‘Racist bastards,’ mutters Paul.
‘Or they could also be discussing the important topic of flags,’ says Cormac.
Everyone laughs at this and I join in without understanding. Flags – Union Jacks and tricolours – are another thing I’ll have to learn the full significance of.
Ellen plays some music on her phone to drown out the crowd and we enjoy the afternoon sun. Other groups of teenagers are sitting around too, and as I sink into the soundscape of Belfast accents I’m again hit with the reminder that I’m not on holiday. I live here now.
‘What A levels are you doing?’ asks Ellen, stroking Paul’s arm.
‘Art, sociology and English lit,’ I say.
Paul rolls on his side to face me. ‘I’m doing English too. We might be in the same class.’
I allow myself a brief daydream of us passing notes while studying tortured love poetry. ‘Cool.’
Cormac groans. ‘I’m so bored of my A levels already. Why won’t my da let me carry on doing drama? It was my best subject.’
‘That’s shitty,’ I say.
He lets out a long sigh. ‘Maybe I can still do it on the sly. Be discovered on the bus.’
‘Do you act on the bus?’ says Ellen.
He stands up and puts one hand on his hip, raising the other high. ‘I’m never off, darling! I’m the Meryl Streep of West Belfast!’
A couple of girls walking past giggle at him and he bows. ‘Thank you, ladies.’ He sits down. ‘You see? Fans everywhere.’
I give him a small clap. ‘Nice work. Sorry you can’t do it for A level.’
He shrugs. ‘I’ll just have to be a tortured artist.’ He lies back.
‘I’m doing art too,’ says Meg, adding green nail varnish to her thumb. ‘What’s your practice?’
This feels like an interview. ‘Well, I used to do photography.’ My stomach is heavy at the thought of my broken camera. ‘But now I sketch mostly. Charcoals. You?’
‘Bit of everything.’ She shakes her nails dry. ‘I need to buy some charcoals today. Wanna come with me?’
I glance at Ellen and Paul’s intertwined hands. ‘Definitely, yeah.’
‘We’ll maybe meet you after,’ Meg says as she stands. ‘Enjoy the shopping, Paul.’
Paul lies back on the grass with a groan and Ellen playfully kicks him.
Cormac grins at me. ‘Have fun, you two.’
We’re walking down what I think is an empty alley when Meg grabs my arm and pulls me towards a dark door.
She pushes it open and a wave of incense pulls us into a low-lit shop. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with books, bottles, jars, tarot cards, candles, stone statues and driftwood figures. Dried herbs hang at intervals between tinkling wind chimes. Tables offer trays of stones and crystals, more candles and incense.
‘This is the art shop?’ I ask.
Meg shrugs. ‘I get art stuff here. Hey, Lily.’ Behind the counter, a woman with wavy brown hair and a pierced lip smiles.
‘They love me here as well,’ says Meg. She heads towards a display of crystals and stones and runs her fingers over them. ‘So, you’re into Paul?’
I swallow. ‘What? No.’
She gives me a look. ‘Oh, please. You were like an actual kitten.’
