Nina remembered how Tom had found it difficult to joke about death. Plainly, this was one of the ways in which he’d changed. In recent years, it had been hard to reconcile the laid-back man she’d known with the polished character she saw on TV. ‘His wife lit a fire under him,’ Nina’s father had said. While she accepted her dad’s point, she also reckoned that Tom’s transformation had begun while he’d been away. She remembered meeting him on his return, as stiff an encounter as she could ever recall, and he’d seemed different then. More focused. Less self-effacing. When it came to his appearance, the years had been kind. His dark hair was stippled with grey and there were creases beneath his brown eyes, but he was still good-looking. And still a charmer.

Tess, too, was a blend of the familiar and the new. She had the same laugh, the same sense of mischief. She also had the composed air of someone with impenetrable wealth. Even in jeans and a plain black blazer, her hair pulled back, she had a chiselled glamour that jarred with her surroundings. By comparison, Nina looked as if she’d already slipped into an older generation. Her hair needed cutting and her navy winter coat had lost its shape. She was ground down by work and family, and by a husband who looked at her in a way that said, ‘I could have done better.’ Her confidence had been eroded by a thousand minor slights and failures. The previous week, a waiter had flirted with her. She’d been disgustingly pleased. Then she’d realised he was angling for a bigger tip.

As youngsters, each of them had had their own strain of insecurity. She remembered marvelling that Julian had no such affliction. She’d never conquered her lack of self-confidence. The others had clearly been more successful. Nina took herself to task. This was no time to be measuring herself against her childhood friends. She was struck by how calm the room felt, how reassuring she found the smells of disinfectant and linen. Outside, the city was convulsed by the Avondhu shooting. Down the corridor, a third man had died from his injuries. In here felt like shelter.

‘Apart from the pain, do you feel any different?’ she asked.

‘In what way?’ said Conor.

‘She means did you die and go to Heaven – even for a minute or two?’ asked Tess. ‘Did you bump into any angels?’

‘Or maybe he went down below,’ said Tom. He winked at Conor. ‘Have you any suspicious burns?’

‘I’m being serious,’ said Nina. ‘Whatever the papers say, being shot is very unusual, so I was wondering if you had a moment of epiphany or anything like that?’