When he does, his glasses are already on, which is never a good sign. ‘Is everything OK, Roger? You must be relieved yesterday’s over.’ He nods. ‘Long day. I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’ I feel a lurch in my stomach. Please don’t say you’ve found a lump. ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Me? It’s not me, it’s your piece. I’m going to have to go back on my word, I’m afraid.’ He’s changed his mind. Goodbye Adam. Adios, holiday. ‘No re-review?’ I say, trying desperately to strip the disappointment from my voice. ‘I mean, I can’t come with you tonight,’ he says, looking confused. ‘I’m sorry – it’s short notice but perhaps you can still find a friend?’ ‘Oh Roger, I was worried for a minute. I’ll go alone if necessary.’ ‘OK. Sorry . . . I . . . I’m taking Thursday and Friday off, having a little rest. Nothing in the diary that can’t be moved is there?’ ‘I’ll take care of it. So, if it is a rewrite, do I email you the revised copy tomorrow?’ ‘You know what you’re doing, run it past a sub and legal, and run the Persian and the noodle.’ I’m just about to leave his office when I turn back again.
