It's early evening, late summer, and it's been one of those rare, blisteringly hot days that make the chairs and tables on the pavement by the canal an attractive place to sit, rather than - as they are for the other 360 days of the year - the desperate refuge of smokers who are bothered less about the Mancunian drizzle than they are their next nicotine hit.
She fetches a beer, and sits at one of the tables, checking her phone occasionally as she waits for the ex-army friend she's arranged to meet. It's starting to get busy. Those who'd decided to cap a day's shopping with a drink are beginning to leave, collecting up the bags they've spread across vacant chairs and freeing up the space for the bright and fragrant young things who're preparing themselves, shots and cocktails in hand, for the long night ahead.
She's too old for clubbing, and her desire for choosing an evening's companion by the light of the strobe is (pretty much) over, so the plan is to have a drink, then go for dinner in China Town, and then perhaps back to the bar to people watch.
On the table, her phone vibrates. She takes a swig of her beer as she swipes the screen to read the message, and, frowning slightly, taps out a reply. Her friend's late, caught up in matchday traffic as she tries to make her way across town. She knew this would happen. This always happens. Not even an army training could make her friend punctual, and it drove her mad when they served together, and it drives her mad now.
A waitress passes, and she signals her over, ordering another beer and some nachos. It'll be eight, nine thirty before they get to eat now, and snacking'll pass the time as she waits.
She watches the people around her. There's a group of lads, loitering just up the street by the low wall of the canal. Her teacher's instinct tells her that none of them are old enough to drink, but she's in no doubt that in their pockets are fake ids and driving licenses pilfered from older brothers.
She envies them, in a way, with their youthful boldness to be down here, to be out meeting others like them, to find a place that they might find comfortable. She'd never've had the bottle when she was their age. This street was a street of legend to her, back then. Now it's just a place to grab a beer and some food.
The nachos and beer arrive. She drains what's left of her first beer, and digs into the food.
As she eats, she watches the boys, and after a moment or two, she realizes she recognizes one of them, the way he stands, the curl of his dark hair, and, when he turns in her direction, the mischief in his smile.
Josh.
As she watches him, wondering idly if his father knows he's here but resolving not to grass him up if he doesn't, he suddenly catches sight of her.
His eyes nearly fall from his head.
She grins, and shrugs, and waves. He raises a hand as a slight, embarrassed acknowledgment.
Then there's a tap on her shoulder, and she's being swept into a boisterous embrace, and it's her friend who's saying that the traffic cleared just after she texted, and it's good to see her, and why hasn't she got her a beer in?
And by the time they're sat down again, and she looks over to where Josh was, he's gone.
She won't mention this to his father.
But she wonders if he will.
