Maria pops her head around the door of my office. “Any chance of a lift to Mum’s? Michael’s in Galway and I lent my car to Pat as she was going for an interview this afternoon and she’s not back, so I’m stuck…

“No problem! It’s a perfect afternoon for a ride on the Harley.” I am only delighted to have something to do and somewhere to go and with Maria, it is even better.

I know that Lily normally goes to her Grandmother’s house on the Antrim Road after school apart from on Friday afternoons when Maria collects her and brings her to the office before ballet.

I ease the Harley in and out of the traffic and open her up on the motorway. I turn up onto Cave Hill and glance at the sun shimmering across Belfast Lough. We are on the north side of the Lough and I can see Holywood stretching into the distance. It’s a beautiful view and one that I want to savour.

At a red light, Maria taps my shoulder and yells over the wind. “You’ve taken the wrong road.”

“I want to see the view from the castle,” I shout back.

“You’re crazy!”

“Don’t tell me you’re in a hurry!’

She laughs and I know that she is enjoying the ride.

Belfast Castle is an elegant turreted sandstone structure originally built by the Normans and situated in the Cave Hill Country Park. It is surrounded by ageing woodlands, Hazelwood, rich in birdlife and wild plants. Grey squirrels dart from trees to shrubs, daffodils bloom and the grass has been freshly mowed and I smell the freshness of nature.

I park the Harley near a low stone wall and we pull off our helmets and gaze at the view.

Below us, the fast-flowing tide of Belfast Lough is flanked by green hills and clusters of grey houses. Spires of all denomination churches glisten in the sunlight. And warehouses and roads in the industrial area, near the port, look like a toy town set. The Titanic Museum and the yellow cranes of the Harland and Wolff ship yard are landmarks and easily identifiable.

Stena ferry trails out to sea leaving a white V-shaped wash in its wake and overhead a plane rumbles and circles across the city through fast-moving fluffy clouds.

It’s a perfect spring day.

We lean on the wall and I inhale deeply, enjoying fresh air against my skin and sunlight on my face.

“From this side of the Lough, I can almost see your Auntie’s house in Holywood.”

I have told her where I live but I dare not open my eyes. Little does she know how often I look across the Lough and think of her in Jordanstown.

Maria leans against me like a light wind. Her perfume envelopes me in an invisible mist and I am aware of the soft contours of her body.

I inhale slowly smelling apple shampoo from her hair and when I sneak a glance there are small crows feet at the corner of her brown eyes.

My skin raises in goosebumps, perhaps she can feel my emotions and the closeness of our bodies. I swallow then cough. “Look at that tree over there! Isn’t it wonderful? Is it a horse chestnut?” My voice is tense and my tone nervous.

“It is unusual,” Maria agrees quietly. She seems lost in her own thoughts, relaxed and comfortable beside me and it is with reluctance that I reach for my helmet and fiddle with the strap.

We stand quietly without speaking, and after a few minutes with mutual understanding, we know it is time to leave.

And as we ride down the estate road toward her mother’s house I make a silent vow never to let myself be in such close proximity with Maria again. Her mother lives in an imposing Victorian building on a long leafy road. Lily is watching from the bay fronted window and when she sees us she comes hurling down toward the gated entrance.

“My turn!” she shouts and she hitches her school skirt between her legs and straddles the bike wedging herself firmly between me and her mother.

Maria laughs.

Lily thumps me on the back. “Come on Elly! Let’s escape. Quick! Let’s go the three of us!”

Maria climbs from the Harley and her laughing eyes meet mine as she stands on the pavement and removes her helmet. I cannot speak. The intimacy of us standing together on Cave Hill remains with me and my skin is still tingling.

But I am distracted by a small plump woman pushing a straggly fringe from brown flinty eyes striding down the pathway with a sense of urgency toward us.

“I want to see who Maria got a lift with,” she says by way of greeting. Her eyes bore into mine and she doesn’t bother to smile. Her accent is strong and the helmet makes it harder to hear, so I remove it and my hair flies loose in the wind.

I give her the benefit of my charming smile.

“Mum, this is Elly. Elly, my mother Brenda, as if you couldn’t guess.”

I hold out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.” (It’s only a white lie.)

“Maria’s been happier recently,” Brenda says, “I thought she might fancy man at work. I had to come and see for myself when I saw you on this thing!”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Maria laughs and pulls a reluctant Lily from the bike.

“There’s always John,” I say, gunning the bike and replacing my helmet. “He’s a fine thing.”

“Who’s John?” Brenda shouts over the engine, a patchwork frown creases her forehead and she glares at Maria.

“He’s yuk!” Lily allows herself to be pulled off the bike and squeals when Maria tickles her.

“You’d better tell me about him.” Brenda is staring hard at Maria.

I smile but Brenda scowls back at me.

Maria raises her eyes to the heavens and mimes, thanks for that!

“De nada!” I smile. “It’s the Spanish in me. We’re an inquisitive bunch.”