It might have been the night, the shadows, her imagination, but Adele was sure her patient’s face had changed, just slightly, as she spoke.

NEIL

Glasgow, 25 January 2018

‘Neil, pal. Mate. Mate.’

Neil really missed the days before Craig could remember his name. This new whirring and whining at his ear, the reek of aftershave making his head light, a feeling of being craned in on, his space invaded – this was what colleagues who worked on the politics and sports desks (the bits that still got clicks) had been bitching about all year. Craig was a manager with no ability to manage, would swoop down and intimidate to get his results, increasing pressure, making Neil feel as though he couldn’t walk across the office floor without issuing a progress report.

Yesterday, it had all started with the feminists. Someone out there on the Internet had taken umbrage at his meek little paragraph of an obituary. Craig had ambled over in that laid-back way he’d cultivated to disguise his excitement, somehow braying out another maaaate while simultaneously sucking air in through his teeth.

‘Aren’t you checking your mentions, pal? Blowing up. Absolutely blowing up. And I mean, yeah, that’s great, but it’s not a very good look, is it? Not for the paper. You know what these girls are like now, don’t you? I get where you’re coming from. It’s the sort of thing I wouldn’t have thought twice about a few years ago myself. You know. You know, mate. But, given the current climate –’ he sucked the air back over his teeth again ‘– bit of contrition probably wouldn’t go amiss. We’re going to walk back a bit on that feature for the weekend, too – I think we probably need to get a girl in to write a bit of it. But let’s see, shall we? Anyway, just keep up with your mentions this afternoon, eh?’

Neil was dizzy from the man’s scent, found himself gazing into the tiny pores and clean skin of the nose up at his face.

‘On Twitter, pal. On Twitter. Hear me? Have a look, maybe draft a little mea culpa, let me have a squizz before you post? Sorted.’

A few little @s on his Twitter feed bubbled and snapped with righteous anger. He’d no idea how writing that simple, truthful, pared-down version of Clio’s life – just the bare bones, in two hundred and fifty words – had caused so much consternation.

WTF is this? ‘Despite her undoubted beauty in her younger years’ Seriously, @NeilMunroWrites @ScottishStandard, what the hell is THAT?

a woman: is amazing and accomplished, dies.

@NeilMunroWrites, a man: well, she’s not as hot as she used to be

Never mind the f**king beauty stuff in this @NeilMunroWrites wank. Why the need to mention that she didn’t have kids? Would you even think to mention it if she was a man?