‘Yeah, you know what they say, I’d have got less for murder.’ Lorcan laughed, but it was hollow. ‘Anyway, I’m here to clear my head, so why don’t we do that, by drinking until our heads are far from clear? You’re on your holidays from work. I’m escaping a broken heart and also work. The world is our rather shitty oyster!’

When he put it so invitingly, Jo couldn’t see any reason to refuse, so she led Lorcan Gallagher into The Blackbird bar and bistro and handed him the cocktail menu. ‘Choose your poison!’ she said.

And he did.

By the time night was falling, Jo and Lorcan had chosen several poisons and were merrily making their way home: Lorcan to his grandfather’s house, close to Ivy Lane, and Jo to her own home, which was about a ten-minute walk on a good night.

Jo could feel her lips tingle – that little hint of numbness that comes from having consumed just a little too much alcohol on an empty stomach. But she felt light and free and she had laughed more that day than she had done in weeks before. She had barely thought about her need for a new home, or whether or not she would ever make it as a writer. She had just lived in the moment and she had loved it.

To her surprise, rather than being a self-involved arse, Lorcan was good company. He not only brought out the silly, fun side of her but also listened when she talked about more serious things. When she laughed, he laughed too and it was definitely with her and not at her. They had so much in common, and not just their love for Derry Girls. Both of them felt at a crossroads in their lives and it was nice to spend time with someone of a similar age who didn’t seem to have it all figured out.

When their chat had become a little more flirty several drinks in, she tried not to overthink it and just enjoy it. He told her he loved her accent, and the colour of her hair. ‘You look just like Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man. I remember watching that with my grandparents when I visited. I know it’s really uncool of me to admit it, but I always loved it.’

Jo had smiled. ‘It’s a classic. Funny and romantic and cheesy all at once.’

‘That’s my recipe for a good movie,’ Lorcan had said. ‘I thought Maureen O’Hara was beautiful.’

He’d looked at her and she was sure she saw something a little more behind his eyes. Was it a connection or one too many cocktails – she couldn’t tell, but she was enjoying whatever it was.

They walked together in the balmy late-April air, as red streaks crossed the sky and the ground below her feet felt slightly springy – cushioned by alcohol.