Chapter Eleven
I’m walking through the graveyard late at night. There are footsteps beside me. I turn to speak to Meg, but instead it’s her.
The woman looks like she did in the Blitz photo, but her head is bowed.
Her dark red hair falls across her face, revealing flashes of alabaster skin that glows in the moonlight.
I want to run, I try to run, but my feet move forward, in time with hers.
Her long dress rustles the grass as we weave through the gravestones.
A baby cries out.
The woman freezes.
She turns to me, her brows furrowed.
A tear sparkles like a glass bead on her porcelain cheek.
Then she opens her mouth and screams.
I wake up sweating, unsure of where I am until Cormac’s soft snores bring me back to reality. The rest of the dream is fading, but the woman’s face lingers. The notebook with the photo of her is still in my bag, which sits near my head. I’ll put it somewhere else tonight.
It’s 2 a.m. Cormac would sleep through anything, but he has a job interview in the morning so I’m careful not to wake him up as I sit up against the wall.
I can’t stop thinking about what Meg said.
Something or someone is showing me these visions and wants me to see the past. But why?
I’ve seen a bombed hotel, my dad as a teenager in his room, a random car outside Nanny Bet’s, my Granda Frank’s funeral and that poor baby in the graveyard.
We chatted for ages yesterday about how they might be connected, but we couldn’t think of a thing.
Today we’re hitting the docks to see if I get another vision there.
I reach for my phone and see that Ben has messaged me.
You good?
I curl up on the air mattress and check out his profile picture. It’s a gym selfie. He’s smiling at the camera and sticking up his index and little finger in a sort of ‘Rock on! Oh, and look, I have muscles’ vibe.
He does.
And he has a nice smile.
And his hands are—
Stop!
I push the thoughts of Ben’s arms around me out of my mind. I’m still pissed at him for not replying sooner. I’m not sure what I was expecting though. He’s always been really clear about what we are.
Friends with add-ons.
On his terms.
When he felt like it.
The thing is once we started fooling around, we stopped being friends. We used to chat about everything. He was the one person that knew about what was happening at home. Mostly because it was impossible to ignore Dad’s moods or drinking on the handful of times he stayed over.
Once we kissed, it changed. We’d only text about when we might be free to meet, and when we saw each other at school he barely spoke to me. On a good mental health day this felt exciting. Like we were keeping some wild secret from the rest of the bores in the class. A secret and forbidden love.
On a bad day, I felt like I was being used by my best friend who was too ashamed to speak to me in daylight hours.
And yet every time I told myself that was it, he’d text and ask how I was. I’d say I wanted to chat, go for a walk. He’d agree but then we’d always end up somewhere with our clothes off. We never had sex-sex. We never even talked about it. It felt like too big a thing.
I miss him and I hate myself for it.
I’m good, still settling in. How are
you?
I put my phone down and try to sleep but my mind races with thoughts of Meg crying in the graveyard. The woman in the black dress. And Ben’s smile.
After a few hours I wake to a message and selfie from a topless Ben in bed, arm behind his head, hair tousled.
Wud be better if you were here
I let out a pretty loud exhale and turn over to make sure Cormac can’t see the pic or my physical response. I type a reply.
I’d like that a lot…
I contemplate sending a selfie back, but my hair is like a dying spider plant and my Princess Leia pyjama tee is not the sexiest of vibes. We text for a bit though, and it feels like old times.
Sexy with a hint of shame.
As I head down for breakfast, I yawn loudly. Mum butters her toast like she’s painting a canvas. I used to love watching her do it as a kid, making sure she covered every part of it.
She catches me smiling. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I forgot to ask, how was your day with Meg?’
Fiona sets down her orange juice with a bang and pulls down her headphones. ‘Who’s Meg?’
‘My friend.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Booooring!’ She goes back to whatever she’s watching on her tablet.
Mum laughs and I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, it was good.’
‘Did you get plenty of shots?’
I shudder as I think of the undeveloped photos from the graveyard, tucked away in my bag. ‘Yeah, one or two.’
Sheila sits down with her tea and butters a slice of toast. ‘So, where you off to today then?’
‘The docks.’
‘Just like your daddy,’ says Sheila.
‘Huh?’
Sheila looks at Mum and starts blinking rapidly. ‘I just mean, he was always there.’
‘Obsessed, he was,’ says Tommy.
I have questions, but the door swings open.
‘Morning, all.’ Cormac struts in wearing a shirt. ‘Please, please, no photos.’ He gestures at invisible paparazzi. ‘I want some time with my family.’
‘Give over, you headcase,’ says Tommy.
Cormac’s smile falters for a second as he sits down.
‘You look lovely, son,’ says Sheila. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘Nah, they’ll love me.’ He passes an imaginary drink to Mum. ‘Here’s your mocha choca soya papa tango! A tip for me? Why, thank you! Easy as.’
We laugh but Tommy shoots him a look. ‘You need to take it seriously. Stop acting the eejit.’
Cormac rolls his eyes. ‘I will. I’m only messing. And anyway acting the eejit is actually up there with playing Hamlet in terms of theatrical goals.’
Tommy grunts and picks up his phone.
We sit in silence for a bit. Spoons hit the bottoms of cups. Knives scrape on toast and the tinny sound of a cartoon plays from Fiona’s headphones.
Eventually Mum reaches over and takes Cormac’s hand. ‘You’ll do brilliantly.’ He smiles up at her, but I can see his lower lip trembling.
Tommy drains his cup of tea. ‘I’m off. Good luck today, our kid.’ He pats Cormac on the arm and heads out.
The embarrassment radiates off Cormac, so I focus on the food in front of me, cutting up my egg like I’m diffusing a bomb.
