I was forty-three when I decided I was finished with romance. I didn’t announce it dramatically. There was no throwing of rings into the Liffey or tearful speech in a pub. I…
I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday outside Dublin Castle, both of us pretending we hadn’t just been stood up by the same walking tour. She laughed first, which saved me from…
I left the journal on the windowsill of her flat in Portobello, beside a dying basil plant and a mug with a crack through the handle. I did not leave it there…
I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday evening outside the George’s Street Arcade, both of us pretending we weren’t waiting for the rain to soften. I was holding a paper bag with…
I met Aoife in the smoking area of The Long Hall on a wet Thursday in February, though neither of us smoked. We were both hiding from people we had come with.…
I met him on a wet Thursday outside Whelan’s, when the queue was pressed tight under the awning and everyone was pretending the rain was romantic. He had no umbrella, only a…
Niamh and I met when I was twenty-three, outside a pub in Temple Bar, both of us pretending we had only stepped out for air. I was all noise then. I wore…
I met her on a wet Tuesday outside Connolly Station, both of us pretending not to be bothered by the rain. She had a paper bag of chips from somewhere near Amiens…
For years, I thought happiness was a thing you protected by keeping everything in place. The house in Cabra. The same job in a hotel near St Stephen’s Green. Sunday dinner with…
I met Ciarán on a wet Tuesday in Dublin, the kind of rain that makes everyone look down and hurry. I was twenty-six, working in a bookshop near Trinity, and he came…