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first name and no one had used ‘Mister’ when referring to him, just McNeil. He was in his fifties, white hair, broken nose. Solid, no bullshit. He was the editor of the Standard .
    Also in the office were Billy and a woman Martha was introduced to as Rose, veteran crime reporter on the Standard . Rose was a handsome woman, maybe hitting fifty, curvy in a red blouse, matching heels and big gold hoop earrings. Martha liked her immediately.
    She lifted the Walkman from her bag and McNeil raised his hand.
    ‘Wait, what the hell is that?’
    ‘A Sony Walkman.’
    ‘What I meant to ask was what fucking decade is this? Have I slipped back in time and emerged in the early nineties?’
    ‘It’s all I have,’ Martha said.
    ‘Give it here,’ McNeil said.
    She handed it over. She had rewound the tape to the start of the side when she got back to her desk, or rather Gordon’s desk. V had greeted her with wide eyes as she slumped in her seat, already up to speed thanks to a call from Billy.
    ‘I covered for you,’ V said. ‘Christ on a bike, though. Pastyface, huh?’
    Billy had come over a couple of minutes later.
    ‘McNeil wants to see you.’
    ‘McNeil?’
    ‘Your boss.’
    Martha looked at V.
    V made a shooing motion with both hands, a theatrical gesture. ‘Shit, girlfriend, go talk to McNeil. This could be a break. I don’t really need a work experience here, I can do three jobs at once. I’ve been doing that for months anyhoo.’
    Billy pointed at the Walkman on the desk. ‘Bring that.’
    McNeil was turning it round in his hands now. ‘Shit the bed, it’s heavy, eh?’ He flipped the tape slot open then snapped it closed. Fiddled with the back, removed the battery cover then slid it back in. ‘Is it at the start of the tape?’
    Martha nodded.
    McNeil pressed Play and they all listened.
    The sound of her own voice was disconcerting, too high and squeaky. She was glad that she’d been polite. She listened to Gordon’s voice. He was shitting himself, she could hear it.
    As she listened, she was replaying the whole conversation in her memory, already burned in there for ever. The others in the room were once removed from it, just voices on an old cassette, but she was right back there, at the desk, scribbling her crappy shorthand, gazing at the mess of V’s desk, wondering when this nutter was going to get off the phone so she could relax.
    But she couldn’t relax. Then or now. She was tensing up in the office, aware of what was coming, the climax of it, the brutal snapping of this chain of words being casually spilled onto magnetic tape. Rearranging the ions. She was gripping the strap of her bag tightly, holding her breath, her jaw sore from clenching her teeth.
    Bang.
    She jumped all over again.
    Everyone else in the room tensed as well. They were all uselessly staring at the Walkman sitting on McNeil’s desk. The tape spools kept turning. Martha thought that was indecent – didn’t they know what had just happened? Didn’t they know it was over? They should stop out of respect.
    ‘Shit,’ McNeil said.
    Rose and Billy shook their heads.
    Martha heard her own voice swearing on the tape, shouting down the line. Then calling on Billy. This was Groundhog Day, living it over and over. It had only happened this morning and it was already a myth, cemented into her life. She tried to imagine telling this story twenty years from now around a middle-aged dinner party. She couldn’t. Too personal, too private, she would be exposing too much of herself.
    The four of them stood in silence, just the hiss of the cassette, a tiny creak of its old motor mechanism. McNeil reached forward and switched it off.
    He turned to Rose. ‘Well?’
    She shook her head, still staring at the Walkman.
    ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Gordon. I can’t believe it.’
    ‘You knew him pretty well, right?’ Billy said.
    Rose looked at him. ‘A long, long time ago. Haven’t had anything to do with him recently.’
    Something in her