I met her outside Croke Park on a wet Sunday in September, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as settle on you and decide to stay. I was…
I never thought of myself as the kind of woman who would read her husband’s messages. I used to judge people who did. I’d say trust is trust, and once you go…
People used to say they wanted what we had. They said it at weddings, at house parties in Rathmines, over pints after work, always with that same little sigh, as if myself…
I met Claire outside Grogan’s on a wet Thursday when the rain had made mirrors of the pavement and everyone in Dublin looked briefly more dramatic than they really were. She was…
I met Clara on a wet Thursday evening outside Trinity College Dublin, both of us pretending we were not lost. She was holding a broken umbrella like it had personally betrayed her,…
I used to think people only stayed in bad relationships because they were afraid of being alone, or because money was tangled up, or children, or mortgages. I didn’t have any of…
He proposed to me on a wet Friday evening in Dublin, under the trees in St Stephen’s Green, where the rain had made the paths shine like dark glass. I had been…
I used to think an engagement ended with one big betrayal, something loud enough for everyone to hear. Mine ended during a five-day holiday in Dublin, in the quiet space between a…
I met her on a wet Thursday outside Whelan’s, the kind of night when Dublin looks like it has been varnished in rain. She was laughing under a broken umbrella, trying to…