‘I know.’ The pressure is building and voices whisper into the space. Shapes begin to appear in the light. ‘We need to get out of here so I can tell this story. They’ll let you go. They promised.’ I reach my hand out to Dad, but he shakes his head.
‘I can’t leave.’
‘You can’t stay here.’
Acre Street is appearing again. The shouts of the crowd pushing through the silence. ‘Come with me, quickly.’
‘No, they won’t let me. I can’t move from here.’
The memory is replaying.
‘What have they done to you?’
He turns his head. ‘I’m trapped. I’ve watched her die over and over again, hundreds of times.’
The noise gets louder. I see the shadows forming among the soldiers and cry out, ‘You said you’d let him go!’
The crowd roars louder, like the volume on a television being turned up. Dad covers his ears.
‘He wanted to see his sister again, to make amends,’ I shout.
The heat builds around me.
‘Let him go or I won’t tell the story. I’ll break the camera. I’ll walk away!’
A shadow forms before me. I see a glimpse of Meg, palefaced and terrible. ‘Do your duty.’
The shadow vanishes.
Dad smiles sadly then his eyes move behind me.
‘Brigid,’ he whispers.
My duty.
Our duty.
‘Dad.’ I put the camera away and take out his notebook. ‘Dad, tell me what you see.’
‘No.’
‘You have to. You have to accept what happened.’
He grips his head, squeezes his eyes. ‘I can’t do it. I don’t want to say goodbye to her. If I stay here, they’ll let me save her. I know it.’
‘You’re dying, Dad.’ He stops. ‘Your body is in a hospital bed and you’re dying. What about me and Mum? I need you, Dad. Mum needs you.’ He’s trembling. ‘None of this is your fault. It’s not Nanny Bet’s fault. It’s not your dad’s or Brigid’s. This is what happened. You can’t change it. You can torture yourself by reliving this nightmare or you can live your life.’ He shakes his head. ‘Dad, look at me.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘Your sister was killed and that’s awful and unfair and I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sosorry. But you’re alive and you have a family that love you. We want you back. But you have to accept what happened, you have to confront it. Not for me or Mum or Nan. For you. To move on. You deserve to live, Dad. You deserve it.’
A small sob escapes but he nods.
‘Tell me what you see. Tell me what happened that day.’ My pen hovers over the notebook, ready to write.
Dad clears his throat. His words are hoarse and cracked with pain. ‘My sister, Brigid. She was so angry.’
I write down his story.
Dad shouts over the noise of the riot. ‘She cried herself to sleep when people were killed, on both sides. She was filled with sadness and hate and she wanted to make a difference. She followed my da to a demonstration that turned into a riot. She’d told me to stay at home, that it was dangerous, but I—’
The crack of a gunshot sounds inside the vision. ‘The army fired rubber bullets.’ His voice breaks. ‘They always said they weren’t lethal, but she wasn’t the only one. She was killed almost instantly – the impact broke her neck.’ He lets out a wrenching moan as we watch Granda Frank run to Brigid’s side. ‘She died in my da’s arms. He never…’
