Chapter Ten #2
That’s odd. I’ve only been to two Irish funerals, but they had one thing in common: they were huge.
At least a hundred people had come to the church.
Complete strangers were saying they were sorry for my loss and shaking my hand.
I’d taken it for granted that that was how funerals are here.
But in my vision there were so few people.
I mean, it was raining pretty hard, but still.
‘What’s that?’ Cormac asks, pointing at the pinhole camera.
Shit.
‘It’s a camera.’
He blinks. ‘It looks old as fuck. You know you can take photos on your phone, right?’
My laugh is a bit too forced. ‘Yeah, but this is… It’s one of my dad’s old ones. They take amazing photos.’
‘Well, I might need some headshots done. Is this a good angle?’ He places his forefinger and thumb on the bottom of his chin in a classic model pose. ‘Am I hot right now?’
I put the camera in the bag. ‘I think I’d need a bigger lens for a headshot.’
Cormac clutches imaginary pearls. ‘Are you saying I’ve a big head?’
‘No, no, you have a very regular head.’ I pull the backpack on.
‘It must be weird that you never met your granda,’ says Cormac gesturing to the grave.
I take a breath. ‘Yeah, I don’t even know much about him, to be honest.’
‘Glad you still have your nanny though.’
Her huddled form in the vision plays through my head.
‘You should ask her about him, you know. Before…’ He trails off. He was as close to Nanny Marie as I am to Nanny Bet. He must miss her so much.
‘Cormac, I—’ The sound of footsteps breaks the moment. We turn to see Meg running towards us up the path.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she says. ‘Did I miss it? Oh, hey, Cormac. Are you…? Hey.’ She stops beside us, cheeks flushed, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.
Cormac looks between the two of us and my mouth flaps uselessly as I try to think of a reason for her being here. One that doesn’t make it sound like we’re meeting up to photograph visions of my grandfather’s funeral in the early nineties.
‘Are you two –’ he grins – ‘hooking up in a graveyard?’
I splutter and Meg laughs. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, we’re just—’
‘I love graveyards,’ says Meg with her chin raised.
‘Michael said the same thing.’ Cormac smirks. ‘You two are perfect for each other.’
‘Cormac!’
He laughs and gives me a hug. ‘Only sleggin’. Have fun. I’m going to get a lift back with my da.’ He raises his hand for a high five from Meg, then runs off towards the car park.
‘I thought you’d told him about…’
I snort. ‘Hardly. He followed me over here when I saw the vision.’
She folds her arms. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘That must’ve been intense. Was there anything unusual about the funeral?’ Meg crouches on the ground as she changes the film in the darkroom bag.
‘Apart from the fact that there weren’t many people there, the only odd thing was there was a flag on the coffin. Is that a thing?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I’ve not been to many funerals.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Such a shame,’ she says, and I frown. ‘I meant in terms of knowledge about coffin flags.’
‘Sure thing,’ I say. ‘Shall we head home?’
Meg wipes some dust from her knees and the sunlight glints on her acorn necklace as she stands up. ‘Can we go for a walk first?’
We reach the far end of the graveyard when the tingling on the back of my neck begins. I turn and see the light behind a small shrub growing against the wall. The familiar pain prickles my skin, but it definitely feels more like excitement this time.
‘I see something.’
Meg whirls round. ‘Where?’
I slip off the backpack and unzip it. ‘Against the wall, behind that bush.’ I point.
‘What?’
I get out the camera and head towards the plant where a small column of light glimmers, like the beam from a torch. ‘Right there.’ I point at the spotlit circle at the bottom of the wall.
‘No!’ Meg’s voice trembles. ‘Don’t look. Let’s go.’ I turn to see her clutching her necklace, her face pale.
‘What’s wrong?’ The light shines brighter in the corner of my eye and I feel myself pulled towards it.
‘I can guess what’s there, and you don’t want to see it.’
‘I have to, Meg.’
The light is shining upward like it’s coming from something on the ground behind the bush. As I walk towards it, the scent of earth, smoke and something sweet fills the air.
‘Michael, please.’
I glance back at Meg then turn to point the camera at the light. I can’t see anything at first. Some uncut grass. Moss on the walls. A black feather on the ground beside a dark bundle of clothes.
The bundle moves. Shock punches me in the chest.
No.
It wriggles and there’s a faint whimper.
Oh, please, no.
