Niamh wasn’t ready to go back to Ireland just yet. Her Chinese course was nearly finished and her parents were sending her long emails detailing all the handsome young Clare farmers they had lined up to meet her when she came home, as well as some unsubtle hand wringing over her presumed conversion to communism. Father O’Hanlon would be apoplectic if he knew what she’d been up to all year. Her family had told everyone that she was doing a PR internship in Kilburn, London.

Niamh, however, was adamant. She had a lovely Chinese boyfriend and a fine 36 square meter flat in Jing’an. No sense in leaving such a grand setup.

She nailed her job wanted ad to the tree and waited. Surely someone needed a girl with advanced Irish Gaelic skills and an undergrad degree in kinesiology.


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