The venue functioned as a cinema most of the time except when the local amateur-dramatics group put on productions, or the village panto was on. It was a very pretty building, kept up by massive fund-raising activities. This time, all the seats were in place so as to have as big an audience as possible. Although they arrived a good hour before the event, there were already people gathering outside.

‘Kerrist!’ said Seamus as the driver slowed down, looking for a place to stop. ‘There’s bloody loads of them here!’

‘It’s all right,’ said Grant. ‘They’re here for Dermot. You don’t need to worry.’

‘That’s not very kind!’ said Monica, shoving Grant’s arm. ‘Of course they’re here for Seamus!’

‘They’re here for the event,’ said Laura diplomatically. ‘And I’m really nervous too!’

‘And me,’ said Grant. ‘I’m really worried that someone will forget their lines or something. I feel like a mum at a kid’s play. Let’s get in there. The bar should be open, shouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘The idea is to make it feel like an Irish pub as much as possible, given that it isn’t one. With music and crack, and porter.’

‘Crack?’ said Monica. ‘I thought this was a nice sedate music festival.’

‘It is,’ said Grant. ‘It’s the writers who might let the side down.’

‘Shall I drop you here?’ asked the driver, who’d been chuckling quietly to himself. ‘And you’ve got my mobile number? Ring me when you want to go home.’

‘Could that be now?’ asked Seamus.

‘No,’ everyone chorused, and they all got out.

The first person they saw when they got inside was Adam. ‘I came with Dermot,’ he said, implying he was doing a useful task. Laura, who normally would have had sympathy for the young writer, found this rather annoying. ‘He doesn’t want to be swamped with fans,’ Adam went on. ‘Or to discuss tomorrow’s interview. He needs to focus on tonight’s performance.’ He glared at Laura as if she was a door-stepping paparazza looking for scandal.

Laura didn’t respond. Adam had obviously appointed himself as Dermot’s minder – a task that Fenella or Rupert had been allocated. But as they were busy, they’d probably been happy to let Adam do it, and presumably Dermot hadn’t objected. As for discussing tomorrow’s interview, it was the last thing she would have ever done. It was a bit ironic that all Adam’s original resentment of Dermot had somehow morphed into hero worship and a fierce protectiveness.

Monica took Seamus up to the stage and was already giving orders to the sound crew. Dermot was sitting on the stage, on a chair, reading, a well-thumbed copy of one of his books in his hand. He had a tall glass by his side.

‘Let’s go and get a drink,’ Grant suggested. ‘We’re not needed here.’