Page 41 of Heart of the Wren
I drove into the village and parked outside the shop. With any luck, Mrs Murphy wouldn’t be serving today.
“Good afternoon, Lorcan.” She hovered behind her counter, ready to watch every move I made.
My heart sank. I gave serious thought to driving to one of the shops in Castleisland or even Tralee. Instead I searched among the jumbled shelvesof washing powder and jars of toffee pennies.
“Anything I can help you with, Lorcan?”
I clenched my teeth. “No, thank you, Mrs Murphy.” I picked up a few packets of shiny plastic discs, some tinsel, and a string of lights.
Taking my items to the counter, she picked through each one. “It’s a bit late to be decorating for Christmas, isn’t it?”
I pointed behind her. “I’ll have one of those garlands as well, please.”
She stepped backwards as though afraid to turn her back on me.Ecce Homo, the painting of Jesus which had always hung on the door into the post office, now took pride of place on the shelving unit behind her. Right in the eyeline of every customer.
“Where’s Mr Murphy today?” I gestured to the empty stool in the corner. He wasn’t too bad and sometimes he minded the counter. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of GAA and was only too keen to share it with anyone who’d listen.
She started ringing up on her till. “He’s up with his sister. She’s absolutely beside herself. She’s after finding out her nephew from England has been courting Carol Dolan.”
“Sure where’s the harm in it?”
She stopped pressing buttons. “Where’s the harm? You know what them boys from England are like. Sure didn’t Michael Joy’s own sister run off with a Black man from England after getting pregnant?”
I wasn’t sure which part was the worst crime in her eyes and I didn’t ask.
“The boy’s parents sent him here to keep him out of trouble and now he’s…”
“He’s what?”
She sniffed. “Well, we don’t know what. And there’s the problem. He could be getting up to anything. You know what his sort are like.”
I slammed my money on the counter with more force than I intended. I took my purchases and left.
Chapter 25
DARA
THOUGH ONLY late afternoon, darkness had set in by the time I got back to the farm. I all but ran through the farmhouse, shouting for Lorcan. I bundled into the living room. Shiny gold, chrome, scarlet, and emerald garlands hung from each corner of the ceiling and met at the light fitting in the centre. On one wall, a foil, copper-coloured banner made up of individual strands hanging from a length of ribbon read in bright, red letters, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” On the chimney breast hung a fat string of tinsel and on top of the television stood a tinsel tree. Barely two foot high andshiny silver, Lorcan was still hanging baubles on it. “I wanted to get it all done before you came in.”
Blinking fairy lights hung over the mantelpiece and a sprig of fresh holly with lush red berries adorned the mirror on the chimney breast. I admired it all with bright eyes and a joyful smile. A pagan and a witch I may well have been, but nothing made my heart sing like the trappings of Christmastime.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it. What made you change your mind?”
He sat in his chair and rubbed his legs. “I wanted to brighten the place up.”
“Here, look.” I sat on the wide arm of his chair. “Look what I found.” I opened a book and flicked through the pages. “I knew there was something about those birds. I knew I’d read something about them years ago and here it is. Look.” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “A queen of the banshees, the goddess Clíona had in her company three birds. She is associated with the oldest families of Munster, such as the O’Donovans, the O’Collins, the MacCarthys.” I paused and grinned at Lorcan. “And the Fitzgeralds.”
Lorcan frowned and read the words as my finger traced along beneath them. “What are you telling me?” he asked. “A goddess is throwing birds at my window?”
I got up. “Yes! It feels right, doesn’t it? Look, one of the translations of her name is Cleena! As in Tullycleena —Tulla Clíodhnain Irish. Clíona’s Hill. It’s all part of the same pattern. There is no random chance in magic,only synchronicities. What you might call meaningful coincidences. It’s all light through a prism. Same source, multiple outcomes. You dug up a brooch — her brooch, presumably — and annoyed her, especially considering your family connection.”
“Well, at least it isn’t fairies, I suppose,” Lorcan said. “But I gave the brooch back. I put it right back where I found it. I even said ‘sorry’.”
My hands dropped to my sides. “Well, yes, you did, and it should have put an end to things…” I flopped onto the couch and flicked through the book again, searching for more answers. After a minute or two, my ears began to burn. I clamped the book shut. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. After the match, I mean. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Especially not in your own home after you were… after you were so kind to me.”
Lorcan picked at some fluff on his armchair. “I didn’t like it.”
