“You’ll be fine,” Sophie assured her. “You’ll soon adapt to being back in the old routine. After all, you’ll be among friends.”

Lindsay gave a shout of laughter that turned heads three rows away. “Among friends? At a union conference? Soph, I’d feel safer in the lion’s cage half an hour before feeding time. One thing I’ll never be able to forget is the aggro level of Journalists’ Union conferences. You’d think we were arguing over life and death, not politics. I can’t imagine that amalgamating with the broadcasting and printing unions has made the atmosphere any friendlier. It’s not culture shock I’m afraid of—it’s being trapped in a time warp.”

PART ONE - Blackpool, April 1984

PART ONE

Blackpool, April 1984

Chapter 1

1

“Delegates are discouraged from travelling to conference by private car, and mileage expenses will only be paid in extraordinary circumstances. This is because, firstly, the union has negotiated a bulk-rate discount with British Rail; secondly, there are limited car-parking facilities available at the hotels we are using; and thirdly, the chances are that when driving home on Friday afternoon at the end of conference you will still be over the limit from Thursday night’s excesses. It is not the union’s policy to encourage members to lose their licences due to drink-driving.”

from “Advice for New Delegates”, a Standing Orders Sub-Committee booklet.

“This traffic’s murder,” Ian Ross complained, easing the car forward another couple of feet. “Look at it,” he added, waving his arm at the sea of hot metal that surrounded them.

Lindsay Gordon did as she was told, for once. In the distance, Blackpool Tower’s iron tracery stood outlined against the skyline like an Eiffel Tower souvenir on a mantelpiece. “Only the Journalists’ Union could organize a conference that involves 400 delegates travelling to the biggest holiday resort in the North of England on Easter Monday,” he remarked caustically. “Bloody Blackpool. It’s taken us an hour to travel six miles. By the time we get to the hotel, the conference will be over and it’ll be time to come home. I bet you wish you’d taken the train, don’t you? You could have been walking along the prom by now, eating candy-floss and wearing a kiss-me-quick hat.” Ian glanced sideways and saw the bleak look on Lindsay’s face. He sighed. “Sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. I’ve told you. You don’t have to treat me like a piece of porcelain.” An awkward silence filled the car. Lindsay patted Ian’s hand and repeated, “It’s okay.”

Ian nodded. “Time for The World At One. Shall I stick the radio on?”

“Sure.” Lindsay leaned back in her seat and tried to let the radio obliterate her thoughts.