I met Clara on a wet Tuesday evening outside Trinity College Dublin, both of us standing under the same thin shop awning, pretending our umbrellas had not betrayed us. She was from…
I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside Whelan’s, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t as bad as it was. I was twenty-eight, newly back in Dublin after three years…
I was forty-one when I realised love was not the tidy thing I had been taught to believe in. By then I had a husband, Declan, a terraced house in Drumcondra, two…
I met him on a wet Thursday evening in Dublin, the kind of rain that makes everyone in the city look briefly forgiven. I was in Grogan’s with two friends, standing too…
It began with the sort of rain Dublin does best, not dramatic enough for an umbrella, but persistent enough to ruin your mood. I had taken shelter outside a café on Grafton…
I met her outside the Gaiety Theatre on a wet Thursday evening, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and follow you around. I…
I was twenty-eight, living in a flat near Rathmines, and pretending I was grand at a level that deserved an award. My mother had died the previous winter, my job in town…
I started therapy because I had become the sort of person who apologised to doors after bumping into them. I was twenty-nine, living in a box room in Rathmines, working in an…
I used to tell people I met my husband in the most Dublin way possible: in the rain, outside a chipper, after a kiss I could barely remember and never quite forgot.…
I met Aoife outside Croke Park on a wet August Sunday, the sort of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as hover, making everyone shine under the grey sky. I was…