The Baynhams

Bewley's cafe on Grafton Street. A place I first tried to look grown up and sophisticated while making a small coffee last an hour as a teenager. Often I walked in shivering because I had ignored my mothers advice to put another layer on as I left the house to catch the bus to town on a chilly winters day. I wouldn't admit she was right as I cupped my cold hands around a steaming cappuccino and spent the next hour people watching as busy shoppers walked up and down the street. I pretended to be Maeve Binchy as I made stories up in my head about their imaginary lives. The girl who looked like she was off to a supermodel shoot, the smart dressed man with the newspaper tucked under his arm that was on his way to close an important business deal, the tired mother who pushed the screaming baby in his stroller home to a messy house with a bare fridge...