The pages were being sent one right behind the other. The outer desks had already reached the stillness after deadline. The first of the Terror spreads went, the chief calling it out exultantly, ‘Ten–eleven V-two! Ten–eleven is away!’

And Rosie, the pressure in her mind almost intolerable, broke through. ‘It just can’t be right. It must have been 11p.m. when he tipped them off. It must have been the night before.’

The reporter’s podgy cheeks blew out and he said, ‘Oh yeah, sorry, it was 11p.m., not a.m. It was the night before.’ And as she saw it, the error became absurdly small.

‘Definitely?’

‘Yes, definitely. That’s my mistake. Good spot.’

‘Rosie,’ said Max. ‘Right now!’

‘I’ve just sorted it. Give me a minute to tidy it up.’

‘You’ve got thirty seconds.’

The chief called out, ‘Eight–nine V-three coming now.’ And the pairers called back, ‘Eight–nine V-three.’

‘Eight–nine is away!’

The Editor asked Max, ‘What’s still to go?’

‘Splash, Interrogation, Terror Hunt. Interrogation is just going.’

The chief called out, ‘Four–five is away! Six–seven and the splash still to come.’

The Editor was reading the splash over Max’s shoulder. He pointed at the photo of Gary Connolly with the spaniel clambering over him. ‘Why is that dog not named in the caption? The readers want to know the name of the dog.’

Turkish Anna, caught out, looked at her staff. ‘Get the dog’s name.’ Six picture researchers reached for their keyboards and their phones.

Max said, ‘Rosie, no more time. Put it down or I’ll push you out of it.’

‘OK, it’s done, it’s down.’

Max’s eye touched the headline, stand-first, captions, datelines over the boxes. ‘Are these times right? I’m going to send it.’

‘Yes, they’re right.’

Max sent the page and in the same instant two picture researchers cried together: ‘Teddy!’ One went on, ‘The dog’s name is Teddy.’

Max wrote it in, then zoomed out so the Editor could see the whole spread on the screen.

‘Alright,’ said the Editor. ‘Send it.’

Max pressed Send, the chief glanced over it, pressed Send and called out, ‘Pages one–two–three. The splash is coming over!’

They were late, by a minute or so, when the pairer called into the enormous quiet, ‘One, two, three are gone. We’re off stone. The paper’s away.’ Rosie expelled a long cataract of pressurized air. Salt had crystallized at her temples, her fingers were shaky, sweat was going cold on her back and she’d have to throw away her blouse because of the stains under the arms, but she felt that she’d finally earned her seat.

29