I nod politely at the old woman in the red coat. She gives me a warm smile despite the pinkness round her eyes and the handkerchief knotted in her fingers.
The light is beaming from the clouds like a massive spotlight and I can make out shadowy forms within it.
Fuck.
It’s a funeral
My fingers tremble as I message Meg and send a live location link. I can make out about six silhouettes, crowded around a grave. As I get closer, the pain in my head builds and a drumming sound echoes in my ears.
Rain.
I can hear it so clearly. I don’t remember hearing anything in the other visions.
I see it now, sheets of rain falling on the gathered people.
Meg texts.
On my way
The people in the vision are dressed in black. One has his arms raised, a priest. The pain intensifies as I open my backpack and pull out the pinhole camera.
The rain is so loud now that I look up to make sure I’m not going to get soaked, but I see blue skies all around the spotlight of the vision, with its grey rain and stormy skies. The people huddle together, faces lowered towards a coffin. Something is laid over it. Green, white and orange. An Irish flag, the tricolour. It flutters in the breeze, but is held in place by the pummelling rain. A bunch of yellow flowers rests in a puddle of mud on the next grave.
I raise the camera and pull open the shutter. There’s a tap on my shoulder.
‘Fuck!’
‘What you doing, cuz?’ says Cormac, following my gaze.
Shit. Can he see it too?
As I turn towards him, a needle of pain skewers me in the temple.
‘Um, just looking at something.’
Cormac steps up beside me. ‘What?’
I let out a breath. He can’t see the vision. ‘Just a sec.’
The light is fading. A woman with dark hair has her hands over her face. Beside her is a teenager in a long black coat, his dark hair pasted to his scalp. His head is lowered but I know it’s him.
Nanny Bet and Dad.
I stumble forward, gripping the camera. The light is fading as I get closer. The coffin is being lowered into the grave by two men in black jackets. I focus on Dad, my urge to see him stronger than caring about how I look to Cormac.
The light fades before I reach him. The rainfall stops and I’m standing by a grave in the sunshine.
‘Mate, what’s going on? Why are you…?’ He clocks the grave. ‘Oh yeah, of course.’
The name on the gravestone reads Francis Emmanuel Kenny.
‘Granda Frank,’ I say.
‘You want some space?’ says Cormac.
I shake my head. ‘No, no, all good. I just… I’ve not been here before, to his grave.’
Cormac nods and we stand side by side. I replay the vision in my head. The coffin with a tricolour on it. Was that normal? My nan and dad huddled in the rain and the few other people standing around.
