Chapter Twenty-One
The beeping gets louder and voices pull me from the darkness.
Lights pierce my eyelids.
The crowd. The Morrigan. That voice.
‘Brigid,’ I mumble.
The swirling shadows.
Dad.
‘Dad.’ I bolt upright and there’s a gasp beside me.
‘Michael!’ Mum kisses my head.
What’s going on?
‘Dad. Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s OK. They found him beside you.’ Aunt Sheila is sitting on the other side of the bed, her face pale, her eyes wet.
I try to sit up, but Mum is holding me too tight, pressing my soaked clothes. ‘Mum, please.’ She moves away as a doctor steps up to the bed.
She’s young, dark hair pulled back. ‘You had us worried there, Michael. I’m Dr Atwal. Do you know where you are?’
The beeping, the thin sheets, the metal rail on the bed. ‘A hospital. Where’s my dad?’
Dr Atwal smiles. ‘He’s having some tests done.’
‘I need to see him.’ I go to move, but my head swims.
The doctor readies her stethoscope. ‘I need to check you’re OK first.’
‘No, please. I need—’
‘Michael.’ Mum takes my hand. ‘I promise we’ll go see him as soon as the doctor says. We need to tell her about the fainting.’
‘How did I get here? What happened?’
‘Someone found you both lying in the road and called an ambulance.’ Mum swallows. ‘What happened? Why were you even out last night? There was a riot just down the road. You could’ve been…’
The crowds, the shadow, the shouting and the crows, the lights and a gunshot.
‘I don’t know,’ I murmur.
While Mum speaks to the doctor, I open the notes app on my phone and type up everything I remember about the vision as well as one question.
Who is Brigid?
And then the only possible answer.
The girl in the visions.
Dr Atwal says I’m OK but I have low iron, which might explain the fainting (if only).
I get changed into some dry clothes Aunt Sheila brought from the house – a tracksuit of Cormac’s.
As Mum and I leave A & E, my gaze lingers on a policeman standing beside two men in their forties with shaved heads, one pressing a blood-soaked T-shirt to his forehead. The other glares at me and I look away.
Nanny Bet is waiting for us in the intensive-care waiting area. I avoid her eye. We sit in numbed silence until Sheila arrives with bags of crisps and a coffee for Nanny Bet.
Sheila kisses the top of my head and sits beside me.
‘You need to eat something, love.’ I set the crisps beside the untouched chicken sandwich she brought me earlier.
I’ve not spoken to anyone but Mum and a police officer since we got here.
I said that I was out walking and thought I spotted Dad and followed him, but then can’t remember what happened.
I think they believed me, but they’ve asked to speak to Mum alone.
We’ve had no news about Dad.
Could I have done anything differently? Why was he there?
Nanny Bet sips her coffee. I can’t look at her, but I know her eyes are on me.
The green car on that street where I found Dad – it was in that photo I took outside her house. The boring photo I thought was nothing at all was showing me what I needed to know this whole time.
Dad was in Belfast. Dad was at her house. She knew where he was.
Another fucking lie.
‘I’m going for a walk.’ I stand up.
‘Can I join you?’ Nanny Bet asks.
‘No.’ I don’t look back as I leave the room.
I welcome the cool night air as I step through the exit. The rain has stopped so I sit on a bench by the car park, away from the woman in a dressing gown who’s choking back tears as she smokes a cigarette.
My phone buzzes when I turn it on. There are a few messages.
Cormac: Ah cuz, I’m sorry. Need anything?
Paul: Shit, C told me what happened. U ok?
Meg: Call me
Nothing from Ben. But why would there be? Should I tell him?
He doesn’t care.
I can’t think of what to say to anyone right now. I set the phone down on the bench, pull up my legs and hug them. I push my fists into my eyes to block out the light, and the memory of the riot plays out in my mind. Dad in the middle of it, reaching out, being pulled into the shadow.
The Morrigan.
It must have been. What has she done to him?
I slap my head.
I squeeze my hands over my ears. I want this to be over. It’s too much to deal with.
And it’s all your fault.
