Boy in the World. Niall Williams

were pressed against the back window, and when they passed Bridget they each stuck out their tongues at her. And, quickly, sure that no one could see, she stuck out hers back at them.

      Bridget had returned from England for her father’s funeral by aeroplane, but some severe turbulence in the air and a sense that a plane made of metal could not and should not really fly, had convinced her that never again would she choose that mode of transport. There was something about being up in the air, she had told Sister Agnes, which didn’t agree with her. She would not fly again until she was on her way to heaven she had joked. And so now, she arrived at the ferry port at Dun Laoghaire in Dublin, and bought a one-way ticket to Holyhead in Wales from where she would travel by bus back to Birmingham. It would take a little longer, but she had time. Besides, she was not convinced that the work she did at the office, arranging the practical business of the movement of missionary nuns to and from various parts of Africa, was all that vital. It was hard for her to believe that this was what God had intended for her when she felt she had a vocation to join the nuns. A desk in a small office in Birmingham. She shook her head slightly to dislodge any such doubts and stood before the glass panel and paid for her ticket.

      For foot-passengers on the ferry there was a metal gangway that rose upward with thin rubber bumps across it. As Sister Bridget ascended she suddenly heard a clunk and felt the case twist about on its handle. A wheel had broken off. As she turned she was in time to see it roll down the slope and vanish. Thank you, O Lord. There was nothing Bridget could do but turn and drag the case awkwardly the rest of the way.

      Once on board she moved inside the large seating area of the ferry, intending to find a place where she could stow the case and come and go as she pleased during the voyage. But because she was so late, almost the last foot-passenger of that sailing – there was only one more person coming after her – all of the seats were already taken. There were knapsacks, handbags, suitcases, plastic carrier bags of all descriptions stacked on and about every seat. There were people too of every description, from happy teasing tourists already drinking beer to women with worn-out looks, as if their faces had been used up, and only one expression was left. Some children sat with their eyes fixed on Game Boys, thumbs working. Others licked at mango-flavoured icepops from the shop and stared into space where privately they watched their dreams.