The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley

Even as he asked the question I think he knew that I didn’t and hadn’t for some time. Priests are like doctors. They know that people lie about the things they think will disappoint them.
    We came to the Panzer and Father Bernard laid his hand against the rock and felt its texture. He ran his finger up a long crack and picked at a clod of moss, teasing the fibres of it between his fingers.
    ‘God understands it’s not all plain sailing, you know. He allows you to question your faith now and again,’ he said, looking closely at the fossils, the tiny bivalves and ammonites. ‘Come on now, mastermind, what does it say in Luke fifteen?’
    ‘Something about lost sheep?’
    ‘Aye. See, if you can remember that, sure you’re not damned for all eternity just yet.’
    He moved around the rock, feeling for hand holds and pulling himself up onto the top. He put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the view, then something under his feet caught his attention.
    ‘Hey, Tonto,’ he called down. ‘Come up here.’
    He was on his knees, paddling his fingers in a hole full of water. He looked at my puzzled expression.
    ‘It’s a bullaun,’ he said. ‘We had one on the farm when I was a wee boy.’
    He looked at me again and took hold of my hand, pressing my fingers to the edges of the hole.
    ‘Feel that?’ How smooth it is? That’s not been made by water. It was cut by a man.’
    ‘What’s it for, Father?’
    ‘They made them hundreds of years ago to collect rain. They thought the water was magical if it didn’t touch the ground, you see.’
    He stood up and dried his hands on his coat.
    ‘My granny used to make the cows drink out of the one in our field,’ he said. ‘And if I ever had a fever, she’d take me down there and wash me in it to make me better.’
    ‘Did it work?’
    He looked at me and frowned and gave a little laugh. ‘No, Tonto, it didn’t,’ he said.
    He climbed down and I was about to do the same when I noticed the Land Rover parked on the road down below. I could tell it was Clement’s by the cross painted on the door, though Clement wasn’t inside.
    The two men in the front had their faces turned towards me, though it was hard to tell whether they were staring at me or Moorings or the woods behind. Whatever they were looking at, it was clear even from this distance that it was the two men Father Bernard had asked for help the day before. The one built like a bull and the one with the dog. Parkinson and Collier.
    ‘What do you think those noises were last night, Father?’ I asked.
    ‘Between you and me,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t hear a thing.’
    ‘But you said it was farmers.’
    ‘It was a wee fib.’
    ‘You lied to them?’
    ‘Ah come on, Tonto, I was just trying to reassure them that they weren’t going to get murdered in their beds. Are you coming?’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    I looked back at the Land Rover and after a moment the driver set off in a plume of steel coloured smoke.
    ***
    Hanny was still asleep when I got back. Mummer hadn’t yet forgiven him and the effort of rousing him and getting him dressed and nursing his headache was too much for her to cope with. So she allowed him to stay in bed while they went off to church for The Blessing of the Oils and The Washing of the Feet. It wasn’t an integral part of his preparation for the shrine and he would only spoil it if he came.
    ‘But don’t let him lounge around all day,’ said Mummer, looking up the stairs as they were all leaving.
    ‘Keep out of mischief,’ Farther added as he plucked his flat cap from the peg and helped Mr and Mrs Belderboss out.
    I watched them go and when I closed the front door and turned around, Hanny was standing at the top of the stairs. He had been waiting for them to leave too. Now we could go down to the beach at last. We could leave their world and find ours.

Chapter Eight
    S ince we had decided to come back to Moorings, I had rehearsed the journey down to the beach many times,