I throw my hands up in the air. ‘Yeah, is that so bad? Isn’t it enough that I can fucking see the past without some weird bloody telepath shit going on too?’
Meg snorts. ‘Michael, you’re not normal!’
Excuse me!
‘It’s why I like you.’ She leans in. ‘Even without the magic. You’re a queer fella with an English accent living in West Belfast.And, yes, admittedly that is spiced up by your new magical abilities, but you’re not normal. You’re awesome.’ She takes my hand. ‘I know it’s a lot, but you’re OK as you are. You hear me?’
I swallow. ‘Yeah, I just…’
‘I know it’s hard. I get that and I’m here for you, but don’t tell me what I experienced. Mansplaining is a bad colour on you. I felt what I felt. It was real, Michael. Something happened tomethis time and I need you to believe me.’ She looks down. ‘Please.’
Guilt hits me in the stomach. ‘Sorry, I believe you.’
‘Thanks.’ A breeze catches her hair and I take in the salt of the sea air.
‘Were you scared?’
Meg lights up. ‘No, I loved it. Can we try it again? What else do you remember?’
I close my eyes. ‘Just what I told you – the ship plus the seagull and that feather. I don’t know what they’re about.’
Meg bites her lip. ‘Do it like before. Close your eyes and picture the seagull.’
She’s not going to take no for an answer. I take a deep breath and hold her hands.
‘Hey, hey.’ Cormac and Paul are standing a few feet away. Paul’s eyes flick down and I let go of Meg’s hands.
‘Hi, boys,’ she says.
‘All right,’ says Paul with a frown.
‘Hey,’ I say, swallowing the awkwardness. ‘How was the interview?’
‘Smashed it, of course. They’ll let me know,’ says Cormac, smiling. ‘What’ve you two been up to?’
I turn to Meg for an answer.
‘Oh, you know, just making memories. Shall we?’ She heads towards the museum and Paul follows.
‘Were you holding hands?’ says Cormac as we trail behind them.
‘Yes, but just as friends,’ I say.
‘You’re a dark horse, cuz.’
I whisper. ‘Oh, you have no idea.’
I’m not sure where that surge of confidence came from, but the shock on Cormac’s face was totally worth it.
Chapter Thirteen
The museum is rammed and we find ourselves swept up in the steady stream of tourists. After a few minutes’ chatting with Cormac and Paul, I pull Meg aside, next to a display about the linen mills that supplied materials for theTitanic.
‘We need to talk about what happened,’ I say.
She grins. ‘I know. I have the strangest feeling.’
‘What?’
