He wished he’d been able to get through to Louise. He could have told her about it if it had been right away, but now he knew he wouldn’t. Especially because it was rare for her to think highly of what he did all day; and this bus disaster wasn’t, as it were, unconnected from his miraculous spot. If he was honest with himself, the crash and his great moment – it was all of a piece. He just wished he hadn’t won the sweepstake. But the story itself was good, he had to remember that. There might be some pretty tasteless humour in the newsroom, and this sweepstake was about as bad as he’d seen, but he had to remember that that was just the noise that happened while something important was being done. It was about stopping terrorism, people being killed on buses or in tube trains like on 7/7. It wasn’t just about him.

Eventually, through being chewed over and over, these thoughts lost their sharpness. He wished Max were here. Sighing again, he heaved himself to his feet and wondered unconnectedly how long he’d been sitting here. He could still hear voices and, no longer needing to hold out his hand as a bumper, shuffled his way back towards the others. As he approached, he caught the scent of smoke and saw rich orange light splashing through the irregular wooden pillars, casting behind them flickering poles of shadow.

His colleagues, even some of the older, more curmudgeonly ones, were dancing around the fire. While the iPod on the tree stump played ‘Shake Your Tail Feather’, Will and Rosie were doing the twist, miming snorkelling and swimming while they gazed happily at each other. Max had his elbows tucked into his sides and was waggling his bottom back and forth like a happy duck. His eyes were closed in the easy satisfaction of a man who knows he is going to be promoted. The chief, his squat bulk hunched forward like an ape’s, was dancing the mashed potato. Geraldine, a bottle of rum in one out-flung hand, was teaching Turkish Anna a kind of wild hornpipe, which Anna, her arms held stiff above her head, embellished with pseudo-Cypriot flourishes. The only person actually bent over and shaking his tail feather was the South African lawyer, who had had a lot of crème de menthe and appeared to be crying.