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and former News of the World employee, relocated to the Lakes and took over as Editor-in-Chief. Instead of reporting on crime rates, school fetes and the lack of affordable local housing, Wray focussed his attention on what kept circulation figures high at his last paper – celebrity scandal.
    But instead of photographing C-list celebrities falling out of limousines, he turned everyday people into local stars – the vicar and his fling with the verger, the posh kids crashing cars and snorting coke in Sedbergh. Patrick and his assistant Grace had devoured every sensationalised snippet – it was all good fun, something to laugh about over a coffee, until one day Patrick became the celebrity.
    It started with a drunken brawl at a wedding, escalated when he was spotted with the Cumbrian Business Man of the Year’s wife at a boutique hotel and peaked at the Haverton versus Gosthwaite football match last August bank holiday when Patrick was photographed snorting cocaine off his Land Rover bonnet. But it was the blog where he became truly infamous.
    The Haverton Eye gave the sordid details and revealing photos the Gazette wouldn’t dare print, and although no one in East Cumbria doubted who was behind it, Michael Wray denied any connection to the Radar , the anonymous author of the blog. And the Eye never seemed to miss a moment of Patrick’s life – blurry shots at parties, quotes from friends . The Radar was always there.
    But this time Patrick was in trouble.
    He stared at a small photo of himself on the front page of the paper. From his grin he’d been a lot happier when the shot was taken than he was looking at it now. Hardly surprising. It had been taken after a black tie charity event at Haverton Hall where he’d been drinking since midday and had taken a cocktail of recreational drugs. He couldn’t remember the photo being taken but since he was smiling in the direction of the camera he must have been aware of the photographer.
    But having his photo on the front page wasn’t the killer. The content was. His tie was undone and draped around the neck of Miss Haverton – her top was undone and her legs draped around his waist. Whoever had taken the photo would’ve taken more, x-rated shots the paper would find unpublishable. They’d be on the blog already. Patrick pushed his hair off his face and dared to look at his father.
    Malcolm McBride drummed his fingers on his three-hundred year-old desk. ‘What is it with you and black tie events? Do you do these things on purpose?’
    It was his tone that worried Patrick the most. In previous dressing downs his father had ranted and yelled – he’d even thrown a vase on one occasion. This time his father’s voice was steady and his face as hard as Ailsa Craig granite.
    ‘Are you trying to ruin me? This isn’t Edinburgh. I know everyone. These people are my friends. They used to respect me. Now I’m Patrick McBride’s father and they pity me.’
    Patrick knew when to keep quiet. Through the low, leaded window, he watched coal tits on the feeder and waited for the your mother’s so disappointed in you line that always ended the paternal rant.
    The line never came.
    ‘This is it, Patrick.’
    This is what? Patrick turned back to his father.
    ‘The affairs with married women are one thing,’ Malcolm went on, ‘but you come to work hung-over and some days probably still drunk, or worse. You’re downright rude to clients and bloody awful to the staff. This is my veterinary practice. You work for me. You’re nothing more than a staff member I have the misfortune to be related to. Christ, if I wasn’t your father I’d have fired you a year ago, certainly after you were caught with the bloody cocaine.’
    ‘Are you firing me now?’ Patrick asked quietly, his heart racing.
    ‘Not yet.’ Malcolm shook his head and Patrick’s shoulders sagged with relief. ‘But this is your last chance. You’re nearly thirty, but you’re acting like your life is one long