‘To Kate,’ said Greg simply, and they all three touched glasses.

Next was the business of food, and Kate opened the menu and blinked at the prices. She could sense Tim doing the same. Her lifelong thrifty guilt kicked in and she found herself ordering the cheapest thing listed.

Maybe Greg could sense her unsettled mood as, straight after they’d ordered, he picked up a black file that was on the seat next to him and extracted some papers. ‘There’s something I want you to see.’

He laid an artist’s impression of the inside of a lorry carefully on the table in front of her.

‘This is the passenger door of a lorry as standard, and this –’ he placed another drawing over the top – ‘is the passenger door with a vision panel fitted to the lower section. You can see the cyclist. Each of our lorries is going to be refitted. The first few will be done next month.’

Kate looked at the drawings. The extra window lower down on the passenger door was so simple and yet so effective. It gave a complete view of anything alongside the lorry. If only it had been done just over a year ago. ‘Thank you, Greg. I didn’t expect it to be so quick . . . I expected a battle.’

He smiled. ‘No battle. There was one other thing I wanted to ask you.’ He paused nervously. ‘I was thinking about whether you would like us to set up a bursary. In Becky’s name. We’d like to support one aspiring journalist every year, perhaps to help them through university or other training or even just give someone the means to live in London as they get their foot on the ladder. I know a lot of internships these days barely pay anything; in fact, sometimes, I think you have to pay the newspaper! I was wondering if you would like to help run it. Decide who the recipient should be every year.’

Kate kept silent.

‘If I’ve overstepped the mark—’

‘No, it’s not that. I think it’s a great idea. I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.’ Overwhelmed, Kate turned to Tim who squeezed her hand under the table.

‘She – we – always struggled for her to stay on her university course. Money was tight. It would mean a lot to Becky that someone else was getting a chance.’ Kate smiled. ‘She would have written it up: an underdog story.’

‘Was that the kind of journalism she was interested in?’ asked Greg, as their food arrived.

‘Yes. Investigative, really. She hated any kind of unfairness. Injustice.’

‘Investigative. That’s good. So, did she work on local stories? National? I hope you don’t mind talking about this,’ he added quickly.

‘No, it’s fine. She did both, really. Well, I think she did. She was working on something big—’

Kate was interrupted by a loud exclamation from Tim, who had a pile of noodles in his lap and his chopsticks attacking his fingers.