by Holly Watt
The police hadn’t found the car either. It must have stayed hidden in the traffic chaos and then slipped away as London gradually began to unfurl.
‘I bumped into Lady Newbury,’ Casey remembered suddenly. ‘She was waiting outside the office. I felt so sad for her. It was awful.’
‘Isn’t that,’ Ross said, ‘like a shark feeling sorry for its lunch?’
‘It’s stopped it though, hasn’t it?’ Casey was reading the headlines scrolling along the television screen. ‘This will end them, won’t it? It has to.’
‘You do it to change things, don’t you?’ said Miranda. ‘And I do it for the story.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Casey. ‘I watched a child die. I sat up there and I never did a thing to stop it. Not many people get the chance to be a hero.’
And then walk away.
She turned towards the news desk. All around them, the room was fizzing. The huge television screens were alternating between the taped-off Westminster Bridge, lights flickering in the darkness, and Salcombe, filmed hours earlier, praising his reporters with the Post logo huge behind him.
‘Sensational traffic online,’ Ross said happily.
The Sunday papers had just dropped: ‘Gunman horror in the heart of London’.
‘Your “My gun siege nightmare” piece can wait for tomorrow, Casey,’ Ross said generously. ‘We can put that out whenever works for you, really.’
‘Too kind,’ said Miranda.
She and Archie had driven back up from Wiltshire, Miranda breaking speed limits all the way. She took off a wing mirror turning into the car park, Archie whispered, still haunted.
‘Stay in a hotel for a few more nights,’ said Dash. ‘I’m sure Emerald will have left the country, but we won’t know for certain.’
Casey thought of a lifetime of glancing over her shoulder.
‘I will,’ said Casey. ‘But first, I am going to see Ed.’
‘Be careful,’ said Miranda, automatically.
‘I will be.’
Dash watched Casey as she left. Matthew had been superseded by a small squad of men, who trailed her like a comet’s tail.
As Casey reached the doors, Miranda caught up with her, softening suddenly as she did sometimes. Dash watched them hug and smile. Tomorrow, said Miranda’s gesture, tomorrow.
It’s always about tomorrow in a newspaper.
And Dash walked back towards the news desk, because there’s always something at the news desk. There’s always the race, the race for tomorrow.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It seems odd that two friends – one couple – were so central to the creation of this book, but that is how it turned out. Ages ago, one slightly disastrous year after I had left university, I met up with my friend Collette Lyons.
‘I don’t know what to do with my life,’ I moaned, quite a few drinks into proceedings.
‘I’m doing work experience on the Style section of the Sunday Times this month,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Come in with me. We can break in through the turnstiles together! No one will ever notice there’s two of us.’
So we did. The Sunday Times did eventually notice, but failed in their various attempts to get rid of me, and that was the start of my career in journalism.
A few years later, Collette very wisely married the lovely Paul Vlitos, a novelist and senior lecturer in creative writing at the University of Surrey.
At about 2 o’clock one morning, after yet more drinks, I admitted: ‘Trynawriteabook.’
‘Send it to me tomorrow,’ he said, with immense generosity.
And then, a few days later: ‘You have to finish this.’
Given that Collette was responsible for my journalism career, and Paul was responsible for my book – and I am not quite sure where I would be otherwise – I promise I will be the very best godmother to the gorgeous Buffy.
An especially huge thank you to all my amazing friends who took the time to read To The Lions and advise on in its early drafts. In particular – Alex Marrache, Alice Ross, Alice Wood, Amelia Hill, Claire Apps, David Pegg, Felicity Fitzgerald, Francesca Hornak, Jasmine Miller, Kate Kingsley, Laura Roberts, Michou Burckett St Laurent, Presiley Baxendale, Richard Fitzgerald, Romilly Holland, Sarah Mahmud, Tabbin Almond and Victoria Naylor-Leyland.
During my ludicrous career in journalism, I have had some of the best fun with some of the most brilliant people. In particular, Robert Winnett and Claire Newell, you, um, inspired me.
My fantastic agent – Andrew Gordon at David Higham – was vital in turning To The Lions into a recognisable book. The moment I met Alison Hennessey from Raven Books, I knew she had to be the person to publish it – and everyone else at Bloomsbury has been incredibly kind and brilliantly inspirational.
My family were heroic throughout every stage of To The Lions. Nicky and Simon, James and Cressy, your advice was invaluable and your support irreplaceable. Thank you.
And finally, darling Jonny, I am so happy that you wandered back into my life.
NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
As an investigative journalist, Holly Watt worked on MPs expenses and the Panama Papers. She has written for the Sunday Times, the Telegraph and the Guardian. She lives in London.
First published in Great Britain 2019
This electronic edition published in 2019 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © Holly Watt, 2019
Illustration copyright © Martin Lubikowski, ML Design, 2019
Holly Watt has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work
‘Salama’, included on the map, is a fictional place
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: HB: 978-1-5266-0207-7; TPB: 978-1-5266-0210-7; EBOOK: 978-1-5266-0208-4
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