Sinclair took quite a lot of convincing to stay in the car while I do a rapid minesweep of essentials prior to diving next door into Dearbhla’s room and seeking sane advice. I check my watch; I’ve got fifteen minutes. Sinclair is coming in after me if I’m not back by ten. “Dearbhla! Dearbhla! Please be in!” I knock anxiously at her door; the notepad tacked to it is empty of messages, which is a good sign. She opens it blearily, her long blonde hair wisping around her face. She is wearing that idiotic all-in-one fleecy sleepsuit which makes me think of a rabbit. “What the hell are you doing in bed at this hour?” I scold. “Sorry, went for a drink after Mass with the guys from the Catholic Chaplaincy. Turned into a bit of a bender.” Why doesn’t that surprise me? Nobody parties harder than those Catholic Chaplaincy boys. “Look, I’m really sorry to interrupt your coma, but I need to talk to you.”
