Is it ever possible to know what impact a choice will have on the rest of our lives? If we did know, would we behave differently?

David McMaster, a burned out, retired lecturer, returns to Belfast on discovering a cryptic, posthumous note from his friend Roddy, whom he last saw in Northern Ireland 40 years previously. In 1965, David, then a high-flying Oxford graduate, is recruited by Sir John Lockwood to help him look for a site for a new university in Ulster. But what seems like an interesting assignment turns into a tragedy not only for David and for Catherine, the woman he falls in love with. The sectarian forces which would later tear Northern Ireland apart, are destined to destroy the relationship of the two lovers, with terrible consequences for them both.

"This vivid, evocative, beautifully written novel brings to life a Belfast not seen often in fiction. Bravo to Patrick Kelly for this moondance made of words". Joseph O'Connor

“This kind of writing opens readers' minds and hearts, casts light in the darkest places, and puts a wonderful grammar on things that are not always easily understood. It's a huge achievement" Donal Ryan

“An utterly heart-wrenching novel, but Kelly's fluency and heart give it a delightful humour and grace too. Conjured with compassion and perceptiveness, it's a layered love story with breathtakingly vivid evocations of place and time, and deftly-drawn insights about the political backdrop of the day. I loved every single moment” Sarah Moore Fitzgerald

FOR SALE: Bridegrooms attire – suit etc. New and unused. £17 ono. Phone Belfast 765554.

The copy for an ad in the Belfast News. Back in the day. Would have been about 1965 or so. I could see the copytaker with her wee headphone set, taking down the caller’s details and thinking to herself ‘that’s unusual’. I can see her passing it on to her manager and him getting this wee copy over to the newdesk. I can see the news editor waving it about like had discovered a five pound note in the turn ups of his trousers.

He breathed in the air, surprisingly fresh and clean here, at the back exit of the supermarket, where the goods yard met the railway line. From here, you could see the station and hear the announcements for the trains to King’s Cross. He liked this break from the routine. The early deliveries were safely loaded, fresh goods to the massive fridges, dry goods to the warehouse shelves.

Some summers linger in the mind. The summer of 71 was like that - a long, sunny strand of empty beach just waiting to be filled in. It seemed that every day as I walked from home to the bar, the sun came out and lit up the streets, just so that I could enjoy the glint in the gardens, the shine of the pavement, the flash of sunlight on the windscreens of passing cars.

No school until September and Paddy Grim had lost no time in assigning me a lengthy schedule of lunchtime shifts in the lounge. I was pleased and spent my short walks calculating how much money I would have earned by the end of August. With tips, I reckoned, enough for a new record player.