She slumped back on the sofa. Her eyes were sore and gritty from three days of semi-sleepless nights. She reached for the glass on the coffee-table and downed the remains of the Evian.

Roger Spate leaned against the fireplace. ‘I do advise you to keep going, Home Secretary.’

‘I think I’ve got the gist.’

‘We can stop, of course, if it’s upsetting.’ There was a small twitch of mock pity around Spate’s mouth.

They were in the front room of her Georgian town house with the blinds down, the muffled chat of the press pack camped on her doorstep filtering through the reinforced windows.

‘It does get better, trust me,’ he added.

Trusting her press officer was an indulgence she had so far not allowed herself. Screw you, Roger, she thought, knowing that her glare would say it for her. She pressed play.

He pointed at the screen, excited. ‘Stand by for the money shot.’

Spoken like a true hack.

Just as the mob fell on the escaping cops, a huge white truck lurched round the corner.

‘Remember the water cannon you okayed? Voilà – just off the boat from Belfast, courtesy of the PSNI.’

The jet of water from the turret above its cab simultaneously doused the fire and scattered the mob, like skittles, leaving the cops drenched but safe.

‘Thank Christ for that.’

Spate coughed quietly into his fist.

Typical of him to look so pleased with himself, as if he had personally saved the day.

‘What one could almost call a very welcome good news story. The media haven’t exactly been co-operative when it comes to showing us getting a grip. And the ones in the white robes. We’re just getting confirmation that three of them are returnee jihadis, back from Syria.’

She could only marvel at his gift for remaining smug at the direst of moments. She jabbed at the screen. ‘Good news for whom? When did we last see water cannon trained on mainland British subjects?’

Spate gazed at her, clearly surprised at being wrong-footed. He said nothing while she pressed on.

‘The ring-leaders may be jihadi returnees. Yes, it shows the police getting stuck in, but what’s the fallout? What kind of message does it send to the rest of the Muslim community? You think this is going to make people think twice about taking to the streets? Think again.’

Spate sagged a little as if he could sense a speech coming. Garvey was in full flow. The only option was to keep mum and listen.

‘See that orange glow in the background? That’s the Leafhaven Mall left to burn out of control. The BBC’s claiming that the fire brigade are so stretched they’ve decided to let it burn and concentrate on the surrounding dwellings. There are major blazes in five other cities. This isn’t going away, Roger. People are starting to wonder if anyone’s in charge.’