Page 20 of Heart of the Wren
Knock at the knocker and ring at the bell,
Give us a copper for singing so well?”
“I don’t know this version,” I said.
“There are loads of different variations, all over the country,” Lorcan said. “This is the one we used to sing when I was little. Our teacher pieced it together because I wasn’t very musical so she had to make an easy version for me. Bullseye still teaches it to this day.”
“For we are the boys that came your way,
To bury the wren on St Stephen’s Day.”
When the song reached the end, the children started again, from the beginning.
“What isfurze, anyway?” Carol asked.
“It’s another word for gorse,” I said. “You can wear a piece of it to prevent you from getting lost while travelling. I always keep some in the van.” I’d said it without thinking.
Lorcan glared at me. Carol didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong in what I’d said as she didn’t react at all.
Bullseye sat at his desk by the chalkboard.
Lorcan took it as our cue to leave.
Chapter 12
LORCAN
THE FIGURE at the treeline ducked lower. It appeared to be a boy — young, with a small build — but there was something spiky on his head. I almost shouted but when I looked again it might have been a bush. Though still chilly, the sun was splitting the skies. Tall, evergreen trees — snow-capped, their branches sagging — edged the uneven top field. Michael had gone into the village and Eddie was in the sheep shed, so I led Dara to a spot in the shade of the solitary mature holly tree. “I dug it up around here.”
“Aroundhere or here?”
“How exact do I have to be?” I searched for any sign of disturbed soil but the rain and snow made it impossible. I drew a circle in the air. “It was this sort of area, I’m sure of it.”
Dara dug his spade into the earth. After a few moments, he stopped and pointed to the treeline. “I thought you said children never come up here? I could swear I saw someone over there.”
“I thought the same but it’s those bushes, they play tricks with your eyes.” Nevertheless I scanned the treeline again.
When he’d dug a hole deep enough, Dara carefully removed the brooch from its covering and laid in the ground.
“We are sorry to have disturbed you and ask your forgiveness. Come on, Lorcan.” He gestured to the ground.
I had been adjusting myself so I’d only been half listening. I took my hand out of my trousers. “What?”
Dara kept his voice to a whisper. “You dug it up, so you have to apologise.”
“To who?”
“The earth. The air. The wind. The spirits. The fairies. The gods and goddess of the land. Whoever. Just apologise.”
I shuffled from foot to foot and coughed. “For feck sake… Alright. Fine. I’m sorry I dug up your ancient jewellery from my own feckin’ farm.”
Dara stared at me. “Like you mean it.”
I huffed and threw my head back. “I’m sorry!” I bellowed at the top of my voice. “I apologise wholeheartedly and unreservedly.”
Dara popped the lid of a jar of honey and carefully let one big dollopdrop out onto the soil.
“Here,” I said, “that’s my good honey! I’ve been saving it.”
