‘Gil? Its John.’ Lorimer. The editor. Shit. I shouldn’t have answered. His voice is crisp and sharp, in headmaster mode. ‘We need to have a talk. Could you come to my office?’

‘Just give me ten minutes to . . .’

‘No, I don’t think so. It can’t wait. Come down now.’

Despite the alleged urgency, he keeps me waiting outside his office. I sit on the steel-framed sofa, staring at the Thames and wondering whether I care that my glorious career at the FC is probably over. Lorimer’s PA sits at her desk, zealously tapping her keyboard; she won’t meet my eye, must have guessed I am about to get a bollocking. Or worse.

Through the glass wall I can see Lorimer on his phone, shirt untucked at the back, pacing, stretching the phone cord almost to snapping point. He is flushed and agitated; when he’s finished, he slams it down so hard I can hear the clatter.

‘Send in Peck!’ he bellows.

I go in. ‘That was the Chancellor on the phone.’ Behind his half-moon glasses, his eyes are dark with rage, his cheeks flushed. ‘I’ve had his people on at me all afternoon. They’re threatening to withdraw all cordial relations with us, with the paper, if I don’t fire you.’

‘I understand. You should do what you have to do.’

‘I know you’ve had a terrible time. But honestly! You can’t use your FC calling card to conduct private vendettas. It drives a coach and horses through our code of conduct and is grotesquely unprofessional.’ In Lorimer’s world, there is nothing more shameful than being unprofessional. The men of the FC, and they are largely men, are nothing if not self-controlled and always courteous, especially in the presence of Chancellors of the Exchequer. ‘I have a flavour of the lurid and crazy accusation you flung at Keith. For goodness’ sake, Gil, what came over you?’

Keith. I am about to tell him who Kendall was really shagging, and check myself. ‘I made a mistake. I was pursuing a story. I misjudged it.’

‘Misjudged? That’s a bit like calling the publication of the Hitler Diaries a misjudgement. It was a fucking car crash.’

Unlike me, Lorimer only swears when he’s under intense pressure. It’s a bad sign.

‘John, I’ve loved working here. It has been a dream come true. I’ve crossed a line. I know that and I am profoundly sorry. If it makes it easier for you, I can resign.’

There’s a pause. Lorimer takes a deep breath.

‘Look, I probably ought to sack you. But Kendall is a cunt. Always has been. And there is no way I am taking orders from him – or any politician – about who I fire. Even if you do deserve it.’

‘That’s amazingly generous of you.’