I never thought of myself as the kind of woman who would read someone else’s phone. I used to say that privacy was part of love, the small room you left untouched…

People used to tell us we looked like the kind of couple Dublin was invented for. Rain on the windows, two pints on a small table, his hand over mine like a…

I was thirty-two when Maeve asked me the question I had been dodging for nearly three years. We were walking along the canal near Portobello, sharing chips from a paper bag, the…

I used to tell my friends I stayed because he was complicated. That sounded more dignified than the truth. The truth was that when he touched me, every sensible part of me…

He proposed to me on a wet Friday evening in St Stephen’s Green, with the ducks shouting like drunks and the sky the colour of an old saucepan. It was not the…

I met Aoife on a wet Thursday evening outside Dublin Castle, both of us pretending the rain was softer than it was. She was waiting for a taxi that kept cancelling, and…

I knew he was married before I knew the colour of his eyes properly. That should have been enough. It should have put a wall in me, clean and high, the way…