At first I was convinced I must have imagined it – until it happened again. After the operation they weren’t sure how much of my sight had been saved. When the doctor unfurled the bandages from my eyes, his jacket sleeve brushed my cheek. As soon as the material touched me, I saw an image of a bearded man in a reflection on a hearse window, his face pale and drawn. The man’s father had died and left everything to his new wife. My heart twisted with jealousy. I could almost taste the bitterness he felt. The doctor removed the last of my bandages and I blinked in disbelief – he was the man I had seen.

That night I lay awake, terrified I was losing my mind. I told myself I must have been hallucinating, even though deep down I knew it was real. The hospital psychiatrist came to see me, concerned how I was coping with my disfigured face, but I didn’t tell him anything. If he knew I can tell a person’s secrets just by touching their clothes, I wouldn’t be on a plane right now. I’d be listening to the ramblings of a straitjacket.

Brian takes out a book and cracks open the spine. Anyone who does that is not a good person as far as I’m concerned. It’s up there with cruelty to kittens and nose-picking in public. Yet I can’t help feeling sorry for him. If I touched his top again, maybe I could offer him some words of comfort. Something tells me his mother couldn’t help the way she was. I’m sure lots of mental illnesses went undetected in previous generations; nowadays she would be given medication. Like Mum.

Thinking about Mum makes my head pound. I turn my shoulder to Brian and snap the blind shut. His life is none of my business, and besides, what can I say that will make a difference? The past will always haunt him. Pain like that stays with you; it seeps out of your pores and into the fibres of your clothes, and nothing can remove the stain of a soul.

3

Wearing dark shades at night is a risky strategy, even if your eyesight is normal. People won’t see my horrible eye, but bouncing off walls and stumbling over toddlers is pretty much guaranteed to draw attention. Luckily Bodø ferry terminal is brightly lit. Not that I have to worry. Apart from the woman behind the kiosk across the hall, I’m the only one here.

I unscrew the cap of my Coke and the fizz sounds weirdly loud. There’s something creepy about busy places when they’re deserted, like a school at night with rows of empty desks, or a fairground with no blaring lights or music.