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…

I used to think betrayal arrived with thunder. A slammed door, a confession, rain lashing against the window like it had been hired for the scene. Mine arrived softly, on a Thursday…

I met him outside the Light House Cinema in Smithfield, both of us pretending we hadn’t been crying at the same film. It was raining in that sideways Dublin way that makes…

For almost a year after my husband died, I walked through Dublin as if I were looking at it through rain on glass. I went to work, bought milk, answered people politely,…