Ride On by Stephen J. Martin Page B

I’m staying put. You make a good windbreaker, big fucker like you.’
    â€˜I’m asking you now as a favour.’
    â€˜Sorry pal. This is where the business is.’
    â€˜There’s no business you said a minute ago.’
    â€˜Things have picked up a bit.’
    â€˜Jesus, you’re some bollocks. Here’s your bloody fiver. Give me another rose.’
    â€˜What? What are you going to do with two of them?’
    â€˜I’ll think of something. Now give me the rose and go off away around the other side of the statue. Oh Jesus. Here she is. Quick …’
    â€˜Yer one in the boots? Jaysis, that’s a bit of all right, that is. What’s her name?’
    â€˜You’re looking for a basket up the hole now, is it?’
    Norman was finally standing alone next to Molly as Trish walked up.
    â€˜Hi. Sorry I’m late. Bloody buses.’
    â€˜That’s okay. Here.’
    â€˜Oh, God, thanks! They’re lovely. You shouldn’t have. Two?’
    â€˜Eh, yeah. In case you lose one.’
    Nice one. Fuckin’ eejit.
    â€˜Are you hungry?’ he said. ‘We’ve a good while before the gig. Or maybe a pint? Up to you …’
    â€˜Actually, a pint would be good. I’m not that hungry. I never am when I work nights.’
    â€˜McDaids?’
    â€˜Yeah, great.’
    There was a good Friday night crowd in the pub. Norman found one stool at the window just inside the door and helped Trish off with her coat. He just about managed not to bless himself when he saw what was hidden under it. This outfit she had on her now was a different story altogether from the nurse’s uniform or the last time they were out. The coat slipped off her shoulders and into his faintly quivering hands to properly reveal the kind of woman that Norman had been fantasising about since he was twelve. Tall, strong, curvy. Not like the little tarts on the telly with nothing to them.
    â€˜You look very … eh … you look very pretty tonight,’ he said, folding her coat. He was all red.
    â€˜Thanks,’ she smiled. ‘Without the coat, like?’
    â€˜Oh Jesus, no. That’s not what I meant. You looked lovely outside too. I just meant …’
    She laughed.
    â€˜Only joking Norman. Hey, you look lovely too.’ She looked into his face. ‘You’re pretty cute when you’re flustered, do you know that?’
    He shook his head, looking at the floor, and muttered something.
    â€˜What’s that?’ she said, leaning in.
    â€˜I said I must look like fucking Bambi so, at the moment.’
    She kissed him on the cheek with a grin, one hand on his side as she stretched up to him. She wasn’t at all shy about personal space, Trish. Probably came from being a nurse. The things they saw and did all day, there was hardly much room for being sensitive about shite like that.
    â€˜That’s for the roses,’ she said. ‘And hey, let me get you a pint too.’
    â€˜No, no. I’ll get the drinks. What are you having?’
    She got up on her toes again to try and see the taps at the bar. Her big breasts bounced slightly under her blouse with the sudden movement and he gawked at her without meaning to, a funny noise coming out of his throat on its own.
    â€˜Do they have Murphys here?’ she said, turning back to him.
    Murphys? His bad leg nearly gave way on him.
    *
    Norman relaxed over the next hour. She was so natural and easy that he forgot his usual worries about fucking everything up every time he opened his gob. By the time he was holding out her coat for again, he was feeling the glow from three pints and getting a bit excited about seeing the lads on the stage. It turned out that she’d seen The Grove before, years ago, in the Baggot, when she’d just moved to Dublin.
    â€˜I remember the drummer. He was chatting up all the girls at the bar afterwards. Mind you, that’s a long time ago. It