‘Look. This conversation is not happening. We both know that. But to repeat, if I write that on Thursday Todd will set out that the party’s manifesto will include promises not to increase either the basic or top rate of taxes, is that my career over?’

I am beginning to get the telltale adrenaline surge from landing a big exclusive.

‘I wish it was. But not this time.’

‘OK. Wow. Thank you.’

‘Do me a favour, Gil.’ He leans forward. ‘No fingerprints. And be a bit vague on the timing.’

‘No problem.’ I have the story. I can be magnanimous.

It is 9 p.m. I need a polite way to end the conversation so I can ring my news editor and see if there is any way to shoehorn the story on to the front page for the second and third editions. I hate sitting on a scoop – there is always a danger that someone else will get the story.

But Cannon is already getting up. ‘I think I’ll make a move,’ he says. ‘Back to the barricades.’ He looks as dejected as ever, despite the booze and drugs, and heads for the exit.

I start composing the story in my head. But it’s interrupted by the habitual nagging voice of self-protection. How do I know I haven’t been played by Cannon? Maybe he always planned to give me the story for reasons I can’t quite fathom. Maybe he wants to damage me by telling me a pack of lies – again for reasons I can’t quite see right now. The problem with being scoop-obsessed is that there are risks – risks of being manipulated, or just getting stuff wrong. I play the percentages. There are no guarantees I’ll be right.

But mostly I am, I remind myself.

I leave the bar to ring Mary Nichols, the FC’s news editor, in the underlit hall by the reception desk. Just then, the Nokia screen lights up, accompanied by the distinctive plinkety-plink ringtone. I register the digits. It is a phone number I know as well as my own, but I haven’t seen for months. I hadn’t expected to see it for a few more.

My thumb hovers over the keypad, moving between the green button and the red. I don’t want to take this call. Even if I wanted to speak to her, I need to phone in the story. I can’t waste time.

But then again, she never rings at this time. Maybe it is something important. Fuck. I’ll give her five minutes. I press the green button.

‘Hello, Mum.’

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tuesday, 4 March