Chapter Eight
‘Michael!’ Nanny Bet opens the door and hugs me tight. ‘Everything all right?’
My stomach twists. She must still be worried about my blackout earlier. ‘Yeah, I’m great. Just want to check if the memory card is still in my camera.’
She frowns. ‘Well, it’s in the kitchen bin now, covered in God knows what.’ Her eyes flicker behind me.
I look back. ‘Oh, sorry. This is Meg.’
Meg extends a hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Kenny.’
Nanny Bet smiles. ‘Have we met before?’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Meg.
‘Well, nice to meet you. Come on in. Coffee? Tea?’
‘Oh no, that’s OK. I think Michael wanted to ask you something, then we’re heading out.’
I blush as my nan frowns. ‘Well, he can ask me over tea, can’t he? What would you like?’
‘Herbal, if you have it.’
Nanny Bet cocks her head. ‘I’ll see what I have. Your mummy’s in the living room, Michael. See if she wants a refill.’ She heads to the kitchen.
Mum came back? That’s odd.
‘Can’t we just get the camera and go?’ whispers Meg.
I shake my head. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Mum is sitting on the edge of the large red sofa that dominates the living room. She jumps to her feet as we come in. ‘Oh, hello. I was bringing some things to your nan. Was just leaving actually.’
I spot a small bag by her feet. One of Dad’s awards is poking out. I shift my gaze to Fergal, who glares back at me. Then he spots Meg. He runs over to her, mewing like a kitten as he rubs against her legs.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she says, scooping him up.
‘This is Meg. Meg, my mum.’
Meg extends her free hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Kenny. Welcome back to Belfast. Are you settling in OK?’
Damn, Meg speaks ‘adult’ well.
Mum blinks. ‘I am, thank you. Call me Aoife.’
‘I love your hair, Aoife.’
Mum blushes and pushes her curls back. ‘What? Oh, I’ve done nothing with it for ages. But thank you. Michael, you good?’
Where do I even start?
‘Yeah. Oh, did you want more tea?’ I ask.
‘No more for me, Bet,’ Mum calls out. ‘I’d best get on.’ She smiles at me, eyeing the door. ‘So, what have you been up to today?’
Discovered I can see through time.
I shrug. ‘Bit of shopping.’
‘We got some art supplies,’ says Meg. ‘We have a project we want to work on together. We were hoping we could—’
‘Oh? What’s that?’ says Nanny Bet, sweeping into the room with a tray of mugs. She glances at Fergal, who’s now cradled in Meg’s arms as she scratches his tummy. Nanny Bet sets down the tray on the coffee table. ‘I only had camomile.’
‘Perfect, thanks,’ says Meg.
‘Oh, Bet,’ says Mum. ‘I didn’t want another one.’
‘Well, it’s made now.’
Mum glances at the door then sits back on the sofa.
Nanny Bet hands me a mug. ‘Now come on, tell us about this art project. We’re a bit of a creative family, Meg.’
‘Yes, I know,’ says Meg. ‘I’ve read your work. I love your poetry books, especially Songs of Me. So dark.’
Nanny Bet clears her throat. ‘Oh, that was a long time ago. But thank you, that’s kind. Now what are you working on, Michael?’
‘Um, well. It’s kind of…’ I lift the notebook Meg got me. ‘It’s like a writing and drawing thing but with…um, photography too. You know?’
Nanny Bet sips her coffee. ‘It’s great to hear you have a project to work on. Tell us more.’
‘Well,’ adds Meg, ‘we want to explore what it’s like to move here. See Belfast through the eyes of a newcomer. I paint mostly and I know Michael draws and writes, but he said he wanted to get back into photography. Right?’
Thank you.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ I say. ‘It’s like a homecoming thing.’
Nanny Bet grins. ‘I like that. I love having you home.’ She turns to Mum. ‘Both of you.’
I push down the sickly feeling of lying again. ‘So, yes, I was hoping we might be able to…’ I take a breath. ‘I’d like to use one of Dad’s old cameras, if that’s OK?’
The clock above the mantlepiece ticks as the ‘Dad silence’ fills the room. I shouldn’t have asked with Meg here. I don’t want to mess up a new friendship by inflicting my family drama on her.
So stupid.
‘It’s just,’ I continue, forcing myself to look up, ‘we really want to use an analogue camera.’
Nanny Bet sips her coffee.
Mum grips her mug.
The clock ticks.
I steal a look at Meg to see if she’s finding this as unbearable as I am. She’s stroking the underside of Fergal’s chin, who’s purring away.
‘If you’d rather I didn’t, I understand. Sorry I—’
‘No, no,’ says Nanny Bet. ‘Of course, you can. Your daddy’d be delighted that you’re using them. Right, Aoife?’
Mum swallows. ‘Yes, of course,’ she says. ‘It’s exactly what he’d want.’
I jump to my feet. ‘Great. Come on, Meg. They’re up in Dad’s old room.’
Nanny Bet clears her throat. ‘Now, I’m very open-minded, but I’m not sure about you bringing a girl upstairs, Michael.’
