She sounded confused, distracted.

‘We need to do that follow-up interview,’ he said. ‘Are you free after school?’

‘I have to call in at the library on my way home. We could meet there?’

‘Fine. I’ll ring.’

‘OK. Goodbye, Joe.’

He put down his grease-streaked phone and tucked into the bacon.

36

There wasn’t any point going back to Elland Road, so he drove to Cleckheaton, taking a circuitous route, as many country lanes as he could find, doubling back on himself, noting how few cameras there were, and wondering how far you might get untracked in this part of the world.

It was already mid-afternoon when he parked in the centre of the town, just across the road from the Bull’s Head. He’d met Rita there, when was it, Friday? Jesus, it seemed like weeks ago.

He walked up the main street, stopping to look in the window of Pet’s Corner, attracted more by the rogue apostrophe than the animals. Further along was a hairdresser’s, several charity shops, a florist and two bakeries, including the inevitable Greggs. Not a bad assortment of places. But very few people. He thought about how Leeds city centre would be right now, with its constant hordes of shoppers, food stands, buskers and beggars.

Then he saw it up ahead. Metcalf’s Beef & Pork. The famous pie shop. He’d been here before, years ago, on the way to a gig with the Romanos. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. They’d stuffed themselves on pork pies, washed down with cans of 7 Up, then played at a wedding reception in a hotel near the motorway junction. He didn’t remember much about the music, but the evening’s food had been pretty good.

Apart from the Greggs on the corner, Metcalf’s was the only shop doing any business. As he picked up his step, he felt his hand wavering lightly over his stomach once more. Then he stopped. The warm, fatty smell of pork pies was already in his nostrils, but something familiar caught his eye: the word Lobster. There it was again, Turner’s poster, pasted to a lamppost:

The Lobster Pot

Modern society: A fresh view

How many things are you not allowed to do or say anymore?

He asked himself, but couldn’t think of anything obvious.

We’re becoming an endangered species: the Great White Male (GWM)…

He imagined Turner at home, looking out across the majestic valleys of Yorkshire, as he penned his paean to conservative outrage.

…Let’s build an alternative view of society, one based on decency, honesty and common sense.