To Will this was very intriguing indeed. He’d already known in principle, of course, that promotion here was not like in, say, the civil service; you didn’t wait your turn. And as he examined this shard of information, his colleagues, too, returned to their own preoccupations. Rosie asked herself how anyone could be so tactless when they were obviously very smart. She liked Lauren, as well as that there was a girl on the middle bench, and knew that Lauren was clinging to the pod-leader job by her fingertips; Jeremy being wound up might mean she was demoted again.

For his part, Jeremy was restless with what he told himself was merely nicotine withdrawal. He and Max always smoked after conference, that being the latest possible moment before they were locked in until edition, and he kept glancing up the corridor to the Editor’s office, thinking he’d spotted them. He could vividly picture Max coming back, telling him the Editor had spiked the whole bomb thing and asking whether he wanted to go out for a smoke. It was about time; conference was usually ending by now. The casual who’d gone to McDonald’s had already hurried back in, licking his fingertips.

Jeremy had to wait a few more minutes before the people who’d been in conference streamed back into the newsroom. On a normal day, they sauntered and laughed and came to a standstill to finish their conversations before they parted. But today they strode in silence back to their seats. Geraldine and her deputy on Newsdesk were moving almost at a jog. Everyone noticed. Those subs still standing up got back to their desks. Those writing emails or shopping online quickly closed their tabs and found their places in the copy. Will’s antennae quivered; he saw that Jeremy knew what was going on.

Even Max was not swaggering. When he arrived at the pod, his pencil jigging rapidly between two fingers, there was no mention of a cigarette break. Aware of Will’s attention, he simply said, ‘Jez, could you go and lend a hand to Newsdesk? They’re working on a story that could benefit from your experience.’

8

The faces clustered around Newsdesk were all unfamiliar, except for Colin, to whom he’d spoken earlier, and Geraldine, the head of Newsdesk, to whom he’d been warned never to speak. He certainly did not want to speak to her now. Jeremy wished as hard as he could that he’d never mentioned the burqas to anyone. But no magic happened and his legs kept carrying him closer.