‘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.
