The Umbrella I Returned Twice

The Umbrella I Returned Twice

I met him because I was too stubborn to buy a new umbrella. It was one of those Dublin evenings when the rain seemed to come from every direction at once, blowing…
The Love I Learned Not to Name

The Love I Learned Not to Name

I used to believe love only became real when other people could see it. A photograph on Grafton Street, a hand held across a pub table, a caption with a joke only…
The Evening I Learned to Stay

The Evening I Learned to Stay

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday outside Connolly Station, both of us pretending the rain was manageable. I had one broken umbrella and she had none at all. She was laughing…
The Umbrella I Forgot to Return

The Umbrella I Forgot to Return

I met him because of rain, which is a very Dublin thing to say and also the plain truth. I was standing outside Pearse Station after a late shift, pretending my light…
The Story That Sounded Too Real

The Story That Sounded Too Real

I used to think fiction was a safe place to hide. You could change a name, move a street, give someone a different coat, and nobody would know which part was true…