‘I understand, Ms Macbride, Rhona, if I can call you that. But maybe it’s time.’

More silence. Then, at last, a buzzing noise.

I pushed open the gate and hurried in before Rhona could change her mind. A door opened on the right side of the car park and a lone figure stepped into the rectangle of light. An outdoor lamp flashed on automatically as I approached.

‘I need to see ID,’ Rhona Macbride said.

She pushed the door almost closed and I handed my driver’s licence and card through the gap. The door slammed shut. The sensor light clicked off and I was in darkness. I moved and it flicked back on. Then the door opened again.

‘You can come in,’ Rhona Macbride said.

‘Thanks.’

She nodded towards the rear of the house. I went down the narrow hallway and came into a white-painted kitchen with white cupboards and a mid-century-style round white table and four white chairs. I waited until Rhona came into the room, then sat at the table. She handed me my driver’s licence, but put the card into a white fruit bowl on the counter. She sat down in the chair furthest away from me and sighed. Eventually, she spoke.

‘I’ve been expecting this for ever. Not you. Someone. Doesn’t make it easy.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘I won’t say anything, you know. You can sit here all night and I won’t talk.’

‘Okay. I understand. But is it all right if I ask why you let me in?’

She got up and leant against the counter. For the first time, I could see her properly. Dressed in leggings and a slim-fitting grey tunic, with thick black socks on her feet, she looked like a ballet dancer. Her hair, tied up in a high ponytail, was long and thick and naturally blonde. Rhona Macbride had been pretty onscreen as a schoolgirl. She had grown up to be beautiful.

‘I saw your name in the paper at work today,’ Rhona said. ‘Some Twitter thing in Cork at the Film Festival. A row between you and Jeremy Gill. I thought that if you went from that hassle to coming up here you’d be hard to get rid of so I thought I’d better see you and explain, face to face, that I am never going to talk. Get that? Never.’

‘I missed that article,’ I said. ‘Where is it that you work, by the way? Is it far?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but seeing as you found me here I suppose you’d find that out too. I work in the Department of Defence.’

‘Near enough, so. On Infirmary Road?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve sued your department once or twice. Soldiers’ personal injuries claims. I remember one of my clients went for medical examination in St Bricin’s Military Hospital.’

‘That’s not my area.’

‘No?’