We walk to the end of the street and she lets out a breath. ‘I’m sorry…for everything.’
I put my arm round her. ‘It’s time to move on, right? No more grudges, no more secrets.’
She leans into me. ‘Agreed. The filí báis have shit to do.’
Epilogue
A notification pings. Someone has left a comment on the blog. I scan the title and opening paragraph again, hoping there are no typos.
THESONG OFBRIGIDKENNY
My eyes are drawn to the main image. It’s a grainy Belfast street scene in 1987, filled with people shouting. A teenager stands in the middle of the road, her fists raised, staring directly at a camera she cannot see. Behind her stands a paleskinned woman. They make a powerful pair.
The photo looks good. The scanner Tommy and Sheila got me for my birthday is brilliant.
I scroll down to the comments.
Ben Taylor:This is amazing mate! Nice work
I like it, and before I can overthink it I type:
Thank you mate
Because why not? Maybe I need more mates.
There’s a rap at the door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
Mum casts an eye over the wall and the photos I’ve framed. Her gaze settles on the box I have yet to unpack but she says nothing. We’ve been in the new place for a month, renting until Mum finds something she wants to buy. I suspect she’s waiting on Dad to get better so they can look together.
She squeezes my hand.
‘Can I read it?’
I place my other hand on hers. ‘Yeah, though don’t tell me if you hate it.’
She snorts. ‘Hardly.’ She leans over my shoulder and her breath catches as she reads. ‘Oh, Brigid.’ She sighs. ‘I’m sorry I never told you about her. Your nan and dad didn’t want to…’
‘I know.’
‘She was like a big sister to me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks, love. It’s a brilliant piece of writing. They’ll love it.’ She clears her throat. ‘Are you ready?’
I let out a deep breath. ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ I reach for the pinhole camera and we head for the car.
‘Shit,’ I whisper as we pull onto the street.
‘Is it a vision?’ asks Mum. She took the revelation pretty well. Dad had told her he’d seen things when they were teenagers. When they moved away he told her he’d been joking, that he’d been unwell. But she never forgot.
I’ve kept my promise to her – no more secrets.
Well, besides one. Paul is waiting outside Nanny Bet’s house. I scratch at the heat on my neck. We’ve not spoken for a few weeks.
‘Did you invite Cormac’s friend?’ says Mum.
