While Dermot had said he’d do a question-and-answer-session, ‘Did you have sex with my friend?’ was probably not one he’d be expecting. Laura had no idea if Monica was going to manage to ask it, and was frantically thinking about a plan B. Could she get an email address for him and send him a quick, ‘You may not remember me, but I came and saw you at the Ballyfitzpatrick literary festival and we might have had sex. Ring any bells? Did we do it, or didn’t we? I feel I ought to know . . .’

No, probably not. She had to put her trust in Monica.

Dermot Flynn leapt up on the stage in the same rock-star way he had the night before. Laura sighed. She felt a mixture of huge relief that he was possibly even more attractive than she’d remembered him, which meant she hadn’t had beer glasses (or whatever the expression was) on last night, and a huge sweep of longing. She really, really hoped she hadn’t wasted what should have been one of the most wonderful experiences of her life because she was drunk.

Her knees weakened as she thought of what they had shared that she could remember. He couldn’t have done anything she hadn’t liked or surely her body wouldn’t go weak at the sight of him – or at least not weak in the gooey, chest-heaving way she was feeling now. There’d have been some sort of psychic wound, surely? Something her brain might have suppressed but her body remembered? That’s what happened in crime novels.

There was no one with him to introduce him or chair the event. Everyone knew who he was and he didn’t need a minder – she could almost hear him say it. He had two books under his arm and Laura could see bookmarks in them. Someone near her muttered, ‘He might read from both of them. Brilliant!’

‘I’ve come from Canada to hear him,’ said another. ‘I’d go anywhere, pay anything.’

‘If only he’d bring out another book! I know both of his by heart!’ said the first mutterer.

Agreeing silently but wholeheartedly, Laura shifted slightly behind her neighbour as she saw Dermot rake the audience with his gaze. She hoped this time he wouldn’t be able to see her at the back. She’d made such an utter fool of herself.

She wasn’t entirely sure but she had a feeling he paused as he got to her section of the crowd. She closed her eyes – that way he’d never spot her. Or, more importantly, she’d never know he had.