Union Jack. V. McDermid L.

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      ‘Remember conference lasts for a week. Pace yourselves. And remember that fights you pick on Monday night will surely return to haunt you by Friday morning.’

      from ‘Advice for New Delegates’, a Standing Orders Sub-Committee booklet.

      Jennifer crossed her legs and propped her notepad on her thigh. Lindsay had fallen silent. ‘It would be helpful if you could run through what’s happened since you got here,’ she said, gently.

      Lindsay rubbed a hand over her face and muttered, ‘Sorry. I’m shattered. Monday. Well, I hadn’t even signed in before I saw the first issue of Conference Chronicle. The place was jumping. I kept having conversations with people I hadn’t seen for five years that all began, ‘Lindsay! It’s been ages. Have you seen Conference Chronicle?’

      * * *

      She’d been deep in thought when a loud shriek closely followed by a bear-hug brought her sharply back to the here and now. Kathy Dean, a civil service press officer was bouncing up and down in front of her. ‘Lindsay!’ she yelped. ‘Lindsay Gordon! Is it really you? Hey, no one said you were coming! Are you back for good?’

      Lindsay shook her head. ‘Just for conference. I’m only here as an observer.’