‘Brendan Sullivan’s bedroom,’ she murmurs as I lead her upstairs by the hand. ‘I’m almost scared. Do women come here on pilgrimages and scatter flowers at your bedroom door?’ Cheeky little minx. ‘Mostly they just bring empty bottles so they can collect holy water from my bathroom taps,’ I bat back. ‘Kind of like Lourdes?’ ‘Exactly like Lourdes. The healing power of a few hours with me and my dick is miraculous.’
