'That's fine. In fact, I'd prefer to walk.'
'Why not? In fact, I could take you on a little tour of the city centre if you'd like.'
'That should be interesting.'
Tom knew the other man suspected there had been some sort of balls-up. He fetched his jacket, put his sunglasses on and they set off towards the centre of town.
'What's Key 103?' asked Austen, pointing up at the airship circling lazily in the clear blue sky above them.
'It's the main commercial radio station in Manchester,' replied Tom, looking up at the zeppelin-shaped balloon. 'They've got a reporter up there delivering traffic and travel information along with Games bulletins.'
'Nice idea. 'Austen seemed to relax a little.
As they carried on past the BT office and towards the back of Piccadilly station, Tom was glad to be able to point out the building wrap that had been hung the week before. 'It's one of over thirty we've arranged to be on display throughout the Games.'
'Quite an achievement,' answered Austen, looking up at the giant image of a sprinter handing over a baton that was marked with the logo of a courier company. 'We'll get it to you first', the headline announced.
'Thanks,' said Tom, wondering what to do once they got into the station. 'So, are you booked on any particular train home?' 'Yes, the 3.50. A tour of the city centre would be a nice way to use up the afternoon.'
'Absolutely!'Tom wondered how to stall the other man for the next few hours.
Standing below the live billboard for the Manchester Evening News with its ever changing headline display, they waited for the lights to change before crossing Fairfield Street and walking round the queue of taxis swallowing up passengers in ones, twos and threes.
'All this was derelict about a year ago,' said Tom, waving a hand at the sandblasted brick archways and spotless sheet glass windows. 'The entrances were all blocked up, except for some grubby little tunnels leading to the tram platforms below the station. Not the type of route you'd use after dark.'
They walked through the giant sliding doors into an airy lobby area where a gleaming escalator took them up through the bowels of the station and into the main terminal area.
The final few days before the Games' official start date had consisted of twenty-four-hour shifts as the contractors fought desperately to have the station ready. Somehow they had almost succeeded. Full-size palm trees had been wheeled in across the newly laid tile floor as the last retail units had been cleared for the staff of various shops to swarm in. Displays, shelves and stands had appeared with miraculous speed and in hours each shop was crammed with merchandise, tills manned and ready. Only the odd corner or section of the station remained screened off behind building boards that had been draped in colourful banners welcoming visitors from around the world to Manchester and the XVII Commonwealth Games.
The two men looked around the station area, taking in the throng of people, most clutching bright yellow Commonwealth Games guides. Positioned around were clusters of Games volunteers, eager to give advice and information on where to get free shuttle buses out to Sportcity.
Tom felt his heart begin to flutter. 'Well, it's all go in here,' he said. 'Let's see where our team have positioned themselves.'
'Yes, let's, 'Austen replied. 'I certainly couldn't find them.'
They walked towards a stall loaded with umbrellas, toys, pens, keyrings, T-shirts, baseball caps, mugs, plates and ties. Most items featured a vaguely cat-like creature. 'That's Kit, the official Games mascot,' Tom explained. 'His cheeky smile is sure to be a winner with both children and adults alike — to quote the PR release,' he added.
Austen didn't look amused as they wandered round to the front part of the station.
All they could see were other stalls selling official Games merchandise, a stand promoting designer sunglasses and a cart manned by a red and white suited promotions team thrusting free cereal bars into the hands of the many people walking past. Tom faked a frown at the absence of the X-treme cart.
'Strange — I thought they were booked into Piccadilly this morning.' Suddenly he clicked his fingers, as if remembering something.' Ah — unless this is one of the mornings they've been given a slot at Victoria station.'
Austen raised an eyebrow.
'You see, we have a different catchment of people at Victoria — passengers arriving from the west and north of the country.'
'But I understood Piccadilly is the city's main terminal.' Austen pointed to a banner masking an unfinished set of side exit doors. 'Piccadilly: Gateway to the Games,' he read out.
Tom's stomach twisted into a tight knot and his mouth dried up. Knowing that his grin was imbecilic, he said, 'True — but I think you'll be impressed by Victoria station. As the name implies, it's all very grandiose — elaborate brickwork and wrought iron pillars.' He thought about its leaking roofs, moss-stained walls and padlocked doors. 'In fact, it will be a great opportunity for a stroll through the city centre. Shall we?' He held a hand towards the main doors and Austen reluctantly walked towards them. Pointing to a line of Rovers with the three figures painted on their sides, Tom said, 'That's the official Games transport for VIPs — the rest of us can walk or get the tram though.'
His attempts at light-hearted humour were drawing no response from Austen.
'I'll take you through Piccadilly Gardens, then down King Street. It's where the likes of DKNY, Armani and the rest are located. If we're lucky we could spot a celebrity shopper. David Beckham and Posh Spice perhaps.'
'Or Rio Ferdinand, now he's signed for United,' said Austen, with some enthusiasm. 'A United supporter then?' asked Tom, keen to open up some line of conversation.
'That's right.'
'Do you see them play much?'
Now he looked uncomfortable. 'Just their away games, really. It's hard to see them play at home when you live down in Surrey. How about you? Red or Blue?'
'I prefer rugby, to be honest,' answered Tom. 'But I suppose my sympathies are with Manchester City. The British thing about supporting the underdog, I suppose.'
They joined the crowds walking down the concourse and into the city centre, Tom struggling for another topic of conversation. 'It's a shame you won't have time to see the Olympic village, an entire purpose-built community. It's got the UK's largest temporary restaurant. They're producing almost fifteen hundred meals a day in it.' Tom realized he was beginning to witter, but his nerves were dancing at the prospect of how he would explain the absence of the chewing gum promotion at Victoria station. 'They anticipate the athletes will get through about ten thousand kilos of bananas and pasta in the next few days. And that's not to mention the hundred and fifty thousand condoms provided in their rooms. They should be describing them as bed athletes, I reckon!'
Austen glanced briefly at his sweating companion. 'Tom, that's all very interesting. But the purpose of my visit is to see how our promotion is going. We've paid you sixteen thousand to arrange it after all.' He held up a small leather pouch hanging from one wrist. 'I need to get some photos for our marketing department, too. The sporting details of this event really aren't of much interest.'
'Right… of course,' said Tom, feeling his skin start to itch as the effects of Brain's powder began to subside. The cacophony of noise started to reach them halfway up the road, and as they reached Piccadilly Gardens they entered a riot of activity. Giant TV screens mounted on platforms displayed reports of the coming events to the masses of people below. At the far end of the gardens, red and blue inflatable figures swayed and danced as air from a mobile generator was blasted up through them. To their side an urgent tattoo was being beaten out by a Samba band as young kids capered and whirled before them. Above it all towered the seventy-metre-tall banner of Ashia Hansen, caught in mid air during a triple jump. 'This is all part of the Spirit of Friendship festival,' Tom almost had to shout as two stilt walkers dressed as robots stalked past them, metal costume plates clanging as they went.