“Skeleton staff,” Pauline said. “Switchboard, a couple of clerks in membership records and Phil Jackson from admin as the sort of goalkeeper, there to deal with emergencies. Poor sod has to stay on till eight in the evening just in case we’ve got any problems here with agendas and if SOS or the NEC or the officials need any information from head office records. Was that the sort of thing you wanted to know?”

“Mmm,” Lindsay said casually, still letting the Nike hypnotize her. “I suppose only a handful of people have got keys to the building?”

“Wrong,” said Pauline. Lindsay raised one eyebrow. “Nobody has keys to the building. Entry is controlled by security code. Most of us have codes that are only valid between 8.45 a.m. and 6.15 p.m., Monday to Friday. Only department heads, full-time officials and NEC members have codes that allow them access at other times.”

“Oh.” Lindsay tried not to sound too disappointed. The Nike stopped swinging and she got to her feet. “Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Pauline said. She tapped her keyboard. “What do you think of this motion, by the way?” She gestured at the screen. Lindsay read, “Gen Sec 0719/Dep Gen Sec 4719.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, it should achieve something useful, for a change,” she said. “Anyway, I must get on. My bloodhound awaits,” she added, gesturing with her thumb towards Sophie, who was by now completely absorbed in her reading. “I’ll let you know how we get on. Take care.”

“I suspect I should be saying that to you,” Pauline said, clearing her screen as Lindsay walked away.

Just after ten, Sophie cruised slowly past the eight-storey office building that housed the headquarters of AMWU. The union’s initials trickled down the side of the building, a gash of red neon in the night. As she checked out the building for lights, Lindsay said, “When the four unions merged, they each found it impossible to accept that any of the others possessed a building suitable for their new mega-union’s headquarters, so, with traditional trade union logic and efficiency, all four put their existing head offices on the market.”

“At the bottom of the biggest property slump since the Second World War?” Sophie asked resignedly.

“You got it. At least the lease on this building is relatively cheap, on account of it had been standing empty for eighteen months and the roof leaks. But they’ve got an option to buy after five years. Everyone in AMWU fervently hopes that by then the other buildings will have been sold, the union’s finances will be restored to health, and the election of a Labour government will have given the whole trade union movement a new lease of life. Only about two members actually believe these hopes are going to become reality. They’re the ones who also believe the tooth fairy really exists and that the check is in the post.”