I wink at Paul.
Well, I try to. The frown on Paul’s face makes me think that I didn’t quite stick the landing.
Kill me.
I grab my phone. I’m about to tell Meg that I can’t measure the camera right now, but the most recent message isn’t from her. It’s from Ben.
Hows u?
My heart (or something more carnal) flutters, but then I remember he hasn’t responded to the last message I sent him. It’s the usual story. Ben ignores me, not wanting to actually acknowledge me until he wants something. I know how these messages start. ‘Hows u?’ leads to a series of mundane messages until he eventually gets up to nerve to say he’s horny and then…
Well, no. Not right now.Hecan be ignored for once. I set down the phone with a bit too much force.
Cormac scratches his head. ‘Who was that?’
My neck is hot. ‘Someone from back home…’
Paul raises an eyebrow. ‘An ex?’
Fuck it.
‘Yeah… They’re being annoying.’
Cormac leans over and pats me on the leg. ‘Ah, mate, forget about her. Sounds like a nightmare.’
The corner of Paul’s mouth raises. ‘Yeah,theydo.’ My stomach tries to escape through my belly button. ‘You good?’
I’m very conscious of my breathing. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Play the game. Maybe I can learn something.’
Paul sits back and hits start. As he gets himself in position, his knee touches my thigh. Neither of us moves.
‘Right, Cormac. Ready to get trashed?’
They play their game and I sit facing the screen, every bit of my attention focused on the straight guy’s knee on my thigh. Telling myself that it’s perfectly normal behaviour. Pretending I don’t know about his girlfriend.
It’s fine. I haven’t done anything wrong.
Yet.
Chapter Ten
Two days later I have everything we need to photograph the past, including a pack of photographic paper (7 × 5 inches) and a film bag for changing the paper while on the move, like a portable dark room.
The only problem is, I haven’t had any visions.
Meg taps the notebook with her pen. On it is a list of scribbled-out places we’ve tried today that might have something to do with Dad. Outside the secondary school he went to, different bits of the estate, a bar that he collected glasses in. We went back to the Europa Hotel too, but saw nothing. There was a riot following another anti-immigration protest in a town just outside of Belfast last night, so Meg suggested we didn’t go too far from the city centre.
We’re back sitting in Meg’s favourite cafe eating toasties, my feet aching from power-walking round Belfast.
‘Aren’t you worried about the fighting?’ I ask. ‘I heard there was a leisure centre burned down because evacuated refugees had been relocated there.’
She sighs. ‘It’s horrible, I know.’
I lean in. ‘Isn’t it scary? Like, should we be scared of the riots?’
Her smile is kind. ‘I think we’re just kinda used to it here.’
‘To violence or being scared?’
