‘So for that reason let me be clear: the paper goes on time tonight. Nine forty-five. Every minute after that means thousands fewer copies printed before the vans have to leave the printworks. It means fewer copies in newsagents and on forecourts in Penzance, in Northumberland, in Inverness. And the printers have been primed for an enormous run. They have cleared the schedules for us. The presses stand ready. We will not be late.’

He looked into the faces gathered around him, and told them, ‘Some of you have been doing this as long as I have; remember your expertise. Some of you are far younger; tonight you will earn your seats. Do your work well. Keep your heads. In every man’s life, there comes an hour that defines him. Ours has struck. Be worthy of it.’

There was no cheering, but a thrill ran through them. They went to work.

12

Adrenaline like a hundred cups of coffee, like handfuls of coke, like explosions outside the door, pulsed in the veins of the subs. Fingers jittered, lips popped, feet hopped and tapped beneath the desks. Teeth chewed gum to tasteless pulp. The noise rose steadily. Heat gathered, and broke out in sweat across backs and under arms. But adrenaline was what the newsroom was addicted to, what – more than any story – its journalists lived for. They felt as if they would hold back the bombers by words alone, the power of the Press blazing out a charmed circle that none could penetrate.

Eyes gleamed in the light of screens. Tongues darted out of dry mouths. Cheeks flushed. Jeremy was up out of his slouch. This one stunning scoop didn’t mean that the rest of the newspaper didn’t still have to be produced. He had to cut a dense 600-word story about mortgages into a 200-word space within the next ten minutes, but his too-focused mind was losing its peripheral vision and trying to zoom in on the few words right in front of it. While he tried to zoom out enough to understand the story his thoughts kept jumping back to the bombing. He couldn’t believe how easily he might have missed it. But the mortgage story: some kind of tax relief had been promised to lenders and they’d failed to meet the terms. Something to do with lending money to small businesses rather than allocating it to mortgages, the latter being less profitable. There were new regulations that— Max interrupted him to ask about a Medical Breakthrough story Jeremy had spent fifteen precious minutes making lighter on its feet. ‘Jez, how much do these tubes cost?’

From long practice, Jeremy split his concentration on to two tracks. His fingers did not cease rattling on the keyboard as he said, ‘We don’t have that. Just the total cost of the treatment. What do you want it for?’