People always imagine divorce as a door slamming. In our case, it was more like a window opening in a room we had both been sitting in for too long, pretending we…
I met her on a January morning at the Forty Foot, the kind of morning when the sea looks less like water and more like a dare. I had gone there because…
I met Eoin on a wet July evening in Dingle when I was twenty-one and pretending I was only there for the work. I had taken a summer job washing glasses in…
I grew up in a village so small that if you bought cough sweets in the shop, three people would ask your mother if you were coming down with something before you…
I met him on a wet Thursday outside The Cobblestone in Smithfield, both of us standing under the same narrow strip of shelter, pretending the rain was not coming in sideways. He…
I used to think heartbreak had to be loud. Doors closing, boxes packed, someone crying in a kitchen while the kettle boiled for no reason. When my five-year relationship with Aoife ended,…
It happened on a wet Friday in Dublin, the sort of evening when the buses hiss at the kerb and everyone in the pub looks relieved to be indoors. My husband, Mark,…
I used to think falling for someone happened in grand, obvious ways. Music swelling, rain at the right moment, some clear sign that life had turned a corner. In reality, I fell…