‘Shit.’
Meg leans over. ‘Wait, how could that have happened?’
‘I can’t remember, that’s the problem.’
‘Any joy?’ Nanny Bet calls from the garden.
‘No,’ Meg says as she takes the camera. ‘I don’t get how the memory card could break like this. Where’s the other half?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe I dropped it on the path.’
‘Shall we look for it?’
I take the camera back and throw it in the bin. ‘No point. It’s unusable.’
Meg pats my arm and I try not to pull away. ‘Don’t worry about it. The analogue camera will work much better.’
Dad’s old room is taken up by a double bed that I don’t imagine he had growing up. Other than that, there’s a pine wardrobe and matching chest of drawers. Three of the walls are painted blue and one is black. An act of teenage expression from Dad presumably.
I drag a large plastic box out from under the bed. I check for dust, but it’s spotless. Nanny Bet must still clean in here. Guilt squeezes my chest as I picture her getting it ready for someone. I will stay over soon, I tell myself.
I sit with Meg on the bed as we go through the box. There are three cameras, one of which looks ancient. They’ve all beentaken good care of and I’m sure they work. In among them are a few flashes and rolls of unused film.
The familiar ache settles in my limbs as I picture Dad in this room as a teenager. Did he always have the sadness or addiction or whatever it is that’s wrong with him? What made him like that?
‘These are class!’ says Meg, bringing me back.
‘Yeah, will any of them work, do you think?’
She taps her acorn necklace. ‘Only one way to find out. Let’s take them all and head back to the Europa.’
I nod. ‘Yeah, let’s go. I—’
The pain stabs like a needle at the back of my head as light fills the room. The scent of rain and iron washes over me.
‘Oh, wait!’
‘What is it?’ Meg’s now a silhouette as the light shines behind her.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then blink, trying to focus. ‘I’m having a vision. Now!’
Meg opens the back of a camera. ‘I’ll get a film. What do you see? Describe it.’
The light illuminates the room, but it’s no longer blinding me. Instead it’s like the room is lit up for a photoshoot. I can see the wardrobe, the street through the window and Meg checking for batteries in a camera.
The bed.
Sitting on the bed is my dad as a teenager. It’s so weird, like some AI video. He has long hair, straight and dark, that hangs over pale skin with traces of acne. His thumbs poke out of frayed holes in a black long-sleeved T-shirt.
Instinct pulls me towards him.
‘Oh shit. It’s my dad. I can see him.’
Hear me, Dad, see me. Please.
He’s oblivious. He’s a memory. Sitting in his room over twenty years ago.
‘What’s he doing?’ Meg lifts a camera and clicks a button. ‘This isn’t working.’
