Chloe freezes, her elbow pressing her bag tight under her arm.

She turns in time to see the reporter removing the earphones from her head. She’s a young girl, the one who arrived to replace the guy who left, whatever his name was. She’s got short blonde hair and the smell of cigarettes and a cheap burger sits in the air between them.

‘Bloody council meetings,’ the reporter says, coughing. ‘Why is it they always leave the one thing that you’re there to report on until the end?’

Chloe isn’t sure if this is a question she’s meant to answer. She shrugs. She looks at the door. She wants to go.

The reporter looks her up and down. ‘You’re working late,’ she says.

Again, Chloe isn’t sure whether this is a question. But at least this reporter still thinks she works here.

‘Yeah, we’re preparing for the new electronic filing system so . . .’ Chloe tilts her head towards the archive and shrugs and the reporter turns back to her computer screen. She knows other people don’t find the archive as fascinating as she does. She feels a sadness then in her chest. Chloe starts to walk away. Just two more feet and she’s out the door.

‘Wait,’ the reporter says.

Chloe freezes again. The reporter gets up from her desk and walks over. Chloe is sure she catches her glance at her bag.

‘You don’t have any change, do you?’ the reporter asks.

‘Sorry?’

‘I could kill for a coffee, but I’ve only got notes.’

‘Oh . . . oh yeah, sure.’

She quickly – too quickly? – takes her bag from her shoulder, conscious not to open it in front of the reporter. She goes over to the picture desk to fish out her purse. The reporter looks pleased when she hands her a shiny one-pound coin.

‘Oh, thanks so much, I owe you one. I’ll give you it back tomorr—’

‘Forget it,’ Chloe says quickly. The last thing she needs is this reporter asking for her at the archive. ‘Honestly, don’t even think of paying me back.’

‘OK, I’ll buy you a drink next time there’s a leaving do. In fact, isn’t Sam on Subs off this week?’

Chloe shuffles her weight between her feet. ‘I . . . er . . . I don’t—’

‘Yeh, drinks at the Tut, I think. I’ll buy you a drink, I couldn’t get through tonight without caffeine.’

Chloe pauses for a moment, long after the reporter has returned to her computer. No one in the office has ever offered to buy her a drink at a leaving do. No one has even asked her if she’s going to one. She looks at this girl with her bright pink nails and her black leather handbag, a celebrity magazine peering from the top of it. Might they have become friends if she hadn’t been fired? She’d never had a friend at work.