I push my phone back in my pocket.
‘OK.’
Mum blinks. ‘OK?’
‘Yeah, I’ll see a doctor.’
She relaxes. ‘Good. Thank you. I know you don’t like going, but you have to take care of yourself.’
‘I know, sorry for worrying you.’
She pats my hand and I sink back into my seat. I shiver as a wave of nervous energy zigzags down my back. I’m trying very hard to not think about the woman, but that’s proving impossible. I’m pretty sure I’m deeply, irrevocably traumatised by what I experienced.
I turn in hope to my rational self. I saw that woman in a photo. I had a dream about her. Then a daydream. That’s all.
Except it wasn’t a daydream. I somehow recovered a memory of seeing a vision of theTitanic. Oh, and I was potentially able to telepathically convey what I saw to Meg. Then a black feather transported me to a plane of reality in which a banshee – what else could it be? – told me to remember what I was.
I can’t rationalise it.
Meg said someone was behind the visions. I think we’ve worked out who that is.
I shiver again.
‘You all right?’
I smile at Mum. ‘Yeah.’
‘Someone walked over your grave.’ She turns the car, not seeing my look of horror.
I text Meg.
We need to develop the photos
Agreed
‘Can you drop us at Meg’s, please? We’re going to start working on our project.’
Mum frowns. ‘Michael, no. You’re not well, and anyway Sheila’s getting chips in to celebrate Cormac’s job. Well done again, love.’
‘Cheers, Aoife.’
‘We can develop the photos tomorrow,’ says Meg.
Mum nods. ‘How’s the project going?’
My cheeks burn as I try to think of a good lie.
Meg clears her throat. ‘It’s proving interesting. A real journey of historical discovery.’
‘Great stuff.’ Mum beams. ‘I look forward to hearing all about it. Do you study history, Meg?’
Mum practically hyperventilates with joy when Meg says she’s doing it for A level. They launch into a chat about the syllabus. Meg is interested in Irish history, but worried about having to study too much about America.
Mum stops at a shop to get some drinks for Sheila and Cormac goes in with her. I turn round to face Meg. ‘Mum is obsessed with you.’
Meg smiles sweetly. ‘Adults love me.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
