Lindsay couldn’t help smiling. Pure garbage, but it was good to see Laura get a good slagging off in print. At the very least, it must have sent her blood pressure up a few notches when she’d seen it that morning. Lindsay only hoped that Conference Chronicle could maintain credibility after a crazy leap in the dark like this. Fringe scandal sheets always got carried away by the need to be more and more shocking. But if it managed to stay more in touch with reality, the flyer had the potential to be the shit-stirrer conference needed. Lindsay was wondering idly what Laura had done to upset the writer of Conference Chronicle when a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Better than the bear baiting?”

Lindsay looked up in surprise. “Dick? What are you doing here? You used to think the union was one of Britain’s last bastions of conservatism!” She switched off the Walkman.

“Aye, along with the Reform Club and the House of Commons. What’s so fascinating?” he asked, pointing to her headphones.

Lindsay pulled a wry face and shrugged. There was no way she was going to admit to Dick McAndrew that she’d been relaxing to the sound of whale music. “Anything’s better than the massed drones of trade unionists. But you didn’t answer the question. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see Tom Jack get his come-uppance,” Dick said bitterly, his Glasgow accent lending a threatening edge to the words. “Him and his cronies have done for me and my team, so I came along to try to do the same for him. And how’s California?” Dick eased his large frame on to the chair next to Lindsay. He looked absurd, like a Hereford bull on a bicycle.

“I’m thinking of having a flyer printed. ‘California’s wonderful, I love the job, we’ve got a terrific house on the beach where the fog rolls in just like Argyllshire, no, I don’t miss running with the pack, no, I don’t miss British sausages, beer or sitcoms.’ How about you?” Lindsay gave him an affectionate hug. She and Dick had met years before in the Glasgow Labour Party, and had stayed friends ever since. And she owed him. A few years before, when she’d been eagerly pursuing the spy scandal that had sent her into her first overseas exile, Dick had stuck his neck out for her. She’d never had the chance to repay him. “Is Socialism Today still keeping the kids in shoes?”