Am I?
She kisses my cheek. ‘What happened?’
A memory hovers in my head but I can’t catch it. As I try to pin it down, it slips from my grasp.
‘I don’t know,’ I murmur. ‘I think I fainted.’ Mum frowns so I force a smile. ‘Should’ve eaten that muffin.’
She’s not convinced.
A gruff male voice calls out behind her. ‘Is the wee fella OK? Does he need first aid?’
Crap!
I notice the small crowd of people huddled behind Mum. Every atom of my being screams with mortification as I rally my muscles to get up.
‘Easy, Michael.’
‘Mum, I’m fine,’ I mumble as I stand.
The people start to shuffle away, but a few carry on gawking at me as a member of staff arrives, clutching a first-aid kit. ‘I heard someone collapsed. Is everything OK?’
‘I fainted. Didn’t have enough breakfast,’ I say before Mum can jump in.
He purses his lips. ‘Have you any existing conditions that could’ve caused this?’
I shake my head. ‘I just feel a bit shaky.’ I turn to Mum. ‘Can I get something to eat?’
She nods and rifles through her bag. ‘Let’s get you to the car. We’re docking soon.’ She has that look on her face like she knows I’m keeping something from her. She’s right, but even I don’t know what it is.
I take the muffin from Mum and follow her and the first aider. Before stepping off the deck, I glance back at the cloudy skies, dull sea and grey buildings of Belfast port.
Wait.
There’s a flicker of a memory. I had a headache then I saw something…
‘Michael?’
It snuffs out.
‘Sorry, coming.’
I lift my camera, trying to stop my hands from shaking. I take a photo of the approaching port, and as the shutter clicks a shiver runs through me.
What the hell just happened?
My headache returns as we drive off the ferry. A burst of light hits the docks through the rain, revealing some tourists huddled under an umbrella. Among them is a teenage girl in a yellow T-shirt, holding a Polaroid camera. I strain to look back as we drive on.
Rain peppers the window as we move along the carriageway and into the west of the city. We pass murals of gunmen, Irish and Palestinian flags and of Bobby Sands and other portraits of young men with the dates of their death. Ghostly faces painted on gable walls.
Every few minutes Mum asks how I’m doing.
‘Fine. Loads better.’
And I kind of am. I devoured the muffin as well as a protein bar she had in her bag and am feeling less shaky now, though I’m still spooked by the whole thing. I fainted once or twice when I was younger, but this feels different. I remember stepping onto the deck, but everything after that is a blur. Not like a total blackout. More like it’s been deleted.
Did something bad happen? I saw someone…
Stop! Reel it in.
