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"You don't want him to be hurt again, do you?" Brede was saying,
cutting into her thoughts.
"Of course not."
"Then you won't see him?" Brede sat back.
"I'm not sure." Sadie lifted her head. "I can't promise, Brede.
I have to think about it."
"Think carefully then." Brede stood up.She straightened her back,
with her hand at the backside of her hip, the way her mother did when
she was tired. "There's times when it might be all right for a
Catholic boy to be walking out with a Protestant girl, but now's
not one of them. And in streets like these. There's enough blood,
Sadie, without any more getting shed."
And with that, Brede left the cafe. Sadie stared at the sticky
rims on the red formica-topped table. What Brede said was true. And
Brede's motives were good. She liked Brede: that was why she had
listened. If Linda Mullet had said the same things she would have
walked out defaintly to meet Kevin McCoy. But now... Now what?
She looked at the clock above the cafe counter. It said twentyTen
minutes topast seven. In twenty mintues time Kevin would be standing
by the river waiting for her, trusting that she would come.
The cafe proprietor came back. "Another coffee?" he asked.
She shook her head. She got up, pushed back her chair, walked
out into the streets fresh air. There was noise a in the street.
A procession was coming. She heard the tootle of the flutes and the
