Hannah held her tongue. After all, it was nothing to do with her, but it niggled her. Patrick should have taken it all more seriously but she didn’t want to intrude, especially as Conor seemed a little sensitive about Polly pushing her way into his family.

‘Right, let’s do something a bit more fun.’

For someone who loved books, the Old Library at Trinity College was quite spectacular and Hannah stared up at the wooden barrel-vaulted roof. There were two storeys with gallery after gallery of book-filled shelves punctuated at the entrance of each by white marble busts of men of letters from Socrates and Plato through to Shakespeare along with former chancellors of the university and even, for some reason, the Duke of Wellington, although when she read the guide leaflet she discovered he’d been born in Dublin. As they walked along the central aisle looking at the exhibition of medieval manuscripts, there was a hushed atmosphere. If the books could talk, what secrets they would have to tell, Hannah thought.

‘Something special, isn’t it?’ Conor murmured in her ear, sending a shiver across her skin.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘I never get tired of coming here.’

‘I can see why. Imagine being a student here back in the day when you could browse these shelves for yourself.’

They wandered, hand in hand, along the aisle, all sixty-five metres of it, according to the tourist information on Hannah’s phone. Holding hands seemed a very couple-y thing to do and while she liked it, it also made her feel a little off balance. Conor had been tender and thoughtful, and when they’d made love last night there’d been a difference. Maybe it was because she’d realised the depth of her feelings for him or maybe it was because his feelings for her had deepened. They hadn’t talked about when things would come to an end. It was odd; she’d never been in a relationship with an expiry date before and every now and then, as she gazed up row upon row of books which had been here for hundreds of years, she found herself wondering what would happen when the time came to part. Would it be a finite end? No further contact. Would they stay friends? It wasn’t a landscape she’d ever navigated before and she had no idea what the etiquette might be. They’d never ever talked beyond the next week. Would they exchange Christmas cards, WhatsApps, be friends on Facebook, send each other emails? She swallowed. Or would it be easier just to cut everything off, severing the connection hard and fast?

Her head hurt.

‘You seem miles away. What are you thinking about?’ asked Conor, squeezing her hand as they brushed past several display cases on their way towards the queue to see the Book of Kells.