A choked sound escapes as the thought lodges itself in my mind: if I’d not been up the mountain with Paul, I would have got there in time. I could’ve saved him.
‘Hey.’ Meg is crouching in front of me.
My throat aches too much to speak so I just shake my head.
She sits beside me on the bench and pulls her legs up beside mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. She smells like fresh grass. ‘You didn’t answer your phone so I called Cormac and he told me… I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks,’ I croak. ‘I…’ The words get lost in my throat. ‘I tried to call you, to ask you to go with me.’
‘I’m sorry. I was busy. We’ll talk about it later.’ She rubs my arm. ‘There’s so much going on.’
We sit on the bench for I don’t know how long.
Cars drive in and out of the car park. People pass us with faces etched in worry.
I see a man carry a sleeping toddler, his jaw set, and I stop my imagination from trying to work out what happened for him to have a child out of bed at this time of night.
My phone rings. Mum’s voice is stretched out like she doesn’t know what to do with her breath. ‘Come back up.’
Meg heads home as only family are allowed in intensive care. When I get to the waiting room, Sheila has her arm round Mum, whose skin is pale and eyes red and swollen.
My heart punches against my ribcage. ‘Is he…?’
Mum jumps to her feet. ‘No, no. Oh God, no. He’s…he’s not conscious, but he’s alive. Oh, love, I’m sorry.’ She squeezes me tight. Over her shoulder, I can see Nanny Bet with her hands clasped tight like she’s praying.
She’s hurting.
Good.
I flinch at the thought, but I’m not ready to feel sorry for her yet.
I let Mum guide me to a seat. She takes my hand in hers. ‘So they’re still doing tests, but they think he might’ve had an aneurysm.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a swollen blood vessel in the brain and…’ She takes a breath. ‘And when it bursts it bleeds and…’
The words are landing in my brain and I know this is big, but I feel nothing. ‘Will he be OK?’
Mum closes her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’
There’s a cough from across the room and I see that Sheila now has her arm around Nanny Bet. Nurses walk along the corridor outside, beeps sound from the nearby ward. I hold Mum’s hand as she cries beside me. I should be crying. Why can’t I cry? I text Meg to let her know what’s going on.
I’m starting to doze when eventually a nurse comes and says Dad is stable for now, and that we should go home and sleep. Nanny Bet and Mum refuse, but Sheila tells them firmly, ‘There’s nothing you can do here. You need your rest.’
Reluctantly they agree. We gather our stuff and the nurse gives us a bag holding Dad’s wet clothes. ‘We’ll call you if there’s any change.’
The drive home is silent. We drop off Nanny Bet first and before getting out of the car she reaches out her hand. Without thinking, I take it and squeeze.
When we get home, Cormac and Tommy are in the living room. They give us hugs and Sheila gives them an update as Cormac puts the kettle on. I sit on the sofa, holding on to Dad’s bag of clothes. I zone out as Tommy asks about aneurysms and how I found him. I’m exhausted and my nerves are frayed.
‘I’m going to bed.’
The walk up the stairs feels endless. I pause outside the bedroom and rest my head against the door.
‘Michael?’ Fiona is standing by her bedroom door in purple pyjamas. I should tell her to go to bed – it’s at least 2 a.m. – but before I can open my mouth she runs over and throws her arms around me.
I give her a hug. ‘Hey, hey. You should get some sleep.’
‘I wanted to make sure you’re OK.’
I nod. ‘I really needed that hug. Thank you.’
She kisses me on the cheek.
‘Go on to bed, now.’
Fiona rubs at her eyes. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘I know it’s hard. Just try, OK?’
‘But what about the crow?’
Cold air prickles around me.
‘What?’
Fiona opens her door and points a finger at her bedroom window. Her blinds are down, but the street lamp throws the silhouette of a crow against them. The bird taps once on the window and Fiona steps back towards me, her hand finding mine.
‘Can I sleep in with you and Cormac?’
We head into his room and she climbs into the bottom of Cormac’s bed.
I collapse onto my mattress, still clutching Dad’s bag of clothes.
Only when I hear Fiona’s gentle snores, do I start crying. And I don’t stop until I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.