Page 66 of Heart of the Wren
My belly turned ice cold even as blood pounded loudly in my ears. “I've been thinking about what you said about patterns. Ghosts and gods. How they relive the same patterns, over and over. The same loops. The same cycles.”
With his fingertip, Dara drew circles in his palm. “The witches’ goddess as the moon, moving through phases as maiden, mother, and crone. Persephone journeying to the underworld at the start of every winter and re-emerging every spring. Ra, as the sun, being born and dying every day.”
“A ghost nun walking down the same hallway and lighting the same candle. A farmer working the same fields.” I lay my hands on the windowsill, peering out. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and it’s why I wanted to talk to you. I feel so guilty, its eating me up. You’ve been on the road for basically your entire life and now I’ve…” I rubbed my face. “Now I’ve dangled a home in front of you only to — maybe — snatch it away?”
Dara sank into himself. “You’ve changed your mind about me.”
I spun in an instant and dropped to my knee. “No!” I took Dara’s hand. “No. Not that. Never that. I’m not doing this properly. I’ve never had to… I don’t have any practice at this. I want to sell the farm.”
Dara scratched his cheek. “And move into town?”
I shook my head. “I want to go with you.”
“Where am I going?”
My shoulders dropped. “I’m still not explaining myself properly… When Carol and Eddie go to England, I want us to go with them. You and me. In your van. We can drive them to the ferry, bring them across to Essex, and then you and I can go… wherever. Anywhere. Everywhere.”
Dara narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious? What about the farm?”
“When I was telling Pat about the brooch, he mentioned his daughter and son-in-law. They’ve lost their jobs. So, Pat wants to help them out. He wants to buy my farm and give it to them. He’s afraid of them emigrating, like his other children. He wouldn’t say it, of course, but I’ve known him a long time. A long time.”
“You’re actually going to sell it?”
“I think it's the best thing to do. Dad wanted it to stay in the family but either it gets sold after I die or it gets sold now. Either way, it ends with me.” He held his arms wide. “All of this ends with me. I’m the last Fitzgerald who will ever live on Twin Bridge Farm. And if I stay here, even with you, even with your help, the stress of this place will be the death of me. I don’t want to be here. I’ve been holding onto it, holding on to the past but… I need a change. I want to see the world the way you see it. And if I can’t keep the farm in the family then at least it can go to a friend.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “But we don’t have to do it. If you want to stay, we can. We can make a go of it here. I want to give you a home.”
“And I want to show you the world outside your door. Or as much of it as the van can manage,hah! We can have a home later. If you don't get sick of me by then.”
“You’ll be stuck in a van with me and my dogs. It’ll be cramped. You might get fed up with me first.”
“I'm willing to take the chance.” He hugged me. “This place is beautiful. It’s a home. But it’s a home because it’s where you are. And even if we do it, even if we go travelling, it doesn't have to be forever. You were going to buy a small house in the village, you can still do it later on. But we can travel around England first. And Scotland. Wales is amazing, so many ancient castles we can explore, so much history we can try to experience, like at Ross Castle. Ooh and there's this lighthouse I’ve heard of that's meant to be cursed and—”
I set my finger on his lips. “I’d love to go sightseeing but let’s not go chasing any more supernatural weirdness. Not for a while, at least.”
“You know it’s part of who I am, though?”
“I know.” I kissed him. “And I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”
Chapter 38
26TH JANUARY 1986
County Kerry, Ireland
LORCAN
Sitting in my living room, I flicked through the paperwork in the blue morning light of late January. Pat had done his inspections. He understood the condition the farm was in. His daughter and her husband had poked around the place. They had some experience of farm work and I felt sure they’d be able to cope. They were keen to get startedon renovating the farmhouse. They talked about knocking down walls and changing room layouts. They even planned to demolish my greenhouse, which stung my heart. I had to steel myself. Selling the farm meant letting it go and letting a new family make their mark on it.
The museum archaeology team spent two weeks pouring over the top field. They found nothing else of any interest, which I have to admit I was pleased to hear. I didn’t know how Clíona would react to them removing anything else from her hill. They paid for the brooch fairly quickly and I had the comfort of knowing Dara and I had the money to fall back on. I sold my furniture and most of my belongings too. I expected most of it would end up in a skip but oddly, once I sat back with the paperwork in my hand, I found I didn’t mind. Hardly anything in the whole house was actually mine. It had all been passed to me, as much a burden as an heirloom. I kept a handful of books, including the one Dara had given me, of course. Also, a box of photographs, my best clothes, and one small spider plant in a bone white pot.
Standing under the eaves where Dara had nailed up the horseshoe, I watched him on his haunches by his van, deep in conversation with a cat. I thought of the first time I’d opened my door to him, just over two months ago. Lank hair, scruffy clothes, and a smile to light up any room. His clothes were clean now, and ironed too. His hair had grown out after his session with my sheep clippers and sat neatly combed into a side parting. He was, I thought now as I’d thought when we’d first met, quite the most handsome man I’d ever seen.
As I approached, the cat — the black one with the white tuft of fur like a crescent moon — raised its tail and sauntered away.
“I wanted to give you space to say goodbye,” Dara said.
