‘What was that about?’ Jess looks almost as stunned as I feel.

‘Honestly? I’m not altogether sure.’ Was he threatening me? ‘He doesn’t want us to put this story out.’ I puff out my cheeks.

‘All the more reason we should.’

‘I guess so.’ I’m puzzled why Kendall is so keen to kill a story that would probably make him a hero among his backbench colleagues, who are terrified of losing their seats in the election and would welcome any initiative that would allow them to flourish an income tax cut at their constituents. It doesn’t make sense.

Jess goes back to the keyboard and finishes typing it up. I read it over, adorn it with hyperbole and then put it in the subeditors’ electronic basket for editing and polishing.

‘Happy?’ asks Jess.

Happy isn’t the word. I thought the papers might help to explain Clare’s death, but they’ve simply yielded a classic FC splash, a difficult chat with the Chancellor, and funny looks from Scott.

‘It’s a decent story, Jess. Good work.’

My phone is still on the desk where I left it after Kendall’s call when the screen lights up. As the Nokia trills, I read another number I know.

‘Lorimer,’ I say. The editor. I smile. ‘He does love a pensions story.’ I pick it up, anticipating a herogram. ‘Peck here.’

‘We’re not running the story,’ he says without preamble. Shit. ‘You can’t have read it.’

‘Mary ran me through it. All you’ve got is something that was never announced, that isn’t going ahead. Something that didn’t happen isn’t a story.’

It’s the second time this evening I’ve heard that phrase. For now, I’m too stunned to process it properly.

‘We ran Jess’s story that something like it was in the works. This is the follow-up.’

‘I’m sorry, Gil. Your judgement’s off on this one.’ A change of tone, now, his arm-around-the-shoulder voice. ‘Not surprising, really, given all you’ve been through. You should have taken some proper downtime. We’ll need you in fighting fettle when the campaign starts.’

I want to tell him it’s bullshit. I want to argue, make him see that this is an important story that deserves to run. But the decision to spike it has stunned and deflated me.

‘John, this is a mistake,’ I say.

‘That’s my prerogative.’

I end the call, and only then start swearing.

‘What happened?’

‘They spiked the story,’ I say, redundantly. Jess read the gist of the conversation from the pain written on my face. ‘And Lorimer told me my judgement was shot.’

‘Wow. That’s mad. What now?’

‘I think you know.’

Chapter 8

Chapter 8