Chapter Eighteen
We stop by an empty playground. My fingers are tingling as I lean against the fence to catch my breath. I think of my nan holding the lighter to the photographs. The recovered memory of her burning my memories a few days ago. The crows attacking Fergal.
Did they…?
‘You all right?’ Meg says, breaking into my thoughts.
I take a steadying breath, trying to block out the image of the cat. ‘What the hell was that?’
Meg says nothing. She’s holding the flame-licked photographs and papers. Her face is calm. Unreadable.
‘Were you spying on me?’
She takes a step towards me. ‘That’s what you want to talk about? OK, yes. I was.’
‘How could you—’
‘Because I didn’t trust your nan.’ She lets out a long sigh. ‘And I’m sorry, but I was right. She was going to destroy the photos and those notes. You know what that means?’
My hands are in tight fists. My neck is hot.
‘She wanted you to forget everything.’
I rub my temples. ‘I know. But she must’ve had her reasons.’ I look away. ‘And for doing it the last time.’
Meg blinks. ‘The last time? She’s done this to you before? What the fuck, Michael? You need to stay away from her.’
The anger boils over. ‘Why are you so obsessed with her being evil?’
‘She just tried to destroy your memories again. Why are you being so naive?’
I whirl on Meg. ‘Because I love her!’
Her face softens. I slide down the fence and sit on the ground.
It’s too much. This is all too much. Dad, the stupid powers and now my nan has…
what? Betrayed me? I press the balls of my hands into my eyes.
She always treated me with respect. I grew up with parents who kept things from me, but she told me the truth.
‘I hate all of this.’
Meg sits down beside me. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I shouldn’t have snapped.’ My throat aches.
‘I get it, you’re hurt. And the last thing you needed was to be confronted with my pathological need to be right.’
I sniff out a laugh. ‘I think we both share that need.’
She puts an arm round me. ‘That’s what makes us such twisted friends.’ I lean into her. ‘That poor cat. I hope he’s OK.’
‘Don’t… Thank you for watching out for me,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I prefer that to spying.’
‘How did you know?’
A pause. ‘Can I be honest?’
I let out a breath. ‘Hit me.’
‘I’ve never met your granny before we asked about your dad’s cameras, so I don’t know what she’s usually like, but she hated us asking.
She was tense, like super tense. She knew what we were up to.
Then you saw your dad hide his power from her.
Why would he do that? You said he looked scared, right? ’
I nod. He was terrified.
‘Why would he be so scared of her unless she did know about it?’
It makes sense now. ‘He was scared of disobeying her.’ I feel nauseous.
‘So she knew about his powers?’
I have to tell Meg everything. ‘She knew, because she has them too.’
‘No way?’
‘Yup.’
‘Then why would she do that to you? Do you think she did it to your dad as well? Stole his memories?’
I hadn’t thought of that, but the pain in my stomach is like an arrow hitting the truth. Of course she did it to him. Suddenly their entire relationship makes sense.
‘How could she?’ Meg whispers.
‘I think she wants to protect us. She told Dad to move to England and…’
No.
She burnt away my memories. Heat pulses in my ears. She had no right to do that, then try to do it again. She’s been lying to me ever since I got here. All that concern. It was a lie.
‘She’s a liar.’
Meg nods. ‘I’m so sorry. Genuinely.’
‘I know.’ I nudge her. ‘And thank you for rescuing me.’
‘Well, thanks, but that was actually the crows. I was peeking round the garden gate and they came out of nowhere.’
I recall Fergal’s terrified howls. ‘I want to check if Fergal’s OK. It’s my fault.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, it was your nan’s. There was nothing you could do.’
‘But those crows…’
‘The Morrigan is watching you.’ This time there’s none of her former excitement when she talks about the goddess.
I glance up at the sycamore tree in the corner of the playground. There’s a shifting in the shadows and I sense jetblack eyes upon me.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
We walk to a garden wall at the end of a cul-de-sac, far from any trees.
Nanny Bet has been calling me, so I turn off my phone.
I’m relieved she’s OK enough to call, but I’m certainly not ready to speak to her.
I also ignore a message from Paul, asking what time I want to meet.
I’m too freaked out to think about him right now.
‘So, what do we do?’ Meg asks as she flicks through the photos again.
Run away forever?
‘We stick to the plan, work out what she wants from us and find my dad.’ I pick at my thumbnail. ‘My nan told me something. Before…’
‘Yeah?’
I clear my throat. ‘She said we’re death poets.’ I search for the pronunciation of the Irish words. ‘Fill ee bosh?’
Meg’s mouth drops open. ‘Filí báis!’
‘You’ve heard of them?’
She shakes her head. ‘The filí were poets and báis means death, but I’ve not heard of them together. So, what, you’re the Morrigan’s poets?’
