I snicker.
‘I’m serious. This is your origin story. Are you going to be a superhero or a twisted villain? Please say villain. They’re much more interesting.’
‘Yeah, sure. I just need a camp accent and a secret lair.’
Meg waves her hand in the air. ‘Details, details.’
But she’s got a point. How am I going to use them? First of all, I need to process what’s going on. Objectively, this is a lot to go through in two days. The adrenaline is fading now and my legs are heavy.
After that, though, I know exactly what I need to do.
‘I’m going to find my dad.’
After a few minutes of internet research, Meg gives me a list of things we’ll need to order for the camera, starting with photographic paper and a red bulb for a dark room. She assures me we can use her bedroom. As we can’t afford the chemicals needed for developing pics, we find a YouTube video that says we can do it with mint tea, lemon juice, vitamin C tablets, salt and baking soda. I’m not convinced, but Meg seems confident, and before I go I promise I’ll get everything ordered tonight.
The kitchen is filled with the smell of bubbling bolognese and the red wine Mum and Sheila are drinking as they cook. They want to chat, but I need to find somewhere to hide the camera.
I walk through the living room, where a giant book of Irish myths and legends is propped on the sofa with two legs pokingout like the ill-fated Witch of the East. The book is lowered and Fiona narrows her eyes at me. I say hello but she carries on staring. Sweat prickles behind my ears.
Why am I so scared of this child?
I feel like I’m smuggling a great secret into the house. It’s Dad’s camera and I have to keep it safe for him. He was so upset in the vision – and scared. I hate that he had to carry that burden by himself. When, or if, he comes back, he won’t have to go through it alone any more. I can help him.
I pause halfway up the stairs. My hand quivers as I take out my phone and text him.
I know about the visions. I have
your camera. Call me. Please.
I allow myself a moment to hope for a reply. When nothing appears I thump the banister and carry on up to Cormac’s room. I need to stash the camera in my suitcase before he—
‘All right, cuz?’
My mouth dries out and I blink. Cormac is sitting on the floor against his bed with a game controller in his hand and sprawled beside him is Paul. In shorts. Paul is in shorts. Paul is in the room I sleep in and he is wearing shorts.
Shorts.
He grins. ‘Bout ye?’
I nod. ‘Yep, yep. All good. You?’
‘Aye, knackered. We had a kickabout after town.’
‘Oh yes. That explains the shorts.’
What in the name of fuck are you doing?
He laughs. ‘Aye, that’s why I’m wearing shorts.’
‘I knew it.’
Oh, well done. Case closed, Detective Dickhead.
Cormac laughs. ‘What’s up?’
I set my bag at the end of the bed. ‘Long day.’
‘Hard day working in the big city, making deals, breaking hearts. I get it,’ says Cormac.
