He bent his head to the table.

26

He reached the top deck and headed for an empty seat near the back. He squeezed himself in as far as he could to make plenty of room for her. She slid in to the seat in front of him and half turned to face him. He quickly got over his disappointment when he realised that at least he had a good excuse to look at her. The last time they shared a bus together she fell asleep on his shoulder on the way home from a day trip to Portrush. He could still recall the smell of apples from her hair. He woke her to complain that his arm had gone to sleep. He made her move away from him until the feeling had tingled its way back. Today he was sure that if she wanted to sleep on his arm for the next week, he would most definitely let her, but for now, he would settle for her presence and the fact he could look at her. The bus idled for ten minutes while the driver encouraged tourists to join him on his magical mystery tour of Dublin. The seats all around them filled one by one in rapid succession. To his relief, the bus finally pulled from the stop with their seats intact. The driver was commencing the first line of ‘Molly Malone’ when the two middle-aged, perfectly groomed women emerged into the light of the top deck. They walked past two blindingly obvious spare seats and parked themselves next to him and Bernadette. For the next thirty minutes, he talked to the back of her head. The disinfected woman on his right strained to listen to his every word whilst appearing to be engrossed in the colourful brochure on her lap that she hadn’t bothered to open. On the driver’s second rendition of ‘Molly Malone’, he admitted defeat in his quest to steal the old Americans’ day. He leaned into the back of her head.

‘Let’s get off at the next stop.’

She twisted as far as she could, considering she was being jammed against the side of the bus by the equally nosey neighbour to her right.

‘What’s at the next stop?’

He scanned his brochure to establish were they were headed but before he could make any sense of it, he was helpfully informed by his nosey lady that Kilmainham Gaol was the next stop.

She spoke as they joined an official tour along a dimly lit corridor of Dublin’s latest tourist attraction.

‘You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Cormac!’

‘Stick with me, girl, there’s plenty more where this came from!’

He smiled at the triviality of her remark and his response. Even as a shy teenager, she always made him feel completely at ease in her company. He never had to try hard or to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. They just simply connected on their first date, and slipped into a rhythm only they could understand. He recalled his mother’s conversations in the kitchen, which acted as futile warnings they were too young to be getting so serious with each other. They paid no attention. It was always them against the world. They promised each other it would always stay that way. It should have stayed that way, but he shattered it; shattered her. He squirmed at the memory of the promises he made to her. All of which he broke. He was fortunate she ever agreed to speak to him again, let alone spend the day with him.