Killed in what? ‘Car crash’ was too dull, and inaccurate. Car smash? Still inaccurate. Road tragedy? Road horror? Or maybe, yes:

FAMILY AGONY AS

KEEN RIDER DIES IN

ROADSIDE HORROR

He could squeeze the leading so those extra letters fit, and that would do the job. It was a shame they didn’t have a picture of some carnage on the road – the shape of the dead horse under a police blanket, one leg sticking out, that sort of thing. But apparently the horse was fine.

He checked whether BeastOnline had the story. They did, and had headlined it DEAD pretty – girl at £25,000-a-year school killed in horse tragedy. Someone was going to get a strip torn off him for that. He turned his screen to show Max, and said, ‘Look at this.’

Max’s expression hardened into scorn. ‘Amateurs,’ he said. ‘There was one like that while you were away. About a mix-up in a cemetery that meant this family spent years bringing flowers to the wrong body. They’d lifted it from the paper, so it had all the right lines – heartbreaking mistake, grieving all over again, that sort of thing. Even the headline was OK. But they got a photo of the headstone that we didn’t and captioned it GRAVELY MISTAKEN.’

Jeremy laughed.

Max said, ‘Can you imagine someone doing that on the paper? They’d get sacked. I mean, I would sack them.’

As they were both imagining Max with the power to sack, the two young grunts assigned to their pod, Will and Rosie, hurried into the newsroom. They’d happened to meet on the way in and Will was trying to talk to her while she rushed nervously between the desks, not wanting to be rude but certainly not wanting to be late. She respectfully said, ‘Hello Max, hello Jeremy.’

Jeremy said, ‘Wotcher,’ and Max, with open scepticism, nodded and said, ‘Afternoon.’ Jez thought Max was too tough with the newcomers, but in the end, he couldn’t blame him for it; they hadn’t yet earned their seats.

The stocky bald form of the chief bustled over and said, ‘Afternoon, Will; afternoon, Rosie. So nice of you to join us.’

Rosie flushed. ‘We’re not late, are we?’

The chief sub clasped his fat hands together. He didn’t know how to cope with someone who put up so little front. ‘Um,’ he said. His voice strained and creaked as he tried to make it gentle, ‘No, no, not at all, just get settled in and I’m sure Max’ll find something for you to look at.’

The children sat down and the chief, shaking his head quickly as if to clear it, came around the table to talk to Jez. ‘Alright, fuckwit,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look at this schoolgirl of yours.’