Tommy gives Cormac such a hard time. I contemplate asking why Dad used to go to the docks, but there’s been enough awkwardness this morning already. Besides, I’m pretty sure I know why.
To see the past.
A bubble of excitement rises in my head. I’ve a good feeling about today. I finish the last of my breakfast and start cleaning up.
Mum picks up her phone. ‘Here, I have an idea. Why don’t you go to the Titanic museum while you’re down that way?’
‘Oh, I…’ I can’t think of an excuse.
‘That’s a great idea,’ says Sheila. ‘Cormac, you could go too.’
Cormac looks up. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to crash your plans, cuz.’
‘Michael doesn’t mind, do you?’ says Mum. ‘Sure, I’ll buy the tickets.’
There’s no way I can tell him not to come without sounding like an asshole, but what if I see a vision? ‘Of course, come meet us after your interview.’
Cormac grins. ‘Look at us, big interviews and museum trips. You’re really classing up this family of plebs.’
Sheila lightly slaps the back of his head. ‘Um, less of that. I’ve taken you to every museum in town and was bringing you to the theatre from when you were four.’
‘Sorry, m’lady. Please forgive me.’ Cormac bows and kisses Sheila’s hand. She laughs and heads into the kitchen.
‘I’ll buy the tickets and send you the link,’ says Mum.
‘Cheers, Aunty Aoife. Looking forward to it,’ says Cormac.
‘Yeah me too. I…’ I close my eyes as a headache washes over me.
When I open them, I see the light. It’s flowing in through the living-room window and if I didn’t know better I’d think it was an especially flamboyant summer sunrise. But the sun rose three hours ago. I shiver, spilling tea on my fingers.
‘You OK?’ Mum asks.
‘Yeah, sorry. I need the loo.’ I set down the cup and walk as quickly as I can without running.
‘Wash your hands!’ calls Fiona.
I bolt up the stairs. My head is pounding so I still have time. I head into Cormac’s room and grab the pinhole camera from my bag, mentally double-checking that I put in a new sheet of photographic paper.
I take a deep breath and look out the window.
The street is completely different. The cars are old and the big tree across the road is missing, a rose bush in its place.
It’s the strongest vision I’ve seen yet.
I push open Cormac’s window and lean out.
The air is thick and muggy. There’s a sound too; a kind of pulsing, like a heartbeat.
The familiar smell of earth and blood seeps into Cormac’s room.
I search for Dad.
Then I see her.
A little girl, five or six years old, is sitting on the kerb opposite the house.
Her blonde hair is tied in a ponytail and she’s wearing a white T-shirt under flared yellow dungarees like I’ve seen Mum wear in old photos.
I think it must be from the seventies or eighties.
Her arms are wrapped around her knees and she’s watching the house next door.
What’s going to happen to her?
I look away for a moment, not wanting to see something bad happen to this child. The pulsing sound gets louder. There’s something within it, a soft roar.
I turn back and the girl is standing against the wall, watching the road now.
An armoured jeep roars into view, juddering to a halt outside the next-door neighbours’.
Soldiers pile out and run into the house.
I look back at the girl and gape at her fury; her brows are knotted, teeth bared.
Her hands are balled in fists as she glares at the soldiers running into the neighbour’s garden.
The light starts to fade.
Shit.
I ignore the threat of vertigo and lean out further, but can’t get a good shot of what’s happening next door, so I aim it at the girl.
I open the pinhole latch as the light dims and the pulsing sound recedes.
The girl stands, unblinking. Glaring with hatred at the soldiers and the jeep.
Something shimmers beside her, just for a moment.
It’s the same trick of light I saw in the graveyard.
The end of the vision maybe? I close the latch.
A few seconds later, everything returns to normal. The tree is back where it should be and our car is parked outside.
My stomach hurts from leaning on the windowsill. I ease myself back inside and close the window.
‘What’re you doing?’
Cormac is standing with his arms crossed.
Fuck.
I hide the camera behind my back as heat blazes my neck. ‘What? Nothing.’
He pokes his tongue into his cheek. ‘You said you needed the toilet. Did you just piss out the window?’
‘What? No!’ I take out the camera. ‘I was taking a photo.’
‘Right… So you were hanging out the window and taking a photo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of…’
‘What?’
He points at the window. ‘What did you photograph?’
Shit.
A crow caws.
‘A crow.’
‘A crow?’
‘Yeah.’ I swallow. ‘I love crows.’
He blinks.
‘It’s for an art thing, with Meg.’ I push out a nervous laugh. ‘Weird, I know.’
He walks across to the window. ‘Oh, I see… Nice crow.’
‘What?’
He shouts down, ‘See you in a minute.’
I glance over his shoulder and see Paul waving up at us. I briefly contemplate banging my head against the wall as I realise that Cormac thinks I was photographing Paul.
‘Oh no. It really was a crow.’
He smirks. ‘Sure thing. Well, try not to fall out the window next time.’
I nod. ‘Yes, definitely.’
He frowns. ‘Right, I have to go. Paul’s heading into town too. You remember Paul, yeah? Five foot eight, human, no feathers.’ He picks up his backpack.
Kill me.
‘Good luck with the interview.’
‘Cheers, man. I’ll see you after. Might invite Paul along.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, happy birdwatching.’ He winks and goes.
Paul is looking up at me from the street and I wave. Did he see me with the camera? He can’t have done, right?
He waves back and I fully blush. Then Cormac appears and I duck.
As the embarrassment fades away, the memory of the vision comes back. I sink down on the bed and flex my fingers before changing the film in the darkroom bag.
That vision was different. Before, it was like seeing two photos at the same time, like watching a 3D film without the glasses on. But this time it was like the past had replaced the present and the sounds were so vivid. I felt like I was in it.
I let out a breath as I clutch the camera to my chest.
My power is getting stronger.