‘That implication shows the Impartial to be an enemy of the very freedoms on which its callow calumnies depend. Its editors would do well to learn a lesson from their colleagues on the Beast, who would have every right to despise the Impartial but have already amply demonstrated that they would risk their lives to defend it.’

The other MP they’d called was from Labour, so that Will could write, ‘MPs from across the major parties united last night in condemning…’ It was Michael Davidson, Sheffield South, who’d said:

‘They must be bonkers. I’m no friend of the Beast’s politics, but you can’t deny that they’re on the frontline against this medieval totalitarianism, and fair play to them. This isn’t the time for that kind of point-scoring.

‘The Impartial should apologize and make “We are all Beast readers” their front page tomorrow. Because at the moment they’re siding with the terrorists.’

Just as he was putting the piece into revise, much stabilized by a job done, Anna sent one of her juniors to fetch the Editor. Max looked at her and she said, ‘Yeah, we’ve caught up with them. And they’re still fucking miles away.’

26

In the race between deadline and the loaded bus, the deadline approached faster. Anna stood leaning over the pictures laid out on her desk, the open phone line clamped to her chest, and kept glancing up at the clock behind the back bench. Its black pointers rotated tirelessly, one lapping the other, while the bus languished in the orbital systems and traffic-calming measures on the outskirts of Birmingham.

The Editor strode out of his office with an air of decision and asked Anna for the third time in half an hour, ‘Where are they?’

The whole newsroom listened in as she moved the phone to her ear and said, ‘Ken, where are you now…? They’re south of Birmingham and on to the M40… seeing signs for Sherbourne, Bishop’s Tachbrook – Warwick, they’re just by Warwick and Leamington Spa. The bastards definitely won’t get to Oxford till after half nine, let alone here.’

The Editor had known that this would be the case but had left room for the possibility that something about their trajectory would change: a loosening of traffic, a lifting of the pace.

The chief sidled warily over to him and said, ‘Charles, just so you know, we’re starting to cut things pretty fine on production. If we don’t decide on a splash soon, it’ll be a bit of a scramble making edition.’

The Editor knew that, of course. But that the chief had seen fit to mention it meant that the rest of the book was still a long way off. He ordered, ‘Geraldine, put together what else we’ve got. Five minutes…’ and went back to his office to think.