Candles and Roses Read Online Free PDF

air.
    It was supposed to be summer, but the last few days had offered nothing but heavy cloud and showers. Tonight, while she’d been in the pub, a fine drizzle had set in. She was hardly dressed for a wet night, but she’d lived in Manchester long enough to come prepared. She fumbled in her shoulder-bag for her foldaway umbrella, then, brandishing it in front of her to keep off the worst of the rain, she began to make her way back through to Portland Street.
    The damp air had partially sobered her up, and all she wanted now was to reach the shelter of the station. She always found the layout of the city centre confusing, and it took her a few seconds to work out which way to turn at the next junction. Despite the rain, the streets were busy with revellers, many of them even drunker than Jo.
    She was walking past the southern edge of Chinatown, the ornate archway looming to her left, when she heard the voice calling. ‘Jo? It is Jo, isn’t it?’
    She turned, startled, assuming the speaker was calling to some other Jo in the street behind her. There was a figure in a heavy-looking anorak, head bowed against the drizzle, peering at her. ‘Christ, it is you, isn’t it? How about that?’
    Baffled, Jo took another step towards the figure. ‘Sorry, pal. I think you must have the wrong person—’
    The figure suddenly threw back the hood. ‘Jo, it’s me. Don’t you remember? I mean, what are the chances?’
    It took her a few seconds. The figure was partially silhouetted against the smeared neon of the rows of Chinese restaurants. The face was a little older and not a face she’d ever have expected to see here. But there was no doubt.
    ‘Jesus,’ Jo said, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’
    ‘It’s a long story. You in a hurry?’
    Jo glanced at her watch. ‘I’m heading home. Last train. Shit, I’m already cutting it fine.’
    ‘We should catch up. Look, do you want a lift? I’m parked just round the corner.’
    ‘To the station? That would be great.’ She could feel the cold rain dripping down her neck.
    ‘No problem. We can arrange to meet up properly sometime. Have a good catch-up.’
    ‘You living down here, then?’ She followed the hunched figure down one of the side-streets, past vehicles parked on ignored double-yellows.
    ‘Another long story, but I’m around for a couple of weeks, so, yeah, let’s get together. This is me.’ It was a battered-looking van. ‘A bit clapped out, but it should get us up to Piccadilly safe and sound.’
    ‘Better than walking.’ Jo pulled open the passenger door and climbed inside. The interior of the van was a bit of a mess—empty Coke bottles, discarded parking tickets—but at least it was dry.
    ‘Seat belt’s a bit dodgy. Here, let me—’ The hand reached into the van as if to pull on the seat belt. Then, unexpectedly, it was in front of her face, and she was trying to identify the piercing scent burning the back of her throat.
    The wet cloth was clamped across her mouth, and she realised she was struggling to breathe. She kicked out furiously, trying to free herself from the confined space of the van, but the hand pressed more firmly. She felt dizziness, the throbbing of a headache behind her eyes, a burning on her skin, the taste of raw acid. She clutched at the wrist pressing hard against her mouth, desperately trying to loosen its pressure. But she was already losing control of her senses, the evening’s alcohol combining with whatever she was inhaling. Her grip loosening, she looked up, terrified, to see that familiar face looming down towards her. It seemed to remain there for long minutes, staring down at her. And then, almost as a relief, she felt and saw nothing more.
    Two minutes later, the van pulled out, completed a rapid U-turn, and wound its way through the one-way system towards Salford and the motorway.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    ‘So what do we know now?’ Helena Grant said. She wasn’t keen on inviting McKay to her office because he