Chapter Twenty-Two
I throw the blankets off and get up. Dad’s bag of sodden clothes is on the floor. I put the air mattress away and take the wet clothes out of the bag. There’s a heavy thud as a ziplock bag falls out.
It contains his wallet, his phone and a burgundy leatherbound notebook.
The notebook he had as a teenager.
The phone is locked, but I have to take a moment when I see the photo on his screen. Me, him and Mum on Christmas morning. I’m eight, I think, and we’re all in matching onesies. Dad is wearing deer antlers and a red nose and I’m laughing at him. We’re so happy. It was a good day.
The notebook’s leather cover has protected the pages from most of the rainwater, but some are stuck together and look like they’ll rip. I’m able to see the first page though. On it is a name, underlined.
Brigid.
I can also see that many of the pages have been ripped out.
Nanny Bet?
I leave the notebook to dry on the windowsill and get ready.
Sheila tells me Mum and Nanny Bet have been at the hospital since seven and that Dad is still unconscious. I push away my annoyance at them for not waking me up. I probably needed the sleep. Sheila insists I eat a proper breakfast, then drives me down.
Mum and Nanny Bet are the only people in the waiting room. Mum has dark rings round her eyes and my nan has shrunk in on herself. I want to curl into them and feel safe, but when Nanny Bet looks my way a bitter taste burns my throat. She’s not getting my sympathy yet.
‘Any news?’
‘No, love.’ Mum stands and gives me a hug. ‘How’re you?’
I’m not quite sure how to answer that, so I shrug.
She squeezes my arm. ‘Me too.’
Nanny Bet wrings her hands and I have to dig hard to stay angry at her. I sit a few chairs away.
Aunt Sheila links Mum’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s do a tea run. Coffee, Bet? Michael?’
We both say no. I want to go with them, but I know it would look weird.
I take out my phone.
‘You shouldn’t have that on in here,’ says Nanny Bet, staring straight ahead.
I close my eyes and focus on my breaths, hoping she’ll leave me alone.
‘Michael.’
I lower my head. No.
She sighs, then her footsteps move towards me with a gentle tapping on the lino.
‘We need to talk.’ I open my eyes as she takes the seat opposite and pushes a loose strand of white hair behind her ears. There are cuts on her hands from the crows.
Was that really only yesterday?
I fold my arms. ‘How’s Fergal?’
‘Few stitches, but he’ll live.’ She bites her lip and takes a breath. ‘Son, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
My shoulders soften and I lean forward, into the part of me that wants to forgive her. ‘You lied to me.’
She nods. ‘And you lied to me.’
‘About having the photos on me? That’s because part of me knew not to trust you.’
‘The part that listened to that girl?’
I grip the edge of the plastic seat. ‘She was right about you. You stole my memories.’
She blinks. ‘I was protecting you.’
‘You had no right.’
‘I’m your grandmother. It’s my job to look after you.’
I stand up. ‘No, it’s my parents’ job to do that. Like it was yours to look after Dad.’
Nanny Bet flinches. ‘Michael, I—’
‘You stole his memories too, didn’t you? He had to hide his power from you. You told him to leave here and then—’ I take a step towards her – ‘then he came back to see you and you did it again. Didn’t you?’
She goes to say something then nods. ‘How did you know?’
‘There are pages missing from his notebook and I’d a vision outside your house of the car he’s been driving’.
She looks down at her hands. ‘I see.’
‘So you knew he was here all along?’
‘Yes.’
It’s like I’ve been punched in the stomach. ‘How could you not tell us? I’ve been so worried. I thought he was hurt.’
‘He made me promise not to say anything.’
I slump back in my chair. ‘Why?’
‘He’s searching for answers. Said it was something he had to do alone.’
‘Where’s he been?’
The fluorescent strip light casts a harsh glow on her face. ‘He’s only been in Belfast a few weeks. He came to see me when he arrived. Just once.’ I tut. ‘I swear I’m telling you the truth. He came, we argued and that was it. I didn’t see him again.’ She searches in her bag and pulls out a tissue.
‘I don’t believe you. Where the hell was he before that?’ A familiar coldness settles in my chest. ‘Was he drinking that whole time? Living in his car?’
‘No, no. He was sober. He said he was trying to get help before he came here. But he’s sick, Michael. He always has been.’
‘How can you say that about your own son?’
She looks like she might cry and the anger boils up inside me.
‘What memories did you take from him? What’s he looking for?’ I take a deep breath. ‘Is it to do with Brigid?’
Nanny Bet goes pale. Her eyes widen. ‘How…?’
‘Who is she?’
She shakes her head.
I focus on calming my voice. ‘I’ve seen visions of her – you saw the photo. Her name’s in Dad’s notebook. If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me the truth.’
‘She was…’ Nanny Bet glances at the door. ‘She was special to him.’
‘How?’
