I grimaced, closed my eyes, put my head in my hands. I remembered Ann’s words: ‘If there was to be a case it would have to be about justice.’ Deirdre, my sister, deserved justice. I looked at Sadie again and shook my head.

‘I got Tina to send a letter to Jeremy’s lawyer saying that I’m out of the office on leave and that she will pass the letter to me on my return. I don’t know if that will pause the juggernaut. But throwing myself on Gabriel’s mercy, stopping the investigation?’

I stopped, thought about telling Sadie who Deirdre really was, then didn’t.

‘If I’m right about Gill, then I’m sure there are more girls out there that he’s hurt, and that there will be more in the future. I don’t know what I can do. I have doubts, Sadie. Every single minute I have doubts about what I’m doing. But I have to go on.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m worried for you, really worried. And you’re going to have to be careful. But I’m glad you’re not walking away, Finn.’

She paused.

‘The way you described Gill, the narcissism, the bullying, the being whoever he needs to be to suit any situation, the volcanic temper when he senses he’s been found out. And, at the same time, how he’s elusive, manipulative, impossible to pin down, and that thing you said about how it feels confusing when you’re around him. There’s a name for all that.’

Sadie sank the last of her beer and leant across the table.

‘How you’re describing Gill? You’re describing a psychopath.’

22

This time last week I hadn’t known that I’d had a sister, and I hadn’t met Jeremy Gill. Now, I was parked on the north side of Dublin’s inner city, across the street from the twelve-foot-high red sandstone wall that surrounded the Convent of the Blessed Eucharist: Rhona Macbride’s old school, and the place Jeremy Gill had made his first short film.

I had parted from Sadie at around ten o’clock the night before and had finally replied to Davy’s texts when I got home, to say that I’d had a bad day, couldn’t talk, and was turning off my phone. Later, when I was on my yoga mat, unsuccessfully trying to bring my attention to the breath, the doorbell went.

‘I didn’t want to let things rest the way they were this morning,’ Davy had said, over the intercom. ‘I thought we should at least try to talk about what happened.’

I buzzed him in and met him halfway down the stairs on the landing. We stood facing each other in silence. Then I undid his shirt and led him into my bedroom.

But as we were both leaving the house this morning I said, ‘This can’t happen again.’