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Back The Ghost Factory Save as PDF
Chapters (38)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Contents
  6. Part One
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. Part Two
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. Part Three
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. Acknowledgements
  37. About the Author
  38. About the Publisher

Then I got it. It was a long time since I had last seen that face, but I was pretty sure now that it was the adult incarnation of bleached-blond Gerard, my neighbour from the hospital ward.

I went back and reread his quotes. A ‘childhood accident’. You can say that again, with baseball bats in it. I felt a surge of pride in him, for tying a bandage over his past and carrying on, armour-plating himself in success.

Who would have thought he’d get so far? It’s the fashion now to applaud people who publicly confront their old tormentors, dragging them through court cases and giving the spectators in the gallery a good show. That takes courage, sure, but it’s not for everyone. Sometimes when you’ve looked hatred in the eye you just want to sprint away, far enough to stop it from ever touching you again. You don’t want to say its name out loud, even softly under your breath, in case it somehow hears and suddenly bounds back towards you, fast and fierce as a cheetah. You have to get your own back just by living.

A bit of me wanted to contact Gerry though and say: hey, remember me from back then? Well done you, the pair of us didn’t turn out so badly after all. I worried that I would just be poking about in the past, pulling apart his carefully tied bandage, but on the other hand I really wanted to see him. So I looked up his agent’s address online and wrote him a note marked ‘personal’. On the way to the café one bleak morning I threw it into the mouth of the postbox like someone pitching a bottle into the sea.

I had thought about the note carefully. It didn’t say too much, just in case anyone else read it.

Dear Gerry, I read an interview with you the other day and I was wondering if you are the Gerry who was in the bed next to me in the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast way back in 1995. If so, I’m glad you’ve done so well. If you ever want to come by and say hello I own a café called Two Shots in Noonan Street in Soho and I’m usually in there in the daytime. If I don’t see you then all the very best and keep up with the music, Jacky.