This wasn’t just a blocked drain. It was a diary of the county, written in silt.
By the time he finished, the rain had stopped. A weak sun broke through, lighting up the Hill of Tara in the distance. Mrs. Delaney brought him a mug of tea and a slice of brack.
He didn’t tell her about the spoon or the coin. He put them in the pocket of his overalls. Later, he would wash them off and set them on the windowsill next to Nuala’s photo. Another layer of Meath, saved from the water.