I shake my head.
‘Tell me, Michael. We’re here now. I want to know.’
‘A baby wrapped in a blanket. It’s so small.’ My mouth is dry, the words painful.
‘What’s she doing?’
‘How do you know it’s a girl.’
‘A guess.’
I suppress a shudder and look at the baby. ‘Her hand is reaching out, but she’s not moving any more. She has such small fingernails. Who would…? Why?’
Meg sniffs. ‘It happened. Unwed mothers would leave them here, hoping they’d get a proper burial.’
I’m willing that hand to move, for a finger to twitch, but I know it won’t. ‘I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to remember this.’
Meg lets out a breath. ‘I know.’
‘Then let’s go.’
‘No, take the picture. We have to remember her. Nobody else did.’
I don’t know if she’s talking about the baby or the mother.
‘Do it, Michael. Please.’ She clutches at her necklace and stares unblinking at the ground. My stomach twists. I pick up the camera and stagger to my feet.
Meg stays where she is, kneeling on the grass. She looks up at the wall in front of her, then her head drops back to gaze at the spot where the forgotten baby lay, like she can somehow feel its presence.
For a brief moment I see something above the bundle: a shift in the light, a shadow. I look around, hoping someone is coming to find the baby. But she remains alone.
I hold the camera in front of me and open the pinhole latch. I’m shaking, but I take a deep breath and press my elbows to the sides of my ribcage. I hold the camera in place until the light fades and all I can hear are the rustling of leaves in the trees and the sound of my friend’s laboured breaths.
‘Is it…? Is she gone?’ Meg asks.
‘Yeah. Are you OK?’
She lowers her head. ‘Can I have a sec?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be at the gate.’ I feel useless and heavy as I leave her. Is this what I’m going to have to see? Children dying, babies… Is this what Dad saw? Has he spent his life seeing ghosts everywhere? Watching people die?
No wonder he drank.
I walk back to the entrance, terrified of what else I might see. When Meg joins me, her eyes are red and she’s wiping mud from her hands.
‘Let’s go.’
Something is different. I swallow a lump in my throat when I realise.
Her acorn necklace is gone.
We walk in silence until we find a coffee shop and don’t talk until our drinks arrive.
Meg stirs her mint tea and sets down the spoon. ‘That’s why I’m not religious. Because it allowed men to create a world wherethathappened.’
I swallow. ‘I’d no idea.’
She sniffs. ‘This country, this land, is filled with babies like that. Taken from mothers by nuns. Terrified girls with the fear of hell weighing on them. Forced to…’
