Chapter Eight #2
I take another photo as Dad wipes some dust from his jeans and stands up. As he’s about to walk towards me, the light fades. My head tingles as the vision falters, then everything returns to normal. And I remember everything. And I didn’t black out.
I can really see the past!
‘What did you see?’
‘My dad.’ I give her my phone and head to the wardrobe.
‘That’s so weird… Are you…? What are you doing?’
My fingers tingle as I kneel and pull out the drawer. I reach in and feel around until my fingers graze a wooden box.
‘Oh my God.’ My chest flutters as I pull it out.
Meg crouches beside me. ‘What the hell is that?’
The wood is dark – I want to say walnut.
It’s polished and smooth and around the size of a small shoe box.
There are metal hinges on both sides, and in the middle of one of the panels is a brass disc like the ones that cover old keyholes.
My hands tingle as I bring it closer to my face.
The wood and metal smells mingle with something else, something sharp and chemical.
‘I think it’s a camera,’ I say.
Meg strokes the wood and shivers. ‘It’s beautiful. May I?’ I instinctively pull it back towards my chest before I pass it over.
Meg inspects it carefully. She pushes the circle of brass on the front and it swivels to reveal a small hole. ‘It’s a pinhole camera.’
‘A what?’
‘You need to learn your art history! A pinhole camera is like the original camera. You’ve heard of a camera obscura, right?’
I shrug. It rings a bell.
Meg stretches. ‘OK, class, settle down. So, thousands of years ago – yeah, seriously, like bc times – they discovered that when light shines through a small hole in the wall of a dark room it will project an inverted image onto the opposite wall. Camera obscura – it means dark room.’
I nod. ‘OK, so they were able to take photos in bc times?’
Meg laughs. ‘Sure, you should see Plato’s Instagram. Total poser.’ I roll my eyes and she smirks. ‘No, photography came later, like nineteenth century. That’s when they invented these. They put this hole here – a pinhole, if you will.’
She’s enjoying this.
‘So, light comes in.’ She taps the brass covering the pinhole.
‘Like a lens?’
‘Yeah, but it’s a hole, no glass. It then projects an inverted image onto the other wall. Here.’ She turns the camera round to where the hinges are. ‘You put photosensitive paper in and, there you go, you have a photo.’ She shakes it gently. ‘I think there’s already paper in there!’
My fingers itch for the camera and I take it back from Meg. I raise it to my face like an ordinary camera, but there’s a big difference. ‘How do you aim?’
Meg bites her lip. ‘I guess you point it at the vision of the past and see what happens? Anyway, what did you see? What was your dad doing?’
I glance back at the bed, hoping to see him sitting there. ‘He was writing in a notebook. Then he hid it beside the camera at the back of the wardrobe.’
‘So, if he used that camera do you think your dad could…?’
I nod. ‘See the visions too! Maybe, right?’
Meg beams. ‘I mean, why else would he have this camera? Why keep it hidden? This is amazing.’
It could be amazing. Dad and I, both having these – can I say it now? Yes, having these powers to see the past. A cold drop of sadness lands in my stomach.
But why wouldn’t he tell me?
‘Do you really think the visions are about him?’ I ask. ‘That they might have something to do with why he’s missing?’
Meg nods. ‘I do. But we need to find out more. What was he writing in that notebook?’ Her eyes widen. ‘Maybe it’s in there too!’ She reaches in and feels around the drawer space. ‘Nothing. Oh, wait. What’s this?’ She pulls out a photograph.
The temperature plummets as we stare at it.
The picture is grainy. It’s like there’s two images – one on top of the other. I can see the faint outline of a modern building and some cars on the road. Overlaid on top of it is… destruction.
In the sky is the dark outline of a plane.
Buildings are on fire. Bricks lie strewn across the road.
A body is on the ground. Slumped over, their arm bent at an impossible angle.
And right in the centre of the chaos is a woman in a black dress. She’s staring at the camera and her mouth is open in terror. No, that’s not right. It’s something more unsettling than that. She’s excited.
And she’s looking right at me.
Fear freezes on the back of my neck.
‘Who…who is that?’ Meg whispers.
‘I don’t know, but I feel like…’
‘You know her?’
‘Yes, like I’ve seen her before.’
Meg touches her necklace. ‘Me too.’
‘What?’
She clutches the necklace. ‘I have no idea. I just have this feeling, you know?’
I shudder. I do.
‘Maybe she’s your relative or something,’ she says.
‘From when? Is this the Troubles? Another bomb?’
She stares at the photo. ‘No. Look at the plane and what they’re wearing. Fuck – I think this might be the Belfast Blitz.’
She might be right. The regular paved street is overlaid with grainy cobblestones.
I can see one modern lamp post but beside it, twisted and smashed on the ground, is an old gas one.
And the plane looks like the kind I’ve seen in history books and old films. A German bomber with a black cross on a white background on the underside of the wing.
‘The Belfast Blitz was bad,’ says Meg. ‘Nearly a thousand people died.’
I try not to focus on the body on the ground.
‘Why would Dad have this?’
Meg shrugs. ‘It is war photography, I guess.’
‘But who is that woman?’ My skin crawls at the sight of her. I turn the photo over and set it face down on the carpet.
But I can still feel her eyes on me through the paper. Through time.
Outside, a car drives past the house, wind rustles the trees and a crow calls. Nanny Bet is cursing at Fergal in the garden.
‘We could ask my nan. See if she knows who she is.’
Meg shakes her head.
‘What is it?’
‘I…’ She chews her lip.
I frown. ‘What?’
Meg fiddles with her necklace. ‘OK, don’t hate me.’
‘Okay…’ I ready myself to look neutral.
‘So, the camera was hidden, right? Well, who would your dad have been hiding it from?’
My mind is blank for a moment. But as I follow Meg’s gaze towards the window and the garden, the answer crystallises. I let out a breath.
Nanny Bet.