“Here they are, Gerry. Sorry, honest. It won't happen again.”
Gerry Byrne scowled at his adversary, saying nothing as he grabbed his plimsolls and gathered them against his chest.
Father Mullaney next turned to Gerry.
“And as for you, Byrne, what gave you the right to insult this boy's dead father, if that is indeed what you did?”
“Because he wouldn't give them back, Father and he called me a bastard, too.”
The priest sighed, before speaking again.
“I can see that you two boys have a lot to learn about the ways of the world and about learning to get along together. Now, you'll shake hands with each other and as it's Sports Day and things have been allowed to be a little too relaxed, to my way of thinking, I'll be lenient with the pair of you. You, Mark Proctor, for stealing the plims
