Laura pulled herself clear. “You’re dripping beer on my suit. I doubt you earn enough to have it cleaned, never mind replaced. Now piss off,” she hissed.

The man dropped his arm as if he’d been stung. He backed away, his face a mask of shock.

Laura finished her drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. “What a waste,” she said bitterly. “What a bloody, bloody waste.”

“I know,” Lindsay persisted. “I can’t believe it either. I can only imagine how much worse it is for you.”

“Can you?” Laura asked dangerously. “Can you? Sure you’re not just fishing for an angle for your story, Lindsay?”

Lindsay clocked the look of shock on Shaz’s face, and suspected it was mirrored on her own. “For Christ’s sake, Laura,” she protested.

“How come you didn’t make it to the hospital like the rest of the pack, Lindsay? Oh, of course! You came in Ian’s car, didn’t you? You didn’t have any wheels to get there. Well, you missed a great show. Your cronies were in fine form. ‘How do you feel, Laura? What was the last thing he said to you, Laura? What was he really like, Laura?’ ” she mimicked. “My God, to think my job puts me on the same side as you vultures!” Laura turned away and signalled to the barman. “Just a double this time, please.”

Lindsay moved forward, shaking off Shaz’s restraining arm. “Whatever you might think, Laura, I’m not interested in sneaking a couple of juicy quotes out of you. Ian was my friend, and in case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a monopoly on grief.” She spoke softly, but there was no mistaking her sincerity.

Laura turned to face Lindsay and looked her up and down. “My god,” she said, her drawling voice heavy with contempt. “I thought you were as bad as the rest of the vultures. I was wrong. You’re a hundred times worse. You stand there, trading on the fact that Ian was too soft-hearted to treat you with the contempt you deserved. Have you any idea how much it pissed him off to have you hanging round, always badgering him with questions, thrusting your bloody grief down his throat? And now you stand there with your crocodile tears like he was something to you. Christ! You should get a T-shirt printed. Lindsay Gordon, queen of the jackal pack. Just for the record, Gordon, let me tell you that your pathetic posturings of grief made Ian sick. And not just Ian. Let’s face it, no normal person’s going to shed a tear because there’s one less dyke on the planet.”