Monica sighed. ‘If you’re sure . . .’ And then she snapped out of her romantic reverie. ‘OK, that’s enough about you. Could you have a look at the map? Are we on the right road? I seem to have got a bit lost.’

They found it eventually. Grant and the rest of Monica’s band were already there. It was in the basement of a small club in Bristol. As they fought their way down the narrow stairs, Laura realised that Monica really was nervous. She was very keen on Seamus and they’d spent a lot of time talking about him as they drove along. But his band was a bit suspect. It was, according to Monica, because of the other members not wanting to play traditional music and not being great at anything else.

‘Laura!’ Grant hugged Laura long and hard. ‘How great to see you! You look amazing! What have you done to yourself? New hairdo? No, you still haven’t discovered straighteners. Lost weight? Gained weight? No, you’re still fairly skinny. Must be a new moisturiser. Your skin looks brilliant.’

Laura avoided looking at Monica who was laughing in a vulgar way. ‘Shall we get some drinks? Grant? You others?’

She went to the bar hoping she’d remember what everyone wanted. Monica had ordered a double vodka to calm her nerves. It was nearly time for Seamus’s set.

She got the tray of drinks back to the table without accidents and squashed on to a corner of the banquette. ‘I’m glad I got back before Seamus started,’ she said. She picked up her glass. ‘Cheers!’

Seamus and his band didn’t seem quite ready so the audience started talking again.

‘Would you want the whole band, or just Seamus, do you think?’ Monica asked Laura. ‘It might be better . . . oh, I don’t know. What would Dermot like?’

‘Who knows!’ said Laura. ‘I didn’t ask him. I mean, I think it would work well. Originally we thought of having him reading his poetry but there’s a scene in one of Dermot’s books with Irish music in the background. It would be perfect. But he’s so – I don’t know . . .’

‘Uncommunicative?’

‘Yes. I don’t know if he’d love the idea or hate it. Actually, I do know. He’ll hate it. But he might just do it.’

‘For you?’

‘No. I don’t think he’d do anything particular for me.’ Although as she said this she knew it wasn’t strictly true. She remembered some of the things he’d done for her in Ireland and felt a stab of pleasure. ‘Oh, I think they’re starting!’ she said, to stop Monica asking any more questions.