She stiffens. ‘That’s his story to tell, Michael. He—’
‘Well, he can’t tell me himself, can he?’ I shout.
The door opens and a middle-aged nurse with curly grey hair and a warm smile comes in.
‘Oh, Mrs Kenny, hello. We’ve freshened Jack up, if you’d like to come in.
’ She turns to me. ‘And you must be Michael. You’re the spit of your daddy.
I’m Orlagh.’ She places a hand on my shoulder. ‘Would you like to come see him?’
The anger has evaporated and my legs are shaking. I nod.
‘Now there’s a mask which is helping him breathe, and there are wires on his chest and arms that are monitoring him. It’s going to look scary and like he’s uncomfortable, but I promise you he’s not. Ready?’
I absolutely am not.
‘Yeah.’
‘Mrs Kenny, are you coming too?’
Nanny Bet looks to me as if asking permission. I shrug.
And with echoing footsteps, we follow Orlagh.
I can’t believe the man in the bed is my dad. He’s so small, the bits of his face above the mask are swollen with cuts and bruises and there are wires everywhere. He looks terrible.
I wasn’t ready.
Orlagh brings another chair over for Nanny Bet and we sit on either side of his bed. Nanny Bet takes his hand and at a nod from Orlagh I take the other one. It’s cold and I try to squeeze some warmth into it.
‘Look who’s here, Jack. It’s Michael,’ says Nanny Bet.
There’s no change in his expression. His eyes remain closed, his mouth sagging. I feel self-conscious, but I squeeze his hand again. ‘Hi, Dad.’
Nothing.
We sit like that for a while. It feels wrong to see him like this. He’d be so embarrassed. He’s alive but it doesn’t feel like he’s really here, which makes me want to cry, but I’m still mad at him for being here and not contacting me, which then makes me feel guilty.
It’s been six months and nothing. I let go of his hand.
‘I know it’s hard,’ Nanny Bet says, dabbing a tissue on her cheeks.
‘What happened to him?’ My voice is a hoarse whisper.
She scrunches up the tissue. ‘He pushed too far.’
‘What?’
Nanny Bet closes her eyes and mumbles something to herself. Then she says, ‘He refused to accept the past, always did. What happened to my Frank – your granda. Jack was never able to live with it. It drove him to distraction.’
I want to shake him. Wake him up and make him answer my questions. ‘Is that why he was back? To deal with it.’
Nanny Bet gazes at Dad. ‘I don’t think he knows how to deal with it.’
‘And you do?’
She lifts her chin, her eyes hard. ‘Don’t speak to me like that. You’ve no idea what I’ve lived through.’
I stand up. ‘That’s because you won’t tell me.’
She looks towards the nurses’ station and narrows her eyes. ‘Sit down.’
‘Fine.’ The chair squeaks as I sit and she flinches.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What was he doing back here?’
She’s quiet for a long time, but I don’t push her. Whatever the truth is, it won’t come from trying to force her.
She takes a deep breath. ‘He wanted to change the past.’
‘What?’ I check nobody is listening. ‘How? Why?’
‘To save a life.’
I look at Dad in the bed, so weak, so tired.
‘Whose?’ I hear the name in my head. ‘Brigid’s?’
She mumbles a ‘yes’.
‘Who was she?’ Nanny Bet closes her eyes and turns her head. ‘OK, fine. But how? Can we…’ I whisper, ‘change the past?’
‘No, we’re observers, storytellers.’ She looks at Dad. ‘But Jack…he was so frantic when he came to see me. He’d been reliving visions for weeks. He wasn’t himself, wasn’t making any sense.’
‘What did he say?’
She doesn’t move.
‘I’ve a right to know.’
Her eyes meet mine. ‘He said the visions were getting more vivid, more real. Like he could almost step into them.’
Oh shit.
‘He said he could hear things as clearly as if they were happening now. He was even able to smell the past. He said… He said the visions were starting to feel more real than real life.’
I think of approaching the towering light on Acre Street. It was like I was stepping fully into the past.
‘And he said that they were calling out to him to join them.’
‘The Morrigan?’
‘Yes. They were tempting him, torturing him. I guess he finally gave in.’
I sit heavily back in my seat. I picture the woman’s face in the photos. Her white hands reaching out to me, beckoning me. I hug myself.
‘So it’s happening to you too?’ says Nanny Bet.
I nod.
‘I was trying to protect you from them, from this. I wanted to stand up to her this time.’
‘What does that mean?’
She raises a hand. ‘You don’t get the right to know everything about me.’
‘I do if it affects me. That’s my dad.’
Her nostrils flare. ‘And he’s my son! You have no idea what it feels like to see him like this.’
‘Does it feel like guilt? Because this is on you.’
She jerks back like I’ve hit her. ‘Michael.’
‘You took his memories, you made him leave, you lied to him his whole life. All of this –’ I gesture to Dad – ‘is your fault.’
‘Everything OK?’ Orlagh is standing in the doorway.