I was trying to use neutral language, trying as hard as I could to stay separate from the horror of Rhona’s story. And it was her story, she owned it, she told it powerfully. But it was Deirdre’s story too. And it was a story that needed to be told. Gill was a dangerous sex offender who had to be stopped. What Rhona had said, about Gill putting his hand on her head at the audition, had sent a chill through me – if I hadn’t spoken up, might Carmel from St Al’s school in Cork have been his next victim? It didn’t bear thinking about. But I remembered that Rhona had said that the more her mother had pushed for information, the more Rhona had withdrawn.

I got up from my chair. I took a page from my bag with my private email and phone number on it, and left it on the table.

‘I want to thank you for telling me. I’ll go now, like I promised. But that’s my email address, my private email, and my mobile number. If you ever change your mind, some day, some year, just email me. And you have my business card. Any time, just send me a message. About anything. If you want me to go to the Gardaí, help you with a statement, arrange an appointment. They’d come here, I’m sure, you wouldn’t have to go to the station, not at the beginning anyway. And there are experts who could help you before you even talk to the Gardaí. Please feel free to contact me, even to talk about what you might or might not do. And I want to remind you that everything you’ve said to me is confidential.’

‘The answer is still no,’ Rhona said. ‘But I’ll think about what you said about Deirdre. And the others. There are others?’

‘There are. I don’t know who or where, but there are others. I’m sure of that.’

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