The Wild Heart by David Menon Page A

entrepreneur Mike Ratcliffe, had come down to watch Ian put the team through their paces. They knew they could do it. They could smell victory but there was still that match to get through next Saturday.
         Mark was staying for the weekend and when Ian got back he had a shower and changed into a pair of light brown shorts and a short-sleeved white cotton shirt before they headed out for lunch. They got down to Castlefield and found a pub by the canal. It was a hot day and the sun was blazing down. They sat outside, under the shadow of the viaduct that towered over the street, eating the special Sunday Roast lamb washed down with a bottle of Australian Shiraz. It was the perfect Sunday and after they’d finished their desserts of apple crumble and custard they strolled along the canalside, past all the old buildings that had been turned into swanky new flats, and before they knew it they were at the southern end of Manchester city centre. Mark stopped to pet a dog that had come up to him. The owners who were walking towards them called out that he wouldn’t bite and that he was just being friendly. 
         ‘ I’d love a dog’ said Mark as he watched the black and white border collie continue his adventure sniffing the cracks in the pavement.
         ‘ What kind would you go for? One like that?’
         ‘ Possibly’ said Mark ‘ I’d really like an Alsatian though. They look so proud’.
         ‘ Fierce more like’.
         ‘ Is my big man saying he’s scared of a little dog?’
         ‘ Little dog? They’re like wolves’
         ‘ So now I know why you wouldn’t go near that one we saw outside the pub’.
         ‘ Too right’ said Ian. ‘ I mean, wouldn’t you prefer a dog with a nicer temperament like, say, a Labrador?’ He’d had a Labrador back home. She was called Sandy and he’d never forget the look on her face that morning he left his parents house for the last time. 
         ‘ Only if it’s a black one. We could give it a really Irish name like … Guinness!’
         Ian laughed.‘ Guinness?’
         ‘ Yeah. Or what’s that other Irish beer? Murphy’.
         ‘ How about Bono and the Edge?’ Ian suggested. He’d always been a big U2 fan and had sung along to Sunday Bloody Sunday with the best of them.
         ‘ We’re going to have two then?’
         ‘ Why not? They’d be company for each other’.
         ‘ So when are we going to make these little additions to our family?’
         Ian turned and smiled enigmatically. ‘ Oh you know, one day’.
         They walked further up Deansgate and Mark couldn’t resist a stop at Waterstones where he made a beeline for his favourite section, the crime thrillers. He had everything by Val McDermid and decided to buy his favourite one of hers for Ian. It was called ' A Place of Execution' and he didn’t see Ian flinch at the title when he gave it to him.
         They came out of Waterstones and went into one of the bright coffee bars that had sprung up all over the city. They slumped themselves into two of the soft leather armchairs that were in the window and watched the world go by.
         ‘ I love Deansgate’ said Mark ‘ I’ve been to London, been to Oxford Street and liked that too but Deansgate does it for me. I love Manchester. I don’t think I could live anywhere else. It isn’t just a mini version of London anymore. It’s a proud city in its own right and look at it. Sunday afternoons used to be dead when I was little and now they’re so vibrant and full of life’. He turned to Ian ‘ Hello? Anybody in?’
         Ian licked his spoon dry of cappucino and looked into Mark’s eyes.  
         ‘ Will you move in with me, Mark?’
         Mark was stunned. ‘ I beg your pardon?’
         ‘ I just don’t want you to go home’.
         ‘ I wasn’t expecting you to ask me that’.
         ‘ You think it’s a bad idea,