He was shocked at his reflection in the window of the bus. He barely recognised the face looking back at him. PJ hadn't spent much time in his life looking at himself in mirrors. He'd never liked the way that he looked. And now it was even worse. He was starting to get a big red nose, from all the pints and whiskey no doubt and the bit of hair he had left was dragged sideways across his head.

Where had the years gone he asked himself. He couldn't believe it had been almost ten years since he'd been back to visit Loganstown. He had mixed feelings about going back. When he'd left he thought that he'd return in style, in a big fancy car and with a fancy woman on his arm. Instead he was going back on the bus, having taken the cheapest Ryanair flight he could get at some unGodly hour of the morning.

As he sat waiting for the bus to fill up he thought about all the years in London, all the building sites he'd worked on. All the characters he had met. He had earned good money back in the day and he knew he could have done something with his life but the drink had gotten in the way of everything. He'd been dry for three months now. It was very hard - but it was the longest he'd ever gone without a drink. One day at a time. Wasn't that what they had said?

PJ closed his seat belt as the bus reved its engine and inched its way out of Busarus and headed north. As they headed up through Drumcondra, the rain was pounding on the windows and the sky above was black. He hoped it wasn't an omen for things to come.

He wondered who he'd know in Loganstown these days. And who would remember him? He'd kept in touch with his Mother by letter and the odd phone call. Not as much as he should have he knew, but enough to know that things had changed a lot in the town. A few new housing estates had been built and there was even a Lidl on the outskirts of the town. He couldn't imagine it. A big supermaket in Loganstown. That was a big change from his days working a Saturday job in O'Flaherty's shop as a teenager.

PJ often wondered if he may have been better off if he'd stayed at home. Maybe he'd have kept on the straight and narrow if he'd been surrounded by his family. But back then he'd felt he had no choice. There was never a living to be made for two sons on the small sheep farm and there was no work in the town. His brother Pascal was the eldest by a good few years.

He was the Golden boy. He was always going to get the farm when their father died, God rest him. PJ had spent all of his life in the shadow of Pascal. In his mother's eyes, in school, on the GAA pitch, everywhere. That was the main reason he'd left home if he was honest.

And now Pascal was the reason he was coming back. PJ had gotten the message on Sunday night. Pascal was dead. A massive heart attack at 56 years of age. His Mother had cried on the phone when he rang her. It almost broke his heart, sobriety was having a strange affect on him he thought. “How was she going to manage the farm and the animals? Who would look after her, she cried. She sounded so old and frail. But then she was bound to be, he thought. She would be eighty on her next birthday.

At that moment PJ had decided to man up. To hell with who or what was going on in that mountainside town. To hell with what anyone thought. His Mother needed him. And maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was just what he needed to turn his life around. It had been an easy decision really. The little bedsit in Islington waasn't hard to leave behind. And there was no one there who cared about him anyway. There had been no one since Rosemary.

His eyes started to fill with tears as he remembered how that had all ended. It was the biggest regret of his life. How different his life would have turned out if they had stayed together. He knew it had all been his fault, all because of his drinking. If only he could do it all again he thought.

But maybe things could be different now. A big part of him felt guilty for thinking like this. His brothers death shouldn't be a gateway to a new future for him, he thought. Pascal was way too young to be gone. He'd spent his whole life in that little place working the farm. He had never married. He had seen nothing of the world. Not that he'd seen much of it himself he tought, but he'd seen enough. Most of which he chose to forget.

PJ wiped the condensation from the window of the bus and looked out. He was surprised to see the imposing Slieve Foy coming into view, shrouded in a wave of mist. It all felt so familiar, even after ten years. He couldn't believe he was here already. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts. He took a few deep breaths, stood up and took his first tentative step into what he hoped would be his new life.