Sunday morning at the swimming pool. I knew Withington was closed; problems with the roof. Moss Side was open. I rang to check. Whenever staff fall ill at Gorton Tub, the city’s showplace play pool, they pull replacements from the other baths, which have to close.
The swimming baths are attached to the shopping centre, a forbidding redbrick fortress. The walkway from the car park was strewn with litter, daubed with graffiti; broken glass crunched underfoot. The leisure centre was clean and well-equipped.
The water in the baby pool was deliciously warm. Tom, in his armbands and rubber ring, splashed and wriggled like a baby seal, his curls shining like black corkscrews. Maddie was going through a fearful phase, detested water on her face and rooted herself on the broad steps at the shallow end. I divided my time between the two of them, flailing around and chasing Tom to keep warm, then gently coaxing Maddie to try a little doggy paddle near the steps.
Ray had made lunch and the four of us ate together. ‘Fancy a walk?’ Ray asked. ‘Thought I’d take Digger out for a run.’ The idea appealed; it was ages since I’d sampled real fresh air, but I was itching to do more in the garden.
‘I don’t want to,’ Maddie protested. I raised my eyes to heaven, tried a little half-hearted encouragement. She wouldn’t budge.
‘Okay. Stay and help me in the garden.’
‘Yuck.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m doing.’
‘It’s not fair.’ She flounced out of the door, her voice rising. ‘You never do what I want.’
I cleared up the kitchen. Changed into my gardening clothes. I could hear Maddie in her room, burbling away to herself. I called out to tell her where I’d be.
It was glorious out there. The honey scent of alyssum mingled with the sharp smell of warm pine baking in the sun. I hunted down slugs, winkling them out of dark, damp corners. Emptied and refilled the traps. Began some weeding. Maddie appeared at the back door. Watched me for a while.
‘Phone,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Phone.’ Through clenched teeth.
I raced inside, hoping that she hadn’t left it too long before deigning to inform me.
‘Hello?’ Silence. ‘Hello?’ I heard breathing. Unsteady, shuddering. A prickle of fear stroked the back of my neck. The knife trembled, white knuckles. He was coming after me. The man who’d stabbed me. They’d let him out. My stomach balled like a fist. Please, please. My voice weak, creaking. They’d let him out and he was coming to get me.
