Kathryn Travels to Howth

Thursday rolled round. Kathryn had left work early and hailed a taxi on Dame Street. It was a beautiful summer’s afternoon. She asked the driver to take her to the Summit Inn in Howth. As the car jaunted along the North Strand Kathryn observed Greta’s number coming up on her phone. She didn’t answer and let it ring out.

“Off work early?” the taxi driver asked. He was a Syrian named Akram.

“I’m off work forever,” Kathryn said.

It was a strange thing to say, Akram thought, but he ploughed on with the conversation.

“Lovely afternoon for Howth. Great views at the summit. Brought my son up the other week. He said he wants to be a photographer when he grows up.”

“I’ll take a final look when I’m up there,” Kathryn said.

She had actually powered off her phone completely and was gazing at Clontarf passing by. There was a contented look in her eye. Akram could see she was attractive, intelligent, not the kind he told himself for self-harm. She’s probably just heading out to meet some friends. But he couldn’t shake a weird feeling that there was something wrong. Apart from a few words, she was just too quiet.