I think of that hand, wanting to be held, ‘I’m sorry I avoided taking the photo. I didn’t want to remember.’
She stares at me, unblinking. ‘Maybe that’s why you have this gift.’
‘Gift?’
She nods. ‘Yes. Why else would you see things like that? Secrets like that. Shame like that. Things people don’t want anyone to know. I think you’re meant to see those things, expose them, literally. Like, people should know about the things that are hidden away, the forgotten people.’
I place my hand on the bag, feeling a connection to the camera. ‘But what about my dad?’
‘I know you have to find him,’ says Meg, her voice soft, ‘but I think this is why you have your power. Maybe that’s why you can’t control it. Because you’re only meant to see certain things.’
This has been bothering me too. I’ve tried to make visions appear. At each place we visited earlier I focused, then tried not focusing. I took deep breaths. I googled the history of the place and tried to picture it in my mind. But nothing worked.
‘OK,’ I say, thinking back to the visions I’ve seen, ‘that makes sense. Well, as much as any of this makes sense.’
Meg sighs gently. Her eyes are still red. ‘So you don’t get to control what you see, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, in that case, what is controlling it?’
Dread traces a cold line across my shoulder blades. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Something is choosing to show you the past, Michael. We have to work out what it is.’ She smiles. ‘Or who.’
Chapter Eleven
I’m walking through the graveyard late at night. There are footsteps beside me. I turn to speak to Meg, but instead it’s her.
The woman looks like she did in the Blitz photo, but her head is bowed. Her dark red hair falls across her face, revealing flashes of alabaster skin that glows in the moonlight. I want to run, I try to run, but my feet move forward, in time with hers. Her long dress rustles the grass as we weave through the gravestones.
A baby cries out.
The woman freezes.
She turns to me, her brows furrowed.
A tear sparkles like a glass bead on her porcelain cheek.
Then she opens her mouth and screams.
I wake up sweating, unsure of where I am until Cormac’s soft snores bring me back to reality. The rest of the dream is fading, but the woman’s face lingers. The notebook with the photo of her is still in my bag, which sits near my head. I’ll put it somewhere else tonight.
It’s 2 a.m. Cormac would sleep through anything, but he has a job interview in the morning so I’m careful not to wake him up as I sit up against the wall.
I can’t stop thinking about what Meg said. Something or someone is showing me these visions and wants me to see the past. But why? I’ve seen a bombed hotel, my dad as a teenager inhis room, a random car outside Nanny Bet’s, my Granda Frank’s funeral and that poor baby in the graveyard. We chatted for ages yesterday about how they might be connected, but we couldn’t think of a thing. Today we’re hitting the docks to see if I get another vision there.
I reach for my phone and see that Ben has messaged me.
You good?
I curl up on the air mattress and check out his profile picture. It’s a gym selfie. He’s smiling at the camera and sticking up his index and little finger in a sort of ‘Rock on! Oh, and look, I have muscles’ vibe.
He does.
And he has a nice smile.
And his hands are—
