‘It’s the end of everything.’ The chief shook his head, his frown pushing deep wrinkles up his forehead. Then he sighed and flopped back into his seat again. In a voice they’d never heard before, he said, ‘Fuck it.’ He looked at Jeremy. ‘I’m leaving. I’m going to the Fun. Production editor. I signed the contract last night while they were gagging to know what had been going on.’

‘But…’ said Jeremy.

‘I’m fifty-four, Jez. Ten more years. The old world’s gone. We’re all just desk-monkeys now, and I reckon the Fun’ll see me out quietly.’

17

Near the small Berkshire town of Thatcham, the bus carefully eased itself up a woodland road too narrow for centre markings and finally arrived at a pair of high chain-link gates set back into the trees. As a pair of armed policemen came forward to open the gates, the elder of the two men hiding in a ditch across the road began to take photographs. He’d already shot all the earlier buses and now he’d got this one, too: a line of seated hacks in profile at the windows; the policemen ushering the bus inside; the bus nosing around a corner and out of sight.

He banged the bottom of his fist against the soft verge; his guess had come good. To the younger man lying on his belly beside him he said: ‘This is fantastic stuff, Gavin, absolutely fantastic. How’re we doing on getting inside, has Nikki texted back yet?’

Gavin was sulking. With a martyred expression, he rolled a little and hoiked the phone out of his pocket. There was a WhatsApp message from his brother, but nothing else. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’

The elder man stared at him. ‘Gavin, what’s the matter with you?’

‘You could have told me we were going to be lying in a ditch.’

‘What?’

Gavin’s voice grew petulant. ‘Then I wouldn’t have worn my suit. If you’d said, I could have worn something else. Now it’s completely covered in mud. And you’re not wearing a suit.’

Adrian glanced down at himself. It was true that he’d decided to wear some easily replaceable trousers, with an old jumper over his shirt and tie. ‘Don’t gripe, Gavin,’ he said. ‘Do you think those pros in there are griping? No, they’re probably making contacts and getting leads; they’ve probably already unearthed some great local stories we’ve been overlooking for months.’

Gavin was not persuaded. He muttered, ‘Yeah, maybe, but I bet they don’t have to buy a new suit every day.’