Page 95 of Glasshouses

“I’ll join you.”

We took a local route, along a few roads, Didsbury slowly waking up, and then towards Fog Lane park, starting off at a decent pace with neither of us talking. Taz matched me even when I started to speed up, keen to make my muscles work and for a good couple of kilometres we were too quick for conversation. My legs started to feel stronger, my lungs kicking up their levels of efficiency and for a few minutes I forgot all about Lily and Amanda and Andrew Smith and Stefan, and just about the next few metres, picking out an end point and kicking into a sprint. Taz was fit and strong, but he wasn’t built for speed, and I could hear him struggling as he tried to keep up. My strides flew longer as I reached the café, a duck shifting out of my way, irritated.

I started to slow, reaching a bench, putting my hands on the arm rest and leaning down, realising how hard I’d just pushed.

Taz was a couple of seconds behind, sitting down next to the bench and staring at me as he caught his breath.

“I didn’t think you could go so fast.”

I sat down on the bench. “I wasn’t sure I could.”

We both sat there, slightly winded, listening to the noise from the ducks and the sound of the wind in the trees. “I need to find Lily.”

“You need to find out more about her and Stefan Taylor.” He picked himself up off the ground. “I’ll have a look this morning and let you know what I find.”

“Thank you.” I got up off the bench. “Are you back at your mother’s tonight?”

He shook his head as we started to walk away. “No space, so I’m moving into one of my brother’s rentals that’s just come free. I should be exchanging on a house in a couple of weeks.”

“You’re buying in Manchester?” We started to run again, slow, steady steps. Nothing more than an easy conversational pace. Recovery.

“Finally. It’ll be the first time I’ve lived in Manchester for ten years.” A group of runners ran past us in the opposite direction. Social running was never something I’d been into, other than parkrun, and even then, I didn’t need to speak to anyone.

“Where have you been living?”

“All over. Wherever work took me.” He was exceptional at not giving anything away.

“So why back to Manchester now?”

“Because I’ve chosen work to take me back here. I’m thirty-five. It’s time to put down a root or two. And it’s my favourite place to be.” Our feet hit the path in tandem, the light growing brighter as the sun kicked it up a notch.

“So given the choice between Manchester and the Maldives, you’d pick Manchester?”

“For a long-term stay. If we’re talking two weeks involving beach towels and snorkels, then I’d opt for anywhere other than the Rochdale Canal.”

I laughed, amused by the idea. “Where was your last holiday?”

“Costa Rica. Yours?”

“Anglesey. I went back to see my foster parents.”

“What about away away. Somewhere you needed to fly to.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Mia, where did you last go abroad?”

“I haven’t. I haven’t been abroad.” I didn’t make eye contact.

“How come?”

“We lived on Anglesey. We kind of didn’t need to. We had beaches and rock pools and barbecues, and we were pretty much allowed to run wild. We sometimes spent a week in Ireland or went up to Scotland, but we just didn’t go abroad, and I haven’t done as an adult.” It was kind of embarrassing to say.

“Where would you like to go?” He sidestepped my embarrassment.

“I don’t know. I’m not very good at sitting still so I don’t think a beach holiday would work.”

“Not white sandy beaches, clear seas, snorkelling and diving? That doesn’t tempt you?” He’d slowed the pace even further.