeaks as I settle, but then my body sinks in, cushioned and supported.
As I stare at the ceiling, a light shines in from outside.
Like the one I saw earlier when I first arrived. I’d forgotten about that.
I feel another headache brewing so I squeeze my eyes shut and take deep breaths until it passes. Finally, I drift off to sleep.
I’m on the ferry.
Crows are screeching. The wind is blowing.
A young boy stands beside me, he’s about ten, holding a wooden box pointed at the sea.
I follow his gaze and see Uncle Tommy’s house, which is somehow on the deck of the ferry too.
There’s an old-fashioned car. Children are playing.
A door slams and a young girl with red hair runs out of the house.
Mum.
She runs towards me. Past me, and into the arms of the boy.
Dad.
They hug.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
A foghorn blasts.
A huge ship slices through the sea towards us, smoke billowing from its chimneys.
Then I see her and cry out.
A woman in a long black dress stands at the bow of the ship, her dark red hair flowing in the wind. She’s like one of those mermaid figureheads. Her skin is dazzling white. Even from down here I can see her features as though I’ve zoomed in.
Her red lips part in a hungry smile.
‘Michael.’ I turn, and Dad is himself again. A grown-up. He reaches out to me.
The woman screams and jumps from the ship.
I run along the deck of the ferry.
‘Michael?’
I sprint for Uncle Tommy’s house. Open the door.
A light pours out, blinding me.
I stagger forward.
‘Michael!’
Then I trip and fall over the ferry railing.
I try to shout for help, but my voice is ripped from me as I tumble into the sea.
Towards the churning darkness.
Into the open arms of the woman in the black dress.