She has half an hour to make her deadline and she can’t find a final paragraph. Rafferty has been padding around the room like a restless child on a rainy day, as he always does on Wednesdays at this time, stopping to peer over shoulders, scanning notes on desks, answering other people’s phones. Journalists hunch protectively across their consoles when they sense his approach. There is an air of irritated tension blanketing the whole office. Noel knows if she glances over to the subs’ desk they will be sitting with their arms folded, waiting for copy, looks of exaggerated patience on their faces. Pearlie, the Education writer at the next desk, gives a huge theatrical sigh and a thumbs-up signal to the subs. They pretend to scramble to their computers and Pearlie laughs. She stretches and looks smugly over at Noel. ‘All right for you,’ Noel says. ‘Want to finish this for me?’ ‘No worries. What’s it about?’ ‘Political corruption.
