button, and then pulled one of Clare’s throws over them both. The room was absolutely freezing. Their breath came out in visible gasps of white smoke.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His lips were hot and strong. His kisses were long, lingering and gentle. They were perfect kisses. Clare had no sexual experience, and hadn’t a clue what to do. She thought of telling him this, but he seemed to know already. He made no attempt to seduce her.
They curled up under the throw together, kissing for a long time. He held her in his arms and told her that he was in love with her. She didn’t believe him. Later, he made more tea in the tiny kitchen and carried the tray very carefully to the bedroom because he had filled the cups to the brim. They sat up in bed, drinking it, listening to the cassette, and Clare congratulated herself on having powdered milk in the cupboard. It began to rain heavily then, and he switched off the music and they lay in each other’s arms listening to it drumming on the window. The streetlight coming through the glass made a pattern on their faces. He told her he loved her for a second time. They slept for a short while when the rain stopped.
At seven o’clock in the morning he told her he would always love her and, this time, she believed him. They lay in each other’s arms and slept until well after lunch-time.
Nothing she had felt since had even come close to the ecstasy of that night, the feeling of closeness they had shared. They might have been the last two people alive on the planet. Nothing else, and no-one else mattered. Most of the time, she was able to push it to the back of her mind. But, if she wanted to, she could conjure up a photographic image of his face, and everything else that had happened on the night she decided, on a whim, to go to a disco.
When they finally emerged from the flat at four in the afternoon, they went to Muldoon’s for something to eat. Peter wrote his address and telephone number on the cassette-sleeve of the tape they had listened to, and gave it to her, and asked her formally to be his girlfriend. She said yes. She put the cassette in her little beaded handbag. She promised to call him the next day. He kissed her gently at the bus stop and waved to her as she set off for home, to visit her parents for the weekend.
As the blue Ulsterbus wound its way through the city streets, on its way to Saintfield, Clare lay back on the seat and closed her eyes with pleasure. She was so happy she wanted to tell the bus driver that she had met the man she would marry and love for the rest of her life. She should have invited Peter to come home with her and meet her parents, she thought suddenly. She missed him so much already, it was like an ache in her heart. She worried that he would get knocked down by a car, or hurt somehow, if they were apart for any length of time.
The brick came through the side window of the bus like a bomb. The noise it made was fantastic. BOOM! And then the peculiar sound of safety glass shattering into a thousand pieces. The floor of the bus was covered with it. Like giant grains of sugar, they caught the light, and sparkled. Clare thought the glass was very pretty and then she realised she was crying.
Her hair was wet. There was blood on her cheek. She knew then she’d been hit on the side of the head, and she felt dizzy. The driver skidded to a halt, but started up the engine again when he saw a small group of angry young men running towards the vehicle. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly and quietly.
“Keep going, mate,” shouted an elderly passenger. “They’re gonna wreck the bus!”
The other passengers were calm. They were used to small acts of sudden violence. They knew they would be given a chance to get off, before the bus was set on fire and used to block the road. Even in what the police called ‘a riot-situation’, there were set ways of doing things. Clare’s whole body was trembling. Then, she felt the first
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His lips were hot and strong. His kisses were long, lingering and gentle. They were perfect kisses. Clare had no sexual experience, and hadn’t a clue what to do. She thought of telling him this, but he seemed to know already. He made no attempt to seduce her.
They curled up under the throw together, kissing for a long time. He held her in his arms and told her that he was in love with her. She didn’t believe him. Later, he made more tea in the tiny kitchen and carried the tray very carefully to the bedroom because he had filled the cups to the brim. They sat up in bed, drinking it, listening to the cassette, and Clare congratulated herself on having powdered milk in the cupboard. It began to rain heavily then, and he switched off the music and they lay in each other’s arms listening to it drumming on the window. The streetlight coming through the glass made a pattern on their faces. He told her he loved her for a second time. They slept for a short while when the rain stopped.
At seven o’clock in the morning he told her he would always love her and, this time, she believed him. They lay in each other’s arms and slept until well after lunch-time.
Nothing she had felt since had even come close to the ecstasy of that night, the feeling of closeness they had shared. They might have been the last two people alive on the planet. Nothing else, and no-one else mattered. Most of the time, she was able to push it to the back of her mind. But, if she wanted to, she could conjure up a photographic image of his face, and everything else that had happened on the night she decided, on a whim, to go to a disco.
When they finally emerged from the flat at four in the afternoon, they went to Muldoon’s for something to eat. Peter wrote his address and telephone number on the cassette-sleeve of the tape they had listened to, and gave it to her, and asked her formally to be his girlfriend. She said yes. She put the cassette in her little beaded handbag. She promised to call him the next day. He kissed her gently at the bus stop and waved to her as she set off for home, to visit her parents for the weekend.
As the blue Ulsterbus wound its way through the city streets, on its way to Saintfield, Clare lay back on the seat and closed her eyes with pleasure. She was so happy she wanted to tell the bus driver that she had met the man she would marry and love for the rest of her life. She should have invited Peter to come home with her and meet her parents, she thought suddenly. She missed him so much already, it was like an ache in her heart. She worried that he would get knocked down by a car, or hurt somehow, if they were apart for any length of time.
The brick came through the side window of the bus like a bomb. The noise it made was fantastic. BOOM! And then the peculiar sound of safety glass shattering into a thousand pieces. The floor of the bus was covered with it. Like giant grains of sugar, they caught the light, and sparkled. Clare thought the glass was very pretty and then she realised she was crying.
Her hair was wet. There was blood on her cheek. She knew then she’d been hit on the side of the head, and she felt dizzy. The driver skidded to a halt, but started up the engine again when he saw a small group of angry young men running towards the vehicle. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly and quietly.
“Keep going, mate,” shouted an elderly passenger. “They’re gonna wreck the bus!”
The other passengers were calm. They were used to small acts of sudden violence. They knew they would be given a chance to get off, before the bus was set on fire and used to block the road. Even in what the police called ‘a riot-situation’, there were set ways of doing things. Clare’s whole body was trembling. Then, she felt the first
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