He told her about the paper’s big story, omitting his own part in it out of an unexpected unwillingness to brag. As he talked, she became ever more wakeful until finally she sat up in alarm, saying, ‘What? What? Tell me that again.’

‘Like I said, it turned out there was a plot to bomb the newspaper. But I don’t think it’ll happen now. And we won’t be there anyway. We’ll be in this place in the countryside.’

‘But they would have bombed it with you inside it! What were the security people doing? Where were the police?’

‘Well, we didn’t tell the police till after edition.’

‘You didn’t tell the police?! What’s the matter with you? It was that crazy Editor of yours, wasn’t it? I’ll kill him myself! God knows he’d deserve it. What was he playing at?’

He didn’t want to hear the Editor criticized tonight and tried to draw her down against himself. But she pushed him off and cross-examined him until he’d gone through it again, still eliding what he himself had done. Many of her questions – what exactly this place in Berkshire was, how long he expected to be away for, when he would be able to call – he didn’t have an answer for. But, as they talked, her bright fear for him gradually faded to matters of practicality: who would take the girls to school, for example; and whether she should cancel her dinner plans for Thursday evening.

Not until much later, once they’d undressed him and switched off the light and were lying unusually interlocked in the dark, did he whisper that the person who’d spotted the terrorists was him. Then there was another round of questioning, quieter but fiercer, in which she said, ‘You just don’t know any better sometimes. You just act like you don’t have a care in the world, or anyone who would miss you if something happened. You should have come home as soon as you even guessed how serious it was.’

But, later, she regretted that, and kissed him on the face and whispered, ‘How funny, my little Jeremy being the big hero. Aren’t you just the bravest, my lamb.’ And now that she finally understood how satisfied he was, he sank towards sleep. He didn’t bother telling her about the demotion; he’d almost forgotten it himself. After all, he’d been cheered by the whole newsroom. Instead of merely making the daily trade of labour for salary, today he’d actually done something. And she was right: it had been dangerous. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but yes, now that she’d said so he could see it himself: today he’d been brave.

*