With one last look at the children in the playground, I stood and started walking. The bag draped over one shoulder grew heavier with each step I took towards my car. Not for the first time today, I wished I’d tied my braided hair back into a ponytail instead of letting it fall loose round my shoulders. Everything was working my nerves today, even my hair. It was one of those days when I felt I was fifteen degrees out from everyone else, when nothing was quite aligned.

‘Ms Hadley, I’m Ade Udo. We’ve met before. I’m a journalist with the Okene Standard. May I ask you a few questions?’

I spun round to confront the man behind me. Adeyemi Udo. Our paths had crossed before to the mutual dissatisfaction of us both. Ade wore his designer fade with the same poise that he wore his off-the-rack suit. His clothes, his haircut, his demeanour were all meant to give off a man-of-the-people, sympathetic air, but I knew better. This Cross was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth and had spent his entire career sniffing out stories and hounding interviewees like they should be grateful for the attention. He wasn’t above spinning the truth for juicy clickbait either. He was about my age with a chiselled face that was all angles. His dark brown eyes sparked with an alert gleam that currently bordered on hungry. That made him dangerous.

My mouth said, ‘No, Mr Udo, you may not.’ My thoughts said, Bugger off! I turned away and carried on walking.

Uninvited, Adeyemi fell into step next to me. Irritated, I glared at him, but it was water off a duck’s butt.

‘Ms Hadley, do you believe in equal justice for all?’

Like I couldn’t see where this was going. ‘No comment.’

‘You have a reputation for integrity and scrupulous fairness,’ Ade continued. ‘How do you square that with the suppression of the public’s right to know about the charges against Tobias Durbridge? The man who runs the country is a criminal and you’re making sure that we in the media can’t report that fact.’

I stopped and turned to fully face him, my gaze narrowing.

‘Now you listen to me, Mr Udo,’ I said softly. He moved in closer to hear my words, waving his smartphone under my nose so he could record every word. ‘In this country, the law states that a person is innocent until proven guilty, not the other way round. The super-injunction is still in place so, if you try to print otherwise, I will personally see to it that the full force of the law hits you like a heavyweight boxer. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’