‘I guess.’
Her hand is on her chest. ‘Michael, you’re the poet of a goddess.’
I let out a breath. ‘Of death.’
‘I know, so cool!’
‘It’s not cool!’ I raise my voice. ‘They just attacked my nan and her cat, Meg. Just chill for a second.’
She goes to speak but stops and raises her hands. ‘Sorry, I know. OK, so what do you filí báis do?’
I give myself a moment to let the anger melt.
‘We tell their stories, stories of death and war. We make art so that people can remember and even experience it. I think that’s what happened to you at the docks. I helped you see what I saw.’
Meg lowers her gaze. ‘Oh, I thought I was…’ She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, yes, that’s incredible. So, what, your whole family can do it?’
That buzz of excitement starts to tingle again. ‘Yeah, my ancestors on my dad’s side. All the way back. We made a blood vow with the Morrigan, apparently. To tell their stories. We see something and we have to make art from it. Tell someone quickly, or else…’
‘You forget,’ says Meg.
‘Yes, but also if we ignore them then they can…harm us, I think.’
‘Fuck,’ Meg says. ‘So you do it. You do your job and tell their stories. So we remember the forgotten, like that baby. You tell her story because she matters. I knew it!’
‘Yeah, you were right.’
‘What can I say, I often am.’ Her smile is infectious. ‘I know it doesn’t feel amazing right now, but this is so important, Michael. You get that, right? How important you are.’
I nod. ‘Starting to.’
‘We’d better work out what story they want you to tell.’
‘Yeah, I think if we do that, we get to my dad.’
‘I hope so. And what about your nan?’ says Meg.
‘I don’t know.’ I’m still too angry, too shocked by what she’s done.
I hate feeling angry at people nearly as much as I can’t stand the thought of anyone being angry at me.
I grew up terrified that I’d upset Dad or add to Mum’s worries.
Anger leads to fights and confrontation, and I’d do anything to avoid that.
I calm down quickly. I apologise. I do whatever I can to make the problem go away.
But I’ve not had to deal with anything like this before.
Someone I trust lied to me, took something from me. A memory. A memory about Dad. The heat around my neck flares up again. How could she? I thought she loved me.
You’re not very lovable.
I sink against the wall and a heavy numbness falls across my head and shoulders.
You get in the way.
Meg is waiting for me to continue, but I can’t think of what to say.
She’s going to realise how pathetic you are.
I close my eyes and try to fight that dark part of me, but it’s hard because it speaks to me in my own voice.
It’s calm and rational. It comes before exams to tell me I’m a failure.
It whispers that I’m ugly when Ben doesn’t return my calls and messages.
It assures me that I’m to blame for Dad not wanting to be with us any more.
‘Michael? You OK?’
No.
‘Yeah.’ I mumble.
‘Well, that’s a lie.’
She knows you’re worthless…
I trail the corners of my mouth into a smile. ‘No, honestly, all good.’
‘You can’t possibly be all good after what happened.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You will be in time, but you can’t skip the difficult feelings bit and pretend everything’s fine. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I can see you’re definitely not OK.’ She gives me a hug. ‘And that’s OK.’
I go to move away but she pulls me closer. ‘It takes twenty seconds for a hug to take effect.’
‘What?’
‘I read about it. Count to twenty.’
And I do. After five seconds, I feel less awkward. After ten, the numbness lifts a little and her warmth spreads through me. For the last five seconds, my mind clears. I let out a deep breath.
‘Thank you.’
She shrugs. ‘No problem. I’m hardly Miss Emotional Maturity, but it’s stupid trying to pretend everything is all right when it isn’t. Stop being such a…bloke.’
I snort out a laugh. ‘Oh yeah, that’s me. Such a lad.’
Meg smiles. ‘Well, I’m mostly joking, but just because you’re gay it doesn’t mean you haven’t been socialised as a stupid man and conditioned by the patriarchy to hide your feelings. Big boys don’t cry and all that.’
‘You’ve seen me cry.’
‘And I’ve seen you pretend you’re all right while there’s an emotional hurricane in your head. Be less male. OK?’
I nod. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Let’s start again. You OK?’
My chest tightens, but I swallow. ‘No, not really.’ I scratch at my thumb. ‘But I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s better, but don’t rush trying to be fine.’
‘I don’t know how much time we have though,’ I say. ‘I need to find my dad. We need more answers.’
As if on cue, the headache starts. No, actually, right on cue. I don’t believe in coincidences any more. I wince and rub at my temple.
‘You’re kidding me?’ Meg starts looking about.
I nod and pick up the camera as the world around me takes on the familiar golden light. ‘Oh shit. We didn’t change the paper.’