‘No. Just been feeling a bit dizzy today. Don’t tell her. I don’t need a lecture.’
Cormac frowns. ‘All right, if you’re sure? I don’t want to get in trouble with your mummy.’
People here say mummy no matter how old they are.
‘I’m sure.’
He smiles. ‘If you wanted me to carry your stuff you should’ve said. No need for the dramas. This is West Belfast, not the West End, daahling.’ He lifts my suitcase and heads into the house.
I make a mental note to google ‘seeing flashes of light’.
No. Actually, I won’t be doing that.
Whatever the hell is going on, I’m not going down a Dr Internet rabbit hole. What if it comes up with something serious? What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I’m like Dad?
I shake that thought from my head. I amnothinglike Dad.
‘Michael, love, how do you take your tea?’ Sheila calls from inside.
I roll back my shoulders and head into my new home.
After the first cup of tea of the day – I know from experience there will be many more – Cormac and I are sent up to unpack. Tommy and Sheila’s house is a three-bed. I’m staying in Cormac’s room and Mum is in with my little cousin Fiona.
I definitely got the better deal. TV and PS5 opposite the bed. Small desk, with a handful of books and an impressive Lego castle set, complete with dragon, on the shelf above it. My admittedly very comfortable-looking inflatable bed is propped against the wall.
Cormac leaves me to put my clothes away and Fiona uses this as the opportunity to grill me. Last time I saw her she was a shy five-year-old. Now she’s nine and four foot nothing with ginger curly hair, but with the energy of a forty-year-old coffee-fuelled journalist trying to crack her next big story.
‘Why are you living here now?’
‘We’re house-hunting.’
‘You going to the same school as Cormac?’
‘Yes, for my A levels.’
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Why do you talk funny?’
‘My accent? That’s because I come from London. We’ve met before, you know.’
‘OK. Where’s Uncle Jack?’
‘He’s still in England.’I think.
‘Are you poor now?’
‘FIONA!’ Sheila swoops in. ‘Go and help Aunty Aoife unpack.’
Fiona narrows her eyes, letting me know that this interrogation is far from over. She stomps into her room and starts directing Mum.
‘Right, now,’ says Sheila. ‘Do you have everything you need – jammies, toothbrush, deodorant? You’ll have to make up the bed later. Do you know how?’
‘Yep.’
‘Of course you do. Sorry, I have to remember you’re not a wean. Well, Cormac can give you anything else you need. Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes. Get yourself settled.’ She gives me a hug. ‘And welcome home, son. Glad to have you.’
