He dribbled his ball, expertly avoiding the cracks in the asphalt as if he was running a gauntlet of defenders on a basketball court. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘You’ll see.’ The sun was turning into a red fist in the gathering dusk. I realized that we were approaching the new sports centre crouched at the end of the road, its dome bulging above the trees like an overturned coconut shell. The sports centre, the Arena, had been in construction for ever. The first contractor had gone bust. The second contractor was jailed for some kind of bribery scam to do with building materials. The third contractor resigned, saying the whole thing needed to be rebuilt. It was on its fourth contractor now. And nothing ever seemed to be going on. The flimsy temporary fencing was erected many years ago when construction began. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, under the layers of graffiti, the boards had rotted away to nothing. Above the original fence, the builders had added a few more courses of marine ply.
