I told him I’d be there as soon as possible. I slapped on the wig and glasses and the long mac, got the sports bag from my room and told Ray where I was going. He looked at me for a while and for an awful moment I thought he was going to ask me if I’d changed anything but he finally figured it out. “Is it fancy dress?” “Undercover, reduces the risk of any dodgy types coming after me,” I tried to make it sound jokey. “Good,” he said. His face closed down. There wasn’t any warmth in the comment. I knew he was thinking about previous occasions when my work had come far too close to home. It was an area we skirted round now. I had a rush of irritation with him. The past was over and done with. How long was he going to cradle his disapproval? We needed to talk about it, but not then. I was in a hurry. Traffic was light and I reached Canterbury Close in fifteen minutes. It was drizzling, the soft, steady veil of damp that Manchester does so well, creating balls of diffuse orange light around the street lamps.
