Nuala One Monday Morning 1997..

Nuala‘s body jerked slightly as the bus came to a bus stop, not hers. She gazed out at the Dublin street and wondered if her dead father’s face was there in the crowd. He wasn’t but he had once. Wonder if Una will be at the bus stop waiting? Not seen her in days since Brian’s been unwell with the gut ache and home from work. The bus moved on and a few passengers moved past her seat. Her husband was now back at work and she was free again. She told him she was going into Dublin to look at the clothes for the summer. She felt excitement fill her. Her heart pumped faster. The bus stop came into view, but no Una was waiting. She got off the bus and looked about her. She gazed at the coming people, stared at their faces. Hope she shows. I spoke to her on the phone yesterday. She wandered along the pavement towards the small park. The morning sun warmed her. In her mind she had planned it out, the meeting, the embraces, the kisses, the love making in Una’s big bed. She sensed unease. She walked into the small park where they met that first time outside of work. She sat on a wooden bench and waited. Then hands came over her eyes and Una said: Guess who? Nuala turned and held the hands and placed them to her cheek. Not seen you, she said softly, in a week. Back at Una’s flat they went in and closed the door and their passions began the more.