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The historic docks of Liverpool's Mersey waterfront had long been silent； the armies of tall cranes dismantled； the warehouses converted or pulled down。 Part of the city's heart had stopped beating。 There had been by…pass surgery of sorts； but past muscle would never return。 The city had a vast red…brick cathedral； but faith； as in much of Britain； had dimmed。
For years I'd been to Liverpool only to ride there on Aintree racecourse。 The road I'd once lived in lay somewhere under a hyper…market。 Liverpool was a place； but not home。
At Frodsham there was a 'Mersey View' vantage point with； away to the distant north； some still…working docks at Runcorn on the Manchester Ship Canal。 One of those docks （I'd been told earlier by telephone from the dockmaster's office）； was occupied by Topline Foods。 A ship lying alongside bearing the flag and insignia of Canada had been unloading Topline grain。
I'd stopped the car from where I could see the sweep of river with the seagulls swooping and the stiff breeze tautening flags at the horizontal。 I stood in the cold open air； leaning on the car； smelling the salt and the mud； and hearing the drone of traffic on the roads below。
Were these roots？ I'd always loved wide skies； but it was the wide sky of Newmarket Heath that I thought of as home。 When I'd been a boy there'd been no wide skies； only narrow streets； the walk to school； and rain。 'John Sidney； wash your face。 Give us a kiss。'
The day after my mother died I'd ridden my first winner； and that evening I'd got drunk for the first and only time until the arrest of Ellis Quint。
Soberly； realistically； in the Mersey wind I looked at the man I had bee： a jumble of self…doubt； ability； fear and difficult pride。 I had grown as I was from the inside out。 Liverpool and Newmarket weren't to blame。
Stirring and getting back into the car I wondered where to find all those tungsten nerves I was supposed to have。
I didn't know what I was getting into。 I could still at that point retreat and leave the field to Ellis。 I could…and I couldn't。 I would have myself to live with； if I did。
I'd better simply get on with it； I thought。
I drove down from the vantage point； located the Topline Foods factory； and passed through its twelve foot high but hospitably open wire…mesh gates。 There was a guard in a gatehouse who paid me no attention。
Inside there were many cars tidily parked in ranks。 I added myself to the end of one row and decided on a clothing promise of suit trousers； zipped up tracksuit top； white shirt； no tie； ordinary shoes。 I neatly bed my hair forward into a young…looking style and looked no threat to anybody。
The factory； built round three sides of the big central area； consisted of loading bays； a vast main building and a new…looking office block。 Loading and unloading took place under cover； with articulated lorries backing into the bays。 In the one bay I could see into clearly； the cab section had been disconnected and removed； heavy sacks that looked as if they might contain grain were being unloaded from a long container by two large men who slung the sacks onto a moving conveyer belt of rollers。
The big building had a row of windows high up： there was no chance of looking in from outside。
I ambled across to the office building and shouldered open a heavy glass door that led into a large but mostly bare entrance hall； and found there the reason for the unguarded front gates。 The security arrangements were all inside。
Behind a desk sat a purposeful…looking middle…aged woman in a green jumper。 Flanking her were two men in navy blue security…guard suits with Topline Foods insignia on their breast pockets。
'Name； please；' said the green jumper。 'State your business。 All parcels； carriers and handbags must be left here at the desk。'
She had a distinct Liverpool accent。 With the same inflection in my own voice； I told her that； as she could see； I had no bag； carrier or handbag with me。
She took the accent for granted and unsmilingly asked again for my name。
'John Sidney。'
'Business？'
'Well；' I said as if perplexed by the reception I was getting； 'I was asked to e here to see if you made some horse…nuts。' I paused。 'Like；' I lamely finished； dredging up the idiom。
'Of course； we make horse…nuts。 It's our business。'
'Yes；' I told her earnestly； 'but this farmer； like； he asked me to e in； as I was passing this way； to see if it was you that made some horse…nuts that someone had given him； that were very good for his young horse； like； but he was given them loose and not in a bag and all he has is a list of what's in the nuts and he wanted to know if you made them； see？' I half pulled a sheet of paper from an inside pocket and pushed it back。
She was bored by the rigmarole。
'If I could just talk to someone；' I pleaded。 'See； I owe this farmer a favour and it wouldn't take no more than a minute； if I could talk to someone。 Because this farmer； he'll be a big customer if these are the nuts he's looking for。'
She gave in； lifted a telephone； and repeated a shortened version of my improbable tale。
She inspected me from head to foot。 'Couldn't hurt a fly；' she reported。
I kept the suitably feeble half…anxious smile in place。
She put down the receiver。 'Miss Rowse will be down to help you。 Raise your hands。'
'Eh？'
'Raise your hands 。。。 please。'
Surprised； I did as I was told。 One of the security guards patted me all over in the classic way of their job； body and legs。 He missed the false hand and the cracked bone。 'Keys and mobile phone；' he reported。 'Clean。'
Green jumper wrote 'John Sidney' onto a clip…on identity card and I clipped it dutifully on。
'Wait by the lift；' she said。
I waited。
The doors finally parted to reveal a teenage girl with wispy fair hair who said she was Miss Rowse。 'Mr Sidney？ This way； please。'
I stepped into the lift with her and rode to the third floor。
She smiled with bright inexperienced encouragement and led me down a newly carpeted passage to an office conspicuously labelled 'Customer Relations' on its open door。
'e in；' Miss Rowse said proudly。 'Please sit down。'
I sat in a Scandinavian…inspired chair of blond wood with arms； simple lines； blue cushioning and considerable fort。
'I'm afraid I didn't really understand your problem；' Miss Rowse said trustingly。 'If you'll explain again； I can get the right person to talk to you。'
I looked round her pleasant office； which showed almost no sign of work in progress。
'Have you been here long？' I asked。 （Guileless Liverpool accent； just like hers。） 'Nice office。 They must think a lot of you here。'
She was pleased； but still honest。 'I'm new this week。 I started on Monday…and you're my second enquiry。'
No wonder； I thought； that she'd let me in。
I said； 'Are all the offices as plush as this？'
'Yes；' she said enthusiastically。 'Mr Yorkshire； he likes things nice。'
'Is he the boss？'
'The managing director；' she nodded。 The words sounded stiff and unfamiliar； as if she'd only newly learned them。
'Nice to work for； is he？' I suggested。
She confessed； 'I haven't met him yet。 I know w