Andrew Hurley - The Loney

‘It seemed fitting,’ she said.

Everyone drew one from her hand. Clement was last and looked around the table before taking one for himself.

‘Now,’ said Mummer, ‘let’s see.’ And everyone placed their leaves down on the table.

Clement had drawn the shortest.

‘What does that mean?’ he said.

‘It means,’ said Mummer, trying to hide her disappointment that he of all people had won. ‘That you get to throw Judas on the fire.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Choose one of the balls on the cake,’ said Farther, leaning towards him. ‘And toss it into the fire.’

Clement looked at the cake and then at the fire churning in the grate.

‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘Someone else can do it.’

‘But you’ve won,’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘Aye,’ said Clement. ‘But I’d rather not.’

‘It’s only a bit of fun,’ Father Bernard said.

‘Go on, son,’ said Mr Belderboss, plucking one of the marzipan balls from the cake and handing it to him.

Clement looked at the thing in his hand and then, holding it as though it were a delicate glass marble, he edged his chair back across the stone floor, stood up and went over to the fire. He glanced back at the table and then tipped his hand and sent Judas into the flames. Everyone clapped and for the first time Clement managed a smile. Albeit a self-conscious one that made him run his finger round the inside of his collar.

‘What was that?’ Miss Bunce said through the applause. She half stood up, holding onto the table. The clapping died away and we sat in silence listening to the rain pummelling the yard outside.

‘What’s the matter, dear?’ Mrs Belderboss said.

‘Shh,’ said Miss Bunce.

A screeching noise came from outside.

Hanny gripped my hand under the table. Everyone turned to look at the window. But there was nothing to see, only the rain beating down.

‘Owls,’ said Mr Belderboss, picking up the cake slice and handing it to Mummer. ‘I’ll just have a small piece.’

‘No, no, it’s not,’ said Miss Bunce.

‘It was owls,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘Barn owls, if I know anything.’

The noise came again, closer this time. The shriek of something in agony.

‘You might be right, Reg,’ said Farther. ‘It certainly sounded like a barn owl.’

Everyone apart from Clement got up and crowded at the window as we heard the sound of barking. In the field beyond the yard, a small white dog was edging backwards, dragging something in its mouth.

‘Isn’t that your friend’s dog, Father?’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘Which friend is that?’

‘Your pal who helped fix the minibus.’

‘I wouldn’t call him a pal, Mrs Belderboss.’

‘Heavens. What is it doing?’ Mummer said.

‘Has it caught a bird, Father?’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘It’s certainly got its teeth into something,’ said Father Bernard.

‘I told you. It’ll have got a barn owl,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘They screech like stink when there are dogs about.’

‘Don’t be silly, Reg,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘How on earth could a dog catch an owl?’

‘It’s not an owl,’ said Miss Bunce indignantly. ‘It’s much bigger than that.’

‘What is it?’ Mummer said again.

Far away someone whistled and the dog looked up and after a moment shot off across the grass, leaving whatever it had been chewing to die in the middle of the field.

Monro was pining to be let out, lifting himself up and pawing at the door.

‘Hey, hey,’ Father Bernard went over and tried to calm him down.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ said Mrs Belderboss.

Father Bernard struggled to get hold of Monro’s collar.

‘It’ll be the dog outside,’ he said. ‘He’s not good with other dogs.’

‘Oh, get him to stop that awful noise, Father,’ said Mrs Belderboss.

Clement was looking anxiously from one person to another.

‘Come on, you silly wee beggar,’ Father Bernard said gently and put his arms around Monro’s neck.

But Monro was still as white-eyed as Clement and jumped out of his grasp and knocked over the small table next to the door on which Mr Belderboss had left the earthenware jar.

It smashed on the floor and its contents spilled everywhere. A few small bones. A piece of leather cut into a crude heart shape. Iron nails pickled with rust. And there was the missing Christ from the nativity set stained the colour of malt whisky.

‘Oh, my Lord,’ said Mrs Belderboss as her feet were soaked. ‘What on earth have you done, you great lump?’

‘That smell,’ said Mummer, covering her nose with her hand. ‘I think your dog’s been.’

‘It’s not Monro,’ said Father Bernard. ‘It’s what was inside.’

A dark yellow fluid was leaking from the jar onto the stone floor.

‘What’s that?’ said Miss Bunce, backing away.

In the puddle of urine there floated what looked like strands of human hair and nail clippings.

Through the commotion, Clement started to call out. Everyone turned back to the table and stared at him. He had left his dinner half finished and had, in the custom of the place, left his knife and fork crossed on the plate. He had his hands flat on the table and was staring at the remains of the jar on the floor.

‘I’d like to go home now,’ he said.

***

Clement went out to fetch his jacket. Everyone watched him go and then Mummer swept up the pieces of the jar while Farther laid down some newspaper to soak up the spillage.

‘I hope you’re going to lock that room up for good,’ said Mummer.

‘Of course I will,’ said Farther. ‘I’m sorry everyone.’

‘It was hidden for a reason.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘You can’t leave things alone, can you?’

‘Oh, Esther, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve apologised. What more do you want me to do?’

‘Alright,’ said Father Bernard. ‘Let’s not dwell on it. What’s done is done.’

‘Well I’m still none the wiser,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘What that jar was for.’

‘I don’t know, Reg,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Perhaps it was a litter bin. Now give it a rest. There are more important things to worry about.’ She eyed the door through which Clement had just gone.

‘I was only saying.’

‘And I was only thinking of poor Clement,’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘How do you mean, poor Clement?’ said Mummer.

‘Well it’s obvious isn’t it?’ replied Mrs Belderboss.

‘What is?’

Mrs Belderboss lowered her voice, aware that Clement might be able to hear them from the hall.

‘They’ve had to sell the farm to pay for his mother’s operation, haven’t they?’

‘They do have the NHS up here, you know,’ said Mummer.

‘Oh, they’ll not have got that done on the National Health so quickly,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Will they, Father?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’

‘No, it’ll have been some private place,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘Very expensive.’

‘What a wonderful thing to do for someone though,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Give everything up like that.’

‘Aye,’ said Father Bernard.

‘I wonder what he’s going to do now, though?’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘Leave us alone to salvage what we can of the day, I hope,’ said Mummer.

‘Esther,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Don’t be unkind. It’s Easter Sunday after all.’

Well,’ said Mummer. ‘A grown man going all strange at the dinner table like that just over a broken old pot. It was so awkward.’

‘He didn’t make as much fuss as you,’ said Farther scrunching up the newspaper and feeding it to the fire.

Mummer gave him a look and went back to the conversation around the table.