We laugh together, just for a moment, as we walk down the stairs to the lobby. Except I know it’s really because of Mary. He adores her – warzone camerawoman of legend.

‘Why, if it’s not Lady Mary … Come here, you gorgeous old thing…’

Eyes twinkle at me from behind the set of glasses perched on Dominic’s shoulder as he embraces her.

‘Look at you, Mister Investigative!’ Mary pulls away, holding Dominic by both arms. ‘What’s this suit and all … You look like the head boy!’

‘I was once, in fact, the head boy,’ Dominic says, vamping on the spot. ‘And you, my saint, my liege, look exactly as I left you all those weeks ago in Iraq … except a bit cleaner… Ow!’ Mary socks him on the arm as she smiles at me.

‘Marie, is it? Oh dear … this could get confusing…’ She stretches out fingers the mustard-yellow of nicotine.

I shake her hand, staring. Her smile looks like it is coming from her whole face, fighting against the tight pull of grey hair in a long ponytail. Lucky, because if she wasn’t smiling so hard she might look like a rat, her eyes deep in their lined sockets. I find myself wiping my hand before stuffing it back into my pocket as we walk outside, even though I like rats. They hang around when everyone else has long given up. We only see them when they’re desperate.

‘I only got home last week,’ she says, hoisting her gear into the boot of the van waiting by the kerb. ‘Try and get out of going again if you can, the place is a mess. The office is a dump, the hours 55are godawful and the stories … Don’t get me started. We never film anything original, we’re just out with the military all the time – and they reckon combat operations are nearly over? I’ve seen it all before…’

She keeps ranting as she follows Dominic into the back of the car. I gabble our location to the driver as I climb into the passenger seat, trying not to miss any of their conversation. This is a tide of details I can just dissolve in for a while.

‘…Honestly, Dom, it’s impossible to do any real journalism other than follow the army around. The Brits and Americans are so overcommitted … and for what? It’s like they learned nothing from the first time around, except that they cut too hard and too fast after the bloody Cold War. If I never film another military operation it will be too soon. We never hear from civilians, we’re barely allowed out of the armoured cars, and the best pictures I can ever come up with are roads exploding, yet again.’ I feel her kick out on the floor behind me.

‘What are we doing again, honey?’ She leans forward into the gap between the seats.