Winner Energheia Ireland Prize 2026

‘Go over it with yer paintbrush and then after you can use the roller. Make sure to fill in the little gaps as well,’ Dad said.

‘Grand.’

He dipped the brush into the tin of grey paint and swirled it around.

Before brush could meet wall Dad’s hand was on his wrist.

‘You want to dab it like this,’ he said, pushing his wrist forward so that the fibres splayed like an octopus.

‘Alright.’

‘And for the cracks you can go like this.’

He let him move his hand up and down.

Memories of sitting on his lap holding the steering wheel. The illusion of driving the car. Dad always in full control.

‘Do you want to just do it yourself?’

‘No, I’ve loads to be doing,’ Dad said and released his grip.

He listened to his feet shuffle across the concrete.

Four steps then a pause.

‘Have you got suncream on?’

‘I do.’

‘Good man.’

Sweat trickled down his neck. The skin of the wall was rough and resisted the new coat. His sunglasses prevented him from seeing the little gaps Dad had been going on about. Not that he cared about filling them in. The end goal was distraction.

All he could think about was Luca.

*

Cobblestone street. Orange walls. Sun pouring down like lead. Maybe honey. A woman in high heels walking a Pitbull. Dolce & Gabbana collar glued to its neck. The dog’s tongue dripping saliva.

‘So cruel,’ Luca said.

‘But iconic,’ he replied.

Luca pinched him.

‘You little cunt.’

He shoved Luca and he almost fell into an old woman.

She muttered something in Italian.

‘Careful my little leprechaun, you’re going to hurt someone.’

He wrapped his arm around Luca’s neck and pulled him close.

‘Don’t annoy me then.’

He was only supposed to have gone over for Dee’s wedding. To support her. Maybe walk the streets. Eat some good food. Pose on the Romeo and Juliet balcony.

It was the app. He should have deleted it. Even now it pinged in his pocket as he painted the wall. There would be no Italian cherub there. Only the dregs from secondary school. Rob Dempsey. Seamus O’ Mahony. G.A.A. jerseys and Penney boxers. Anybody up and eggplant emojis.

He stopped painting to wipe his forehead with his arm.

The backdoor opened.

‘You alright?’ Dad said.

‘Yeah… I’m grand.’

‘It’s looking good.’

He continued painting.

He knew Dad was watching him from the kitchen.

‘It might be too soon,’ Mam said after he told her he was going to do the wall.

‘I’m hardly going to drink the paint.’

‘I know that.’

But her eyes had darted from tin to mouth.

*

‘Only your map calls it that. It’s Colle San Pietro,’ Luca said.

‘Colly San Petro.’

‘Not quite.’

He smiled and paused by a railing to catch his breath.

His legs were not made to climb St. Peter’s Hill, unlike Luca’s which took each step two at a time.

‘Well you try something in Irish then. Say Baile Atha Cliath.’

‘What?’

‘Baile. Atha. Cliath.’

‘Baya aya clia.’

He laughed.

‘What does it mean?’

‘Dublin.’

*

‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’ Dad said.

‘Nah I’m ok.’

‘It’s looking well so far. You got the weather for it anyway.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Make sure to go over the gaps.’

*

Bats flew beneath an indigo sky. And the moon was a white button no phone could capture.

‘You’re so lucky to live here,’ he said as they gazed over the tiled rooftops of Verona.

‘You only say that because you’re on vacation,’ Luca said.

‘Maybe.’

‘In reality it is boring. Nice for tourists, but I would rather live somewhere else.’

‘Like where?’

‘Anywhere.’

Pizza. Wine. Gelato. Sex.

Maybe life could be a movie.

Maybe his horoscope, which Kelly had read to him on the plane, wasn’t bullshit, maybe something good was coming.

They were going mad on the group chat.

‘Where tf are you?’

‘Are you still alive?’

‘This isn’t fukin funny.’

He read their words from his home screen while Luca slept next to him.

Then he slid off the bed to get a bottle of water.

His suitcase was half-open on the floor, an odd shape in the blue dark. Like the carcass of a giant bug.

He took a swig of water then slipped back into the bed.

Outside the hum of cars and drunk voices. Inside Luca’s gentle snore.

He wanted to wake him. To ask him if when he was younger did he feel that at the start of every summer anything could happen, but it never did.

*

‘You’ll be grand.’

That’s what Kelly said.

