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About Navan

I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? But I’m broke as a joke, so I haggle. “Don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no millionaire!” She smirks, drops it to 40. Deal. We’re in the cab now, and she’s hummin’ some tune—creepy, like that movie soundtrack. “Do you want to look at me?” she asks, all sultry. Hell yeah, I do! But it’s quick—15 minutes tops. Tractor seat’s squeakin’, I’m prayin’ no cop rolls by.

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Oh, and the secret addy: near Artane Castle’s ruins—aye, though not a true castle, more of an old fibre of stone—there be a hidden mural. It’s a riot of colours. I swear it mirrors me clients’ resilience. It’s an emblem of fight, of freedom, and of stories we all share over rum, aye? Dat mural’s a wink from the past, telling us gently, “Keep yer secrets; they make ye who ye are.” Just as Sarah Polley’s film whispers secrets of the heart.

Death Notice of Josie (Mary) Cooper (Artane, Dublin)