Witness (10 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mike

T
hey had a break-in. Opportunistic. Mike had left the lounge window open. He’d simply not noticed. Set off to pick Megan up from school, rain pissing down and the sky dark as slate. It had rained all day, all week. Patches of water standing on the bit of lawn in their back yard. Their coats steaming on the radiators every night. They only put the heating on for a couple of hours, trying to make savings. Later they sat watching telly with their warmest clothes on, sharing a fleece throw for a blanket.

Mike had done a load of washing that day and had put the heating on early to dry it. The window was open to get rid of some of the moisture in the air, though given the outside was like a hundred degrees humidity anyway who knows if it helped. They’d already spots of black mould in the corners of the kitchen.

The burglars had been in and out in the half-hour Mike had been gone. He didn’t notice at first, came in with Megan, her chattering still, unbuttoned her coat, then his own. Took her through to make her some toast and on his way saw the gap where the telly had been, the aerial cable dangling, DVD player gone, DVDs scattered on the carpet.

Mike swore.

‘Where’s the telly?’ said Megan.

‘It’s gone.’ Mike’s brain was already adding it all up, looking across the open plan room to the windows.

‘Where’s it gone?’

‘Don’t know.’ Mike walked over; saw the drops of water, streaks of mud on the window sill, and marks on the carpet.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because.’ His head was too busy to be dealing with her an’ all. ‘Look, just give us a minute, Megan.’

Megan sighed and moved to her toy box.

Mike checked the kitchen. They’d left the microwave and there was nothing else worth taking. Upstairs looked untouched. No insurance though. They’d let that lapse when it came due for renewal.

How would they manage without a telly? It kept the kids quiet, even Kieran could be soothed by putting on a familiar DVD. Mike and Vicky too, barely any social life but a bit of something on the box or a decent movie was one of their few pleasures.

He made Megan’s toast, gave her some juice and rang his brother Martin. Martin made a living on eBay, pretty much, that and car-boots. He always knew where you could pick up a bargain. Mike explained his predicament.

‘Aw, mate!’ Martin commiserated. ‘How’d they get in?’

‘Lounge window. Never thought. Only gone twenty minutes.’

‘Leave it with us, see what I can do.’

Martin rang back within the hour. He could get them a digital set but it wouldn’t be flat screen, DVD player too. Might have a couple of pixels out but the lot for £95. Cheap as chips. But Mike had nothing. No contingency, no rainy day fund. He imagined saying no, turning down the chance, and then the weeks to come with the four of them out of sorts and climbing the walls.

Mike took a breath. ‘I haven’t got the readies at the moment.’

‘No problem.’ Martin was quick to step in. ‘I’ll sort it. Pay us back when you can.’

Which could be never, thought Mike, the prospect bitter in his mouth. ‘Appreciate it,’ Mike told his brother.

‘Probably be tomorrow,’ Martin added.

‘That’s great. Thanks, mate.’

Mike had expected Vicky to go ballistic when she heard. He even thought about lying to her, for like a nanosecond. Knew he couldn’t get away with it. But instead of blaming him, letting some steam off and giving him a good bollocking for being so thick, she went white. Locked on to the thieves.

‘While you were getting Megan?’ she said quietly. ‘So they must have been watching the place.’

‘What?’

‘Waiting for you to go out. Knowing your routine.’ A big frown on her face. Her lips bloodless. ‘Watching us, then coming in here and taking the only things we’ve got that are worth anything.’

‘Vicky, I’m sorry.’

She wasn’t interested in him, in apologies. ‘They targeted us, Mike, don’t you see?’

‘They were probably just passing,’ he said. ‘An open window, it’s asking for it. It’s down to me, I’m sorry.’

‘Just passing!’ The incredulity laid on heavy. ‘Why would anyone be just passing here, in the pouring rain? It’s a cul-de-sac.’

‘There’s the alley, they could have been cutting through.’

She stopped, her face alert, like she’d just heard something. ‘They must have had a car. That telly’s too big to carry.’

‘Not impossible.’

‘And the DVD player.’

‘There might have been two of them.’ As soon as he said it Mike knew she’d turn that round to support her theory. ‘Look,’ he hurried on, changing tack, ‘they didn’t take anything else. No mess, nothing broken. Martin will sort us out.’

‘You don’t care.’ Her face was flushed now.

‘What?’

‘Strangers, some low-lifes who’ve been watching the place, have been in here, touching our stuff, watching us, waiting for you to leave.’ She’d never been the hysterical type and this sudden melodrama made Mike feel peculiar.