My face erupting with heat, I consider running straight out of the door. I throw another glance at Meg, who’s stifling a grin.
‘Aoife?’ says Nanny Bet.
‘Oh, they’re just friends, Bet.’ Mum smiles at me and gives a little nod.
Thanks, Mum.
‘I really should go,’ she says then. ‘Said I’d help Sheila with dinner. Thanks for the tea, Bet. Lovely to meet you, Meg.’
‘You too.’
She kisses her hand and places it on my head. ‘I hope you find what you need, love.’
Nanny Bet shakes her head as Mum rushes out. ‘It will get easier, don’t worry. She—’
‘I know!’
Nanny Bet’s eyes widen. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t want to talk about this in front of Meg.
She clears her throat. ‘Well, all his cameras are in a box under the bed in his old room.’ Her voice is strained. ‘If you need anything, I’ll be in the garden.’ She lifts a wriggling Fergal from Meg and leaves.
My ears are burning as I turn to Meg to make an apology.
She gives a little shrug. ‘Wait till you meet my family!’
Relief sweeps through me. ‘Cheers. Let’s look for that memory card.’
I have to dig past discarded coffee granules, but I eventually scoop the camera out of the bin. The memorycard slot still has a card in it, but only half of one. It’s broken, the other piece gone.
‘Shit.’
Meg leans over. ‘Wait, how could that have happened?’
‘I can’t remember, that’s the problem.’
‘Any joy?’ Nanny Bet calls from the garden.
‘No,’ Meg says as she takes the camera. ‘I don’t get how the memory card could break like this. Where’s the other half?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe I dropped it on the path.’
‘Shall we look for it?’
I take the camera back and throw it in the bin. ‘No point. It’s unusable.’
Meg pats my arm and I try not to pull away. ‘Don’t worry about it. The analogue camera will work much better.’
Dad’s old room is taken up by a double bed that I don’t imagine he had growing up. Other than that, there’s a pine wardrobe and matching chest of drawers. Three of the walls are painted blue and one is black. An act of teenage expression from Dad presumably.
I drag a large plastic box out from under the bed. I check for dust, but it’s spotless. Nanny Bet must still clean in here. Guilt squeezes my chest as I picture her getting it ready for someone. I will stay over soon, I tell myself.
I sit with Meg on the bed as we go through the box. There are three cameras, one of which looks ancient. They’ve all been taken good care of and I’m sure they work. In among them are a few flashes and rolls of unused film.
The familiar ache settles in my limbs as I picture Dad in this room as a teenager. Did he always have the sadness or addiction or whatever it is that’s wrong with him? What made him like that?
‘These are class!’ says Meg, bringing me back.
‘Yeah, will any of them work, do you think?’
She taps her acorn necklace. ‘Only one way to find out. Let’s take them all and head back to the Europa.’
I nod. ‘Yeah, let’s go. I—’
The pain stabs like a needle at the back of my head as light fills the room. The scent of rain and iron washes over me.
‘Oh, wait!’
‘What is it?’ Meg’s now a silhouette as the light shines behind her.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then blink, trying to focus. ‘I’m having a vision. Now!’
Meg opens the back of a camera. ‘I’ll get a film. What do you see? Describe it.’
The light illuminates the room, but it’s no longer blinding me. Instead it’s like the room is lit up for a photoshoot. I can see the wardrobe, the street through the window and Meg checking for batteries in a camera.
The bed.
Sitting on the bed is my dad as a teenager. It’s so weird, like some AI video. He has long hair, straight and dark, that hangs over pale skin with traces of acne. His thumbs poke out of frayed holes in a black long-sleeved T-shirt.
Instinct pulls me towards him.
‘Oh shit. It’s my dad. I can see him.’
Hear me, Dad, see me. Please.
He’s oblivious. He’s a memory. Sitting in his room over twenty years ago.
‘What’s he doing?’ Meg lifts a camera and clicks a button. ‘This isn’t working.’
Focus.
‘He’s writing in a notebook.’
Dad is scribbling in a maroon leather-bound journal. His eyes are narrowed, his nostrils flared and he’s shaking his head. He turns in my direction and I flinch. But he’s not looking at me, just at the door. He shouts something that I can’t make out then goes back to the book.
‘The batteries must be dead. What’s happening, Michael? Is it enough, you telling me this? Will you remember?’
‘I don’t know. He’s still writing. No, he’s done now. He keeps looking at the door. He’s standing up and grabbing the notebook and—’
I stare as Dad, teenage Dad, holds a wooden box. My skin tingles with recognition. I’ve seen that box before. I know what it is.
It’s a wooden camera.
Dad is walking round the bed now, past Meg, towards the wardrobe.
‘These aren’t working. You need to take a picture on your phone,’ calls Meg. ‘In case you forget.’
I take out my phone and snap pictures as Dad throws open the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. He pulls it all the way out, glances at the bedroom door, then puts the notebook and box at the back and pushes the drawer shut.
The light is fading now.