Calm down, Gil. Calm down. And then, despite myself, I feel the habitual wave of rising panic. I want everyone to live except me, everyone to live except me, everyone to live except me. I chant it three times. And then feel another two times might help bring about the opposite of what the words say. To be clear, I don’t want everyone else to die. I just want to stay alive long enough to avenge Clare.

I walk to the train and find a seat in first class. Before sitting down, and for the tenth time, I check my bag and pockets. Two phones, one pager, a notebook, laptop and two cassette tape recorders. Nothing left to chance.

One of the phones rings.

‘Why aren’t you on the train?’ says Jess. She must have heard the station announcer in the background. ‘You haven’t missed it, have you?’

‘It’s been delayed.’

‘Oh, well. I wish you had missed it. This is a crazy idea.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I still can’t believe Kendall agreed.’

‘You know me. I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be.’

Truthfully, I am equally amazed Kendall is seeing me. I started by ringing the Treasury press office, who said that because there’s an election, I had to speak to Tory central office. I then got hold of a speccy, spotty twenty-six year-old, Gavin, who’s been appointed to be Kendall’s press minder for the election. He’s one of those fresh-out-of-Oxford Tory boys who is ludicrously impressed by anyone who works for the great FC.

‘I’m working on a colour piece for the Saturday edition,’ I lied. ‘The Great Tory Fightback.’ And then I laid it on with a trowel. Kendall as the future of the Conservative Party. Most of the press so obsessed with Modern Labour and its dynamic new leader, the Tories struggling to win any coverage, let alone the softer sort that might humanise them. Blah blah blah. Gavin bought it immediately – and was even grateful.

‘Would you mind if I’m not there with you?’ he asked. ‘We’re a bit thin on the ground and I’m supposed to accompany the Home Secretary to Waterloo for a press thing about the Channel Tunnel and immigration.’

‘It will be fine, Gavin. I’ve known the Chancellor for years. Trust me.’

So here I am, booked in for a day of shadowing Kendall: a chat on the train to his Cotswolds constituency and then a walk around a couple of well-appointed villages as he hits the campaign trail, culminating in tea with him and the fragrant Lady Mandy.