Behind him Geraldine was still on the phone to Ken, speaking extra loudly so the newsroom could follow what she was saying, like radio commentary on a lap of honour. ‘Is Dan still getting shots of the survivors? Tell him to hurry; the pics won’t make sense as a group if some of them are in the dark… And the driver’s not dead, is he? Just unconscious. Can you wake the old dozer up?… Oh alright, but if he doesn’t shuffle off this mortal coil I want you to talk to him… Then go have a look who the others are… Look in their pockets; they must have something… They have credit cards, don’t they, even in the north?… I don’t give two shits if you don’t want to do it. How else do you suggest we find out who they are?… And you’d better get on with it before the cops turn up and take you in for pinching watches, you old scallywag… Alright then, top man, quickly now… Gabriella Bagot, excellent. Anna, are you hearing this?’

Anna, feeling unusual affection for Geraldine, and indeed everyone around her, told her deputy: ‘Get on Facebook, get on Google Images – we’ll deal with copyright later. Gabriella Bagot, she’s the first one. Headshots, age, job, survived by, some colour.’

Geraldine carried on speaking down the phone. ‘Tim Thompson, is that Thompson with a p?… Of Ashton-under-Lyne… then Colin Godfrey, of Skelmersdale… Paula O’Keeffe, of Ongar… God, who’s ever heard of these ruddy places… Robert Connolly of Bolton – alright, we know that one. Olivia Murphy, also of Bolton… Tristan Wellington – bit of a smart name, isn’t it, for someone on a bus from Manchester. Where’s he from?… Devon?! Curiouser and curiouser. Maybe he’s a QC having a torrid affair with a northern slapper. Is he wearing a wedding ring?… Oh, there’s a kid as well, magnifique! They don’t carry ID, though, do they, more’s the pity. Perhaps a library card?… Oh, for Pete’s sake don’t get soppy; you’ve only got a few minutes… That’s a good fellow… A bank card?! At his age? The way people spoil their children… Gary Connolly? So do we think he’s the son of Robert Connolly and the woman, Murphy, the two of them living in sin? Were they all near each other?… Right, right, but can you see a resemblance? Oh, I see, completely bashed in? How bloody tragic.’