He nodded and passed her T-shirt, her bra in his other hand and then tucked into his jeans pocket. “Less to take off you when we get back home.”
“Best get there then.”
They walked the half kilometre back to Alex’s house, his arm wrapped around her, her hand in his back pocket. The sound of an owl echoed from where they’d just been, maybe starting the rumour about the couple in the woods.
But this was Severton.
Lots of things happened here and the only response would sometimes be a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.
Nine
Alex wanted to hate Manchester. He loved the countryside and its small towns with their quirky characters. He liked not just knowing who everyone was, but knowing their histories; who they’d loved, who they’d fallen out with. The city should’ve been an anonymous hellhole but for whatever reason, he liked this one.
He liked its history and how it embraced both modern and the old Victorian buildings, high and imposing, were interspersed with modern skyscrapers. There was a vibe to it, one that promised excitement and innovation with an edge of danger. Manchester never tried to be good. It never tried to be anything.
It just wasn’t Severton though.
He walked through Picadilly Gardens, which was anything but a garden, groups of teenagers hanging around the concrete blocks playing music and pretending to be behaving. A mix of shoppers and commuters walked through, heading to the buildings which were a blend of chain stores and independents and offices. The ever-present Manchester market rang out with the chorus of stallholders selling the fruit and veg and various wares; a cacophony of life.
He thought about Gran and her gin, the gaggle of elder women who ran the local post office in Severton, collecting gossip and distributing mail. The number of shops on the high street back home was growing; the tourists each year increased and Severton was becoming more than that small town which had the relics of a saint hidden in the walls of an old church.
Alex liked his town.
He felt guilty liking this city.
Two side streets later and he was away from the beaten track outside a bar called Minted. It was hidden enough so that celebrities and footballers felt like they were coming to some exclusive hideaway but Alex knew that the media were just as aware of it as they were. The perfect place to get papped. The perfect front for a multitude of sins.
The bouncer, already on the door even though it was midday, let Alex through with a nod, recognising him from the previous times when he’d been here. Minted was dark and sensuous, black velvet and deep red silks, the colour of blood.
Drew O’Malley, its owner, ran a tight ship, keeping on top of the interior and the vision it portrayed, making sure it attracted the right clientele and only the right clientele could afford it. Champagne at a tidy grand a bottle made sure the riff raff of Manchester stayed well away.
“Boss is upstairs,” the bouncer said. “If you’re lucky, you’ll catch him ordering dinner.”
Dinner was the Mancunian phrase for lunch. ‘Tea’ here didn’t just refer to the drink, but also to the evening meal. Breakfast, dinner and tea. This was the land of flattened vowels and the phrase ‘our kid’. A world away from sneaky alpacas and midsummer festivals.
Alex slipped through one of the bars towards the back stairs that wound up a couple of flights before there was one single door. The walls were painted black, and the door was metal. Probably bulletproof. Because Drew O’Malley hadn’t been a nice guy for a lot of his life and wasn’t a nice guy all the time now.
He didn’t bother to knock, mainly because it would be open. Drew would know by now he was on his way up and if he didn’t want him to use his office, then there would already have been someone to escort him downstairs for an afternoon cocktail and a coded conversation.
“Alex.” The dark-haired man with the nose that had been broken at least twice (once by Alex) and swarthy skin looked at him with eyes that had irises the colour of coal. “How are you?”
Alex didn’t respond.
“Drink?”
“Tea, please. Loneghan here?”
Drew nodded. “He’s looking at the new room I’ve opened. I think it suits his kinks.”
“Room or bar?”
“We converted the cellars. Some of our clients wanted somewhere a little more private. You know, so they could fuck without some eejit taking a photo.”
“Roughly translated, you’ve developed your own dungeon.”
Drew beamed. “Indeed.” Then his smile fell away. “Just no one to use it with.”
Alex snorted. He knew Drew had a line of women.
