I used to think distance was the hardest thing two people could survive. When Cian got the job in Amsterdam, I cried into my scarf outside Heuston Station as if he was…

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday outside the Workman’s Club, when the rain was coming down sideways and everyone was pretending not to mind. I had been standing under the narrow…

We got the keys on a wet Friday in November, the kind of Dublin rain that makes every streetlight look bruised. The house was in Drimnagh, a small redbrick terrace with a…

For nearly two years, I measured Dublin by where I might run into him. I avoided the corner of South William Street where we had our first stupid argument over chips. I…

I met her on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of evening when the whole city seems to be shining under streetlights. I was waiting outside a café near Grafton Street,…

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday evening outside Whelan’s, where the queue was curling down Wexford Street and everyone was pretending the rain was grand. She had a blue scarf wrapped…