A tiny white fist. Too white, almost blue, barely moving.
I drop the camera as adrenaline shoots through my arms. I dash forward and try to pick up the bundle, to scoop up the baby inside it, but my fingers pass through nothing. I slump to the ground.
My breath sounds too loud and ragged. I shiver and wrap my arms around my knees.
A hand rests on my shoulder. Warm, real. I lean into it.
‘Is it…?’ Meg says weakly. ‘You can see a baby, can’t you?’
I nod and she sinks beside me onto the grass.
‘How do you…?’
‘It’s where they left them. What can you see?’
I shake my head.
‘Tell me, Michael. We’re here now. I want to know.’
‘A baby wrapped in a blanket. It’s so small.’ My mouth is dry, the words painful.
‘What’s she doing?’
‘How do you know it’s a girl.’
‘A guess.’
I suppress a shudder and look at the baby. ‘Her hand is reaching out, but she’s not moving any more. She has such small fingernails. Who would…? Why?’
Meg sniffs. ‘It happened. Unwed mothers would leave them here, hoping they’d get a proper burial.’
I’m willing that hand to move, for a finger to twitch, but I know it won’t. ‘I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to remember this.’
Meg lets out a breath. ‘I know.’
‘Then let’s go.’
‘No, take the picture. We have to remember her. Nobody else did.’
I don’t know if she’s talking about the baby or the mother.
‘Do it, Michael. Please.’ She clutches at her necklace and stares unblinking at the ground. My stomach twists. I pick up the camera and stagger to my feet.
Meg stays where she is, kneeling on the grass. She looks up at the wall in front of her, then her head drops back to gaze at the spot where the forgotten baby lay, like she can somehow feel its presence.
For a brief moment I see something above the bundle: a shift in the light, a shadow. I look around, hoping someone is coming to find the baby. But she remains alone.
I hold the camera in front of me and open the pinhole latch.
I’m shaking, but I take a deep breath and press my elbows to the sides of my ribcage.
I hold the camera in place until the light fades and all I can hear are the rustling of leaves in the trees and the sound of my friend’s laboured breaths.
‘Is it…? Is she gone?’ Meg asks.
‘Yeah. Are you OK?’
She lowers her head. ‘Can I have a sec?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be at the gate.’ I feel useless and heavy as I leave her. Is this what I’m going to have to see? Children dying, babies… Is this what Dad saw? Has he spent his life seeing ghosts everywhere? Watching people die?
No wonder he drank.
I walk back to the entrance, terrified of what else I might see. When Meg joins me, her eyes are red and she’s wiping mud from her hands.
‘Let’s go.’
Something is different. I swallow a lump in my throat when I realise.
Her acorn necklace is gone.
We walk in silence until we find a coffee shop and don’t talk until our drinks arrive.
Meg stirs her mint tea and sets down the spoon. ‘That’s why I’m not religious. Because it allowed men to create a world where that happened.’
I swallow. ‘I’d no idea.’
She sniffs. ‘This country, this land, is filled with babies like that. Taken from mothers by nuns. Terrified girls with the fear of hell weighing on them. Forced to…’
I think of that hand, wanting to be held, ‘I’m sorry I avoided taking the photo. I didn’t want to remember.’
She stares at me, unblinking. ‘Maybe that’s why you have this gift.’
‘Gift?’
She nods. ‘Yes. Why else would you see things like that? Secrets like that. Shame like that. Things people don’t want anyone to know. I think you’re meant to see those things, expose them, literally. Like, people should know about the things that are hidden away, the forgotten people.’
I place my hand on the bag, feeling a connection to the camera. ‘But what about my dad?’
‘I know you have to find him,’ says Meg, her voice soft, ‘but I think this is why you have your power. Maybe that’s why you can’t control it. Because you’re only meant to see certain things.’
This has been bothering me too. I’ve tried to make visions appear. At each place we visited earlier I focused, then tried not focusing. I took deep breaths. I googled the history of the place and tried to picture it in my mind. But nothing worked.
‘OK,’ I say, thinking back to the visions I’ve seen, ‘that makes sense. Well, as much as any of this makes sense.’
Meg sighs gently. Her eyes are still red. ‘So you don’t get to control what you see, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, in that case, what is controlling it?’
Dread traces a cold line across my shoulder blades. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Something is choosing to show you the past, Michael. We have to work out what it is.’ She smiles. ‘Or who.’