‘They haven’t even been upstairs,’ he said.

‘What if this is about the murder?’

‘What?’ He shook his head.

‘About getting at us, getting at you.’

‘Vicky they nicked the TV, what are you on about?’

She stared at him, her mouth twisted with distaste, derision.

‘Look.’ He stepped closer to her, put out a hand, touched her shoulder. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock but let’s keep it real. Some scallies took the telly. End of.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Vicky, ‘not by a long chalk.’

And she wasn’t wrong.

The other side of Christmas, not that there’d been much festivity in their house but they’d done their best to make it a happy time for the kids. Megan was young enough to be pleased with simple things, cheap toys off the market, the idea of it all. Kieran liked the music. Favourite Christmas songs on his old CD player. Mike and Vicky had debated whether to get him a new one but decided not. The lad loved his old one and they’d learnt the hard way not to force change on him. Getting him into new clothes as he grew bigger was challenge enough. They bought him a second-hand mobile handset in the forlorn hope that it would stop him hiding theirs. And there was one thing that would guarantee his pleasure. An addition to his collection of miniature steam trains. The engines were his passion.

The Museum of Science and Industry in town was a godsend. Full of working engines in tram sheds and railway memorabilia, it was one of the few manageable destinations for family outings. And it was free.

They’d gone there again after Christmas. Kieran’s face went still with appreciation as they stood in the great engine hall or went outside to watch the Planet locomotive chug its way past. His attention was fixed as though he was breathing in essence of steam train.

The families had bought presents for the kids, too, of course and they’d had a big get-together at Vicky’s mum’s. Mike was glad when it was all over and they were back to routine. He hoped he’d get a break in the New Year; find a job, anything for now.

Then, a Wednesday in January, close to teatime, Vicky rang him. Her voice shaking. ‘Mike, we’ve been in an accident.’ Her and Kieran. She’d collected the boy after work, was coming home.

Mike went cold right through. ‘Are you okay? And Kieran? Are you hurt? What happened?’

‘We’re okay,’ she said. ‘They drove right into us, Mike, on Chester Road. They just drove right into us.’ Mike’s throat went dry. He could hear Kieran in the background. The repetitive noise he made when he was upset. Like a moan, half a word. A chant.

‘Who did?’ She didn’t answer. He thought they’d lost the connection. ‘Vicky? What about the other car? Have you called the police?’

‘They didn’t stop.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘No. They just kept going, Mike.’

‘We still need to report it. We can claim, even if they didn’t stop. That car’s your livelihood.’

‘I don’t want to report it.’ Her voice was edgy. She carried on speaking, her voice lower. ‘It was a warning, Mike. Another warning.’

‘What?’

‘From the gangs. Because of you.’

Mike felt like his head was going to explode. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake.’ He couldn’t think where to go with this and he hated the stream of fear in her voice. ‘Look, will it start?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where’s the damage?’

‘The back, the driver’s side.’

‘Try it. If it won’t start I’ll come and get you in a cab.’

He heard her breathing, then the sound of the engine turning over.

‘Have you got lights?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Check the brakes.’

‘Fine.’ Her voice trembled.

‘You feel all right to drive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Any problems ring me back. Come home and we’ll talk.’

* * *

It wasn’t so much a talk, more of a rant. And Vicky didn’t even wait until the kids were out of earshot like she usually did. Laying into him about the risk he’d taken.

‘Vicky, wait.’ He held up a hand to stop the barrage of words. ‘It was an accident, that’s all. A road accident. Some prat too young to be behind the wheel, or off his head.’

‘It was a silver car,’ she said.

Mike wanted to laugh. ‘There are thousands of silver cars.’

She stared at him. Her lip trembling.

‘A BMW?’ he demanded.

She hesitated then said yes. He thought she was lying.

Megan was calling. ‘Mummy, Mummy.’ Wanting help getting her toy cooker out. The noise was a little drill in his head. Vicky was ignoring her. Kieran sat in the corner, zoned out.

He softened his voice. ‘You’re shaken up.’

‘Don’t try that,’ she snarled.

‘What?’

‘I know what happened, you weren’t there. First they break in and rob us, now they follow me.’

A dart of dread pricked in his belly. ‘They were following you!’ He couldn’t help the ridicule in his tone, didn’t know how else to deal with this fantasy.

‘They must have been.’

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘They’re dangerous, Mike. They want to stop you. They drove us off the road.’