Five minutes later she was squeezing his arms.

‘You need to fuckin calm down or they’re gonna divert the plane.’

He couldn’t stop crying.

And he didn’t notice the people leaning over him. Two flight attendants and a pudgy man from Scotland. He read about it later. Everyone had their own version. Kelly said he was shaking before he got on. According to Amanda he didn’t start acting up until they were airborne. Ryanair Rashomon. But who was right or wrong didn’t matter. The takeaway: It was embarrassing for everyone. He was a narcissist. Selfish. The Worst.

*

His hand began to cramp but he pushed on, moving brush from tin to wall then back.

He felt nothing and was nothing, except the pain in his hand was there, that was something wasn’t it?

He set the brush down on the faded Eircom tarp.

Dad opened the backdoor.

‘Do you wanna eat something? Sure the first coat’s practically done.’

Dad sat at the other end of the table slurping coffee.

Sometimes he would play with the crumbs of his digestive which lingered on his fingertips.

He ate half a rice cake before pushing his plate away.

‘A working man needs to eat,’ Dad said shaking his head.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I know you’re going through a tough time but…’

‘You don’t know shit.’

Dad froze.

Was this it? Was it going to be like the roundabout, when he pushed his Gameboy into his line of sight to show him how funny Mario looked in his racoon outfit? The car swerved but recovered. The Gameboy was ripped from his hands and flung out the window. What stung more, Dad’s fist or the loss of Mario? He couldn’t remember now.

Dad smiled.

‘You think I don’t know what it’s like but I do. I had a life too you know.’

‘What do you mean?’

He raised his hands.

‘Well I never fell for a man.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘But there was a woman…’

‘I don’t think hearing about how you landed Mam is going to console me.’

He scratched the side of his face.

‘I’m not talking about her.’

*

Fuck the civil service. They don’t own the gorse or the pine trees or the blue sky he thought as he flew along the road.

He leaned into the bends not caring what was on the other side.

Might as well go out while it’s sunny. Might as well die free.

He looked at the hills as they sped by in a blur of green and brown and tried to get it all off his mind.

He couldn’t believe Maragret had reported him for giving Eileen Hunt an extra electricity voucher. No fucking heart. Acting as if it was her own money.

The anger went from chest to fist and he pulled the throttle hard.

Wind howling in his ears. Sun in the eyes. He could go off at the next corner. Just go straight at the barrier.

But the bike was like a domesticated animal. He was used to the sounds it made. The way it groaned at him. Please feed me.

He adjusted his speed and allowed bike and mind to return to a civilized pace.

Old man working the petrol station. Paddy cap and shirt. Looking him up and down like he was Satan himself. Another local dip holding a newspaper mumbled ‘Looks like a woman’ as he was leaving.

He thought about turning around and giving them some fists. But then he wouldn’t be able to come back. They’d throw his face up on a board. Wanted: long-haired biker from Dublin. He liked the image. Saw himself next to the other felons: Jagger, Bowie, Butch and Sundance.

A voice called out to him as he exited the station.

‘You alright?’

He glanced to his left.

A girl.

Brown hair. Bulky sweater. A face from an American film.

‘Yeah, why you askin?’

‘You look mad.’

He smirked.

She turned to the window of the station to study a piece of paper plastered to the inside.

He walked over.

‘What you readin?’

She moved away.

Puppies for good home, ask Joe.

‘Will you take one?’ he said.

‘No. My boyfriend hates animals.’

‘Great man you’ve picked.’

She laughed.

‘He’s not all bad.’

‘Well good luck to you,’ he said and started walking towards his bike.

‘You look a bit like John Travolta on that thing,’ she said.

She was lighter than his jacket and he took the bends slow. Thinking not of pine trees or sunshine but of fast-moving vehicles and demons of the road. He knew he was right to call in sick. And he knew that good things happen to good people.

Dad finished his coffee then stood up and carried his mug to the sink.

‘So what happened? I know she had a boyfriend… I’m guessing it was a summer fling or something?’

He turned the tap on and rinsed the mug.

‘Her and the boyfriend went off to Cleggan not long after. I’m not sure of the details but they were out swimming… she got into trouble and never came up.’

‘Jesus…’

Dad walked over to the backdoor and looked out at the wall.

He didn’t know what to say to him.

‘The wall’s nearly there anyway. A second coat now and you’d never know what was underneath.’