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sitting with Gracie in the front seat, and she was craning her neck to check that the elderly women who had just got on had been offered seats halfway down the aisle. The aisle was already almost three-quarters full when it stopped at the next village, and the conductress rolled her eyes and beckoned on two elderly ladies and a nun. ‘Go on then!’ she said, waving them in as if they were children awaiting a fairground ride.
    Gracie and I stood up for the old ladies, and I was standing right up against the metallic-smelling conductress with her shiny leather bag and ticket machine, until she squeezed past me to collect more fares, and I was left sandwiched between Gracie and the nun.
    There was no door on the bus, and the wind swept in as we sailed downhill, and the nun, right next to the entrance, kept pressing down her habit with her free hand. Her other hand was gripping the same steel post as mine, and I kept finding myself swaying into her as the bus veered slightly around curves in the road. I watched her sinewy hand tighten its grip on the bends, its blue veins forming ridges through the neat white flesh. There were no red knuckles like on Gracie’s hands, no flaking skin from hours of scrubbing and hot water. I resented her for gripping so tightly when the bus swung about. God didn’t seem to be helping her out here , then. I felt I had caught her out being human, when she was pretending to be something better. I looked up at her face, soft and pouchy where the wimple seemed to squash it all up together, and it looked harmless enough. She wore a bland, beatific half-smile, and I fixed my eyes on it suspiciously, reaching out a hand to grip Gracie’s coat sleeve.
    ‘Hold on with both hands, my love,’ said Gracie.
    At the same time the conductress shouted, ‘Hold on tight!’ from somewhere deep inside the bus.
    The vehicle swung us all to the right, and then back to the left. I was forced into Gracie, and then into the nun. I felt her yielding flesh and saw, unmistakably, the eyes screw themselves up at the jerking of the bus. The smile disappeared and the mouth grew rigid and thin; the brows frowned ferociously and the nostrils flared. I was certain that this angry gargoyle of a face was meant for me, and just as it began to calm itself, a fresh jerk pushed me into her again and the face reappeared, teeth clenched and stony.
    I began to sweat. I could see the road ahead was anything but straight, hear the ‘Hold on tight!’ again and I clutched at Gracie in panic.
    ‘Hold on !’ she said. ‘Don’t hold me – we’ll both be over!’ And we swayed from side to side again. Each time I lurched into the nun with my shoulder, and soon I was pushing her harder than I needed to. That soft, spongy nun-look hardened again. Her nostrils grew and her lips shrunk; her eyes squeezed tight with the concentration of staying upright, looked so full of spite I could feel my palms grow sticky as I clasped the pole next to hers. Her nails, so neat and clean on their snowy fingertips, seemed to grow and curve and twist into talons. I could feel my breath failing me: great gasps of air barely lasted a moment and were no sooner exhaled than drawn in again, desperately.
    When the bus took the next corner I rammed her. She toppled sideways and nearly fell down the step out of the bus. ‘Joy! Steady on!’ I heard Gracie say, but I wasn’t listening. The towering face of the nun seemed pitted against me: red, panting and full of frown.
    The idea came to me before I could register it. It came so naturally it was more of a reflex than a decision. With the next stagger into Gracie and the corresponding swing the other way, I pitched into the nun with the whole weight of my body,shouldering her down the steps and out of the bus. She toppled like a baby bird, spreading wings of raven black as she flew into the wind, and everyone on the left side of the bus saw her knickers before she flopped into a heap somewhere back up the