‘Females in general. Jeremy doesn’t like women. He has some in his films, depending on the script, but not many. And he doesn’t employ women in any responsible roles. It’s one of the reasons he never uses a casting director, it’s a female-dominated profession. But there are other reasons he doesn’t use a casting director.’

‘The casting couch?’

‘Yes. He’s old-fashioned that way. He always had a Neanderthal approach. Whoever was available. Anybody would do. When we were in college, he was a legend. Any night out, Jeremy always scored. He boasted about his method. He’d spend time doing a recce of the party, or the pub or club, until he found the drunkest woman in the place. He used to say it was an art: to be able to find the girl while she was still mobile and transportable. In other words, before she collapsed or started vomiting. He was much the same when he was working in advertising, as far as I know, though I wasn’t out much with him then. I was trying to write, on the dole, didn’t have the money to go to Lillie’s or wherever he was hanging out back then. Once he started making films, starting with Another Bad Day at the Office, he got back in touch with me. I was thrilled. Jeremy’s always been great to work with. He’s a gifted film-maker, truly gifted. But when he gave up the day job, he didn’t need to target drunk women any more. He held auditions and private callbacks. Once shooting started, he could have any woman on set. Droit de seigneur. Actresses. Extras. Catering staff. Make-up artists. Costume department. You get the picture. No repeats, though. For him it was always one night only. There was something mechanical about it.’

‘You’re talking about adult women in all this?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not always.’

‘No.’

He took a deep breath.

‘His real passion was for schoolgirls. He liked them young. Not too young, either. He was quite specific about it. After puberty, but before they got to seventeen. Sweet sixteen, even sweeter fifteen, he used to say.’

‘Oh.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ I said.

But I was remembering how he’d used that word with Carmel, the girl in the green uniform, at the workshop in Cork on Wednesday. When she’d confirmed her age, he had said ‘sweet’. He had said it a second time. I felt sick at the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t intervened, but I had to continue.

‘Please go on,’ I said. ‘About his specific interest.’