Aoife —
Niamh again, on the wall this time. Three years in the flat, four years of knowing you, one record collection — slowly, by a process of small uncontested judgements at the kitchen table — combining. The Annie Ernaux on the side table is, as I write this, still face down, and I have, on this matter, decided not to move it.
We met in October 2022 at a reading at Hodges Figgis. You were standing by the table of new releases looking, I want to say properly, deeply suspicious of the room. I asked you, on instinct, whether you had read the Sally Rooney that had come out that month. You said: "I have, twice. The second time was better." I had, until that sentence, never heard anyone say it about a Rooney. I have, since that sentence, been waiting for you to say things.
Twenty-five, A. The kettle has, on the matter of the second pot of tea, just clicked. The chapter is yours. — N.
