She’d been happy to stay on the sidelines of power – nudging and pushing and causing trouble. But that had changed after the shock general election which had robbed the government of its majority and sent eighteen People’s Party MPs to Westminster. Despite grumbles from the backbenches, and protests from the liberal mainstream media, the PM had swallowed his pride and struck a deal with Hogarth.

‘Sorry about the delay.’ Ben Thomas came bounding over, hands filled with three cups. ‘And hello again, Ms O’Brien.’ He emphasised the ‘Ms’. As the Home Secretary bustled around depositing the drinks, Hogarth studied him. His ‘people skills’ (a ghastly phrase which Hogarth mentally drew the speech marks around in her mind) were superb.

Hogarth was partly convinced he put on the Geordie accent for show. A good regional accent was regarded as pretty much essential for anyone in his party keen to present themselves as the champion of the squeezed middle. It was ironic really, Hogarth thought. She’d spent most of her life stifling her north Lincolnshire roots to appeal to the same voters. ‘Thanks for this, Lesley, and Ms O’Brien, of course. The thing is I’m keen – and this is a purely personal perspective here – and completely off the record,’ he glanced at O’Brien, ‘but I’m keen to build some bridges.’ He leant back in the chair and crossed his ankles. ‘What did you make of COBRA?’

‘Bloody shambles,’ said Hogarth. ‘Between you and me, I’m not convinced Steven Tennant is the right man for this. The man’s so bloody woke. He has a bee in his bonnet about the far right, yet seems immune to the dangers from more proven threats. What did the Herald call him? The PC PC?’

Thomas smiled thinly. ‘I think you got it spot on back there. One nutter does not make a far-right threat.’ He sipped from his coffee. ‘You know, Lesley, I’ve always felt far more unites us than separates us. Yet I’m not sure that’s always properly acknowledged by our leadership.’

Hogarth eyed him. He was impossible to read. She wondered if the PM knew he was meeting her.

‘A good marriage isn’t just about shared interests, Ben, is it?’ she said. ‘It’s also about ensuring neither partner takes the other for granted. One of the benefits of leading a smaller party is that one is always at the coalface of opinion. And I have to say, there’s considerable anxiety we’re not seeing all the benefits of coalition that we were promised.’

Thomas’s face was neutral. Hogarth had practised these lines with O’Brien that morning and her adviser’s gaze was fixed on the Home Secretary. Hogarth continued, ‘I mean, take the Hate Crime Bill. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of it. The Migration Bill, that’s another one. Seems to have been kicked into the long grass.

‘What concerns people out there, Ben, is the breakdown of normal decency. Knife crime, illegal immigration, drugs – in our schools and prisons and streets.’ She remembered a phrase O’Brien had given to her for her last column. ‘We’re close to a national emergency, Ben. Rather than pushing through bits of legislation here and there and risking it all getting frittered away in committees and then softened in the Lords, surely there’s an argument for one bill pulling all these issues under one roof. Immigration. Hate crime. Anti-extremism. Segregated communities. More powers for the police. All together in one place. A Freedom Bill.’