Go Not Gently (Staincliffe) - страница 30

Tina came out wearing a check jacket, black skirt and carrying a bag. She looked stylish. Her hair was bound up in a knot on her head and she wore large gold earrings.

I got out of the car and locked it while she walked down the main road. She passed the bus stop and turned left towards the post office and the local train station. I followed her up the ramp and stood behind her while she bought a return to Piccadilly; I did too. She took a seat in the waiting room while I went and stood on the platform. I didn’t want to become too familiar.

When the train arrived I sat in a different coach. I looked out over East Manchester, Beswick, Ardwick, Miles Platting. I could spot the curve of the Velodrome changing the skyline and work going on to complete the large-scale redevelopment of the whole area. Where once there’d been whole estates of terraced houses, established communities, there were now great tracts of raw earth littered with heaps of bricks and huge concrete cylinders. Yellow cranes and earth movers gnawed away at the land.

Where had all the people gone? Would they come back or were homes going to be replaced by industrial estates, superstore complexes and yet more roads?

We were at Piccadilly in ten minutes. The check jacket made it easy to keep Tina in view. She took the escalator down to the Metrolink. Were we just going shopping or would I need a ticket to Bury or Altrincham? Tina didn’t bother with a ticket. I hedged my bets and pressed the buttons to get a ticket for the central zone. Last thing I wanted was to get done for fare dodging.

The first tram was for Bury and she boarded it. But we only went as far as Piccadilly Gardens. We weren’t going shopping, though. She turned in the other direction and I followed her, at a distance, across Portland Street and along a side road to the Worcester Hotel. I waited while she went in, counted to twenty and then as quietly as I could opened the heavy glass door and followed. I was dead lucky, the receptionist wasn’t at her desk. The place looked decent enough, good maroon wool carpet, clean decor, fresh lilies at reception, which made the lobby smell sweet. There was no lift. I took the stairs two at a time and silently as possible, alert to any noises. The corridor on the first floor was empty. I thought I caught a footfall from upstairs. On the second landing I was in time to see a glimpse of Tina’s check jacket disappearing into a room. Bingo!

I walked down to the room, number 203. I paused outside, stilling my breath and straining to catch any sound. Nothing. Just my pulse pounding, that sweet way it does when I’m scared of being caught.