‘This time, I’m giving nobody a look-in,’ said Katie, and went across to draw the curtains tightly together. Then she came back, and took Kyna’s face in both hands, as if she were holding up a prize that she had won, and kissed her.

They kissed deep and long, their tongues tangling together and exploring the insides of each other’s mouths. Then Katie said, ‘Arms up,’ and lifted Kyna’s black sweater over her head. She dropped the sweater on to the bed and then she reached around and slid open the catch of Kyna’s bra. She loved Kyna’s breasts: they were small and perky but she had prominent nipples, as pink as two sugary sweets, and as she rolled them gently between her fingers they stiffened and crinkled.

‘Let’s have a shower,’ said Katie. ‘I’m sure I still smell of smoke.’

They both undressed and went into the bathroom. As they waited for the shower to warm up, they stood in front of the mirror, with their arms around each other’s waists. They were admiring each other, and at the same time they were acknowledging their closeness, their sisterhood, and how much they shared each other’s dreams and fears.

Katie had felt as close as this with Conor, but she knew that Kyna could see right into her heart, to that innermost need that she had always kept secret, even from the men she had loved, a need that only a woman could ever understand.

They stepped into the shower and soaped each other with Coco Chanel shower gel until they were both as slippery as seals. They kissed each other again and again, and Kyna slipped her finger between the waxed lips of Katie’s vulva, stroking her clitoris so lightly that Katie could barely feel it, which only made her want it all the more.

They quickly and excitedly dried themselves in big fluffy white towels and then Katie fell back on the bed, opening her legs wide. She was highly aroused, but she needed more than sexual stimulation, she needed oblivion. She needed Kyna to give her so much pleasure that she could think about nothing else. Not about Nolan Carroll blazing like a wicker man; and not about the bloody webs and strings of flesh that were all that remained of the students who had been bombed in the pharmacy lab. Not about Feargal Grífin falling cursing to the floor; and not about Brendan giving her that sly sideways look of his, half lust and half hatred.

She needed an explosive orgasm that blotted out the past few days as if they had never happened.