Free Goodmans of Glassford Street by Margaret Thomson Davis Page B

popular and busiest part of the front. This hotel was away at the far end in a quiet area.
    Mrs Goodman had suggested a walk after she’d unpacked, and asked if he’d accompany her. He struggled to look perfectly happy to do so. Soon, however, she was saying, ‘Why on earth are we going around all the quiet back streets?’
    ‘There are some nice shops and boutiques I thought you’d like to see.’
    ‘Most of them are shut.’
    ‘True, but now you’ll know where they are if you want to go out on your own tomorrow.’
    ‘For goodness’ sake, Mr Webster, I’ve just come from a shop. I want to walk along the front and enjoy the sea air and see all that’s going on on the pier.’
    ‘Of course.’
    With a sinking heart, he changed direction. He began feverishly thinking and planning what he’d say and do if confronted by Viv. He kept praying that she was in Cyprus or Tenerife – anywhere but here. If she was here, however, and she was not outside, she could glance from one of her windows and see him. He cursed his six feet four. He could so easily be picked out in any crowd.
    He steeled himself not to look over at The Floral as they reached it. He strolled on to the pier with Mrs Goodman at his side as if he were doing the most natural thing in the world.

11
    Norman McKay was quaking inside but he was determined to go through with his plan. He had to now. He’d taken the plunge and booked Jenny into the clinic. Bills at the clinic were to be paid at the end of each month and the end of the month was not far away. He worked at the store as normal all day, although it seemed a miracle that he had managed to do so. Eventually, he collected several thousand pounds and, after he’d locked up as usual and with the money in his case, he left the shop by the back door. A narrow lane stretched along the back of the store. The back wall was of solid brick, with only a few lavatory windows at the very top. At one part, there was the back entrance. As well as stairs up to the departments, it had stairs going down to the basement, where dispatch was situated and the workshops of the electricians and joiners.
    In an adjoining area just inside the door, two lines of bins were situated. There was never much rubbish to fill them, except perhaps some packaging materials, and dust from the cleaners’ hoovers, and occasionally some food such as sandwiches from the canteen that had gone past their sell-by date. More often than not, however, the less fussy canteen workers would take the ‘past their sell-by date’ stuff home. That was allowed, although dates were always checked at the door just to make sure that there was no fiddling going on.
    The bins were emptied once a week and the bins were put out in the back lane the night before the bin men came. They came early in the morning, after he arrived. He started work before eight o’clock and he always heard the arrival of the bin lorry around eight-thirty.
    On this occasion, after all the staff had left, he locked up but instead of leaving from the front door, he left by the back. He had often done this before when going to the bank. It was one of a variety of ways and times that was part of his safety plan. The bins were sitting out in the lane, ready for the arrival of the bin men next morning. He placed the caseful of money into one of the bins. Carefully he covered it with some wood shavings and discarded sandwiches. Then he walked some way along the lane and drew a deep breath to gather every vestige of courage he had, before crashing his brow against the store wall. Blood poured down his face but he managed to stem it with a large handkerchief he had ready. Then, staggering slightly, he forced himself along the lane until he emerged at the other end and walked rather unsteadily along the road towards the bank.
    It was quite a distance away but thankfully the streets were not busy. Most people who worked in the area were on their way home. Keeping his head down and the