‘Mummeee!’ Megan began to scream.

Vicky’s face was all screwed up, her eyes shining, the glint of tears. ‘Next time they could kill us.’

‘Vicky.’ He couldn’t reason with her. Maybe when she calmed down. He turned away, went to pick up Megan, who was bawling now and kicking at the plastic cooker. ‘Here.’ He hoisted her up on to the crook of his arm, her face all wet and snotty. He got a tissue, wiped her face, turned her for a cuddle.

‘You’ve got to pull out,’ Vicky said. ‘For the kids. For me.’

Mike’s throat ached. He patted Megan on the back. She laid her head on his shoulder, the sobs had stopped.

‘The lad died, Vicky. I saw it. I told the police. That’s all there is to it.’

‘And you want us to be next?’ Spit landed on her chin.

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘That’s what’ll happen. Walk away.’

‘You’re upset.’

‘Stop telling me I’m upset. Course I’m bloody upset. Some gangster just piled into the car. The car with your wife and your son inside.’

‘It’s nothing to do with the gangs,’ Mike shouted and Megan started in his arms and began to grizzle again. ‘How would they know anything about me? My name, where I live, who you are? That’s confidential. Only the police know that. They haven’t even charged anyone yet. There may never be a trial.’

‘Someone could have seen you. When you were there, that day. Seen you giving your statement.’ Her breath was coming in little bursts, the words broken up. ‘Please, Mike!’

He couldn’t pull out. This meant so much. This was his chance to make things right. Payback. Like an exorcism, cancel out the time before. The time he’d said nothing, done nothing. Played it safe. He couldn’t change what had happened, but this time he’d been given the opportunity to stand up, to do the right thing.

‘They don’t know me,’ he insisted. ‘And if I did pull out how would they even know? What do you want me to do, string a bloody sheet up outside, Mike Sallis is a coward, Mike Sallis won’t be giving evidence?’ She had no answer to that. ‘This is all in your imagination, Vicky.’

‘What, I imagined getting rammed by a car, did I? I imagined swerving and nearly crashing?’

Megan wriggled in his arms, her cries getting louder. ‘Vicky, let’s talk later. It’s just coincidence. Bad luck.’

‘Why are you being like this?’ She spat the words at him.

He felt bile rise. Set Megan down, ignoring her howl of protest. He moved towards Vicky, his skin hot, his arms shaking. ‘I’m doing the right thing,’ he said tightly. ‘If one of our kids was hurt …’

Vicky flinched.

‘… I’d want people to come forward. Any decent man—’

‘Don’t talk to me about decent. What’s decent is protecting your own family, being a proper father and husband. There will be other witnesses. Let them do it.’

Mike shook his head. The thought of pulling out made him weak with shame. Like a dog sidling away, wriggling its back end, craven. He’d lived with that feeling all these years. Now another boy had died and he could pay penance. ‘You have to let me do this,’ he told her.

Her face hardened.

‘We can ask for protection, if that’ll make you feel safer. I can ring them now.’

She shook her head. Wiped her hand roughly at her face. ‘Your choice, Mike. If you carry on, you do it without us.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cheryl

C
heryl had made £30 doing nails that week. Not all profit if you counted the cost of the acrylics and the varnishes and everything. But still a welcome contribution to the household. The television licence had to be paid and even though Nana had been buying stamps at the post office towards the gas and electric, the bill was much bigger than last winter.

Milo got ill in the New Year; his temp high and him sleeping so much, Cheryl got really worried. She called the health visitor and asked her what to do. Flu and winter vomiting sickness were both in the news. The health visitor asked her a couple of questions about rashes and his neck (to rule out meningitis, she said) then told her to use Calpol and plenty of fluids and not to take him out. Nana saw how scared Cheryl was and told her Milo was a fine strong boy. She reminded Cheryl of how sick she had been when she caught glandular fever at the end of primary school. And how the only thing that would cheer her up was lying on the sofa watching the
Rug
Rats
cartoon on telly.

After four days Milo started eating again, but he still had a rattling cough. Nana caught the cough. It kept her inside too. She said the cold wind set it off. She didn’t even get to church. She sent Cheryl to the health food shop to buy black molasses and liquorice roots. She boiled up some mess that looked like dirty car oil and stank the house out. A tonic.

Nana Rose, Danny’s grandma, came round to visit. She’d gone so thin since the murder and her back was bent as though it was too heavy to bear. Nana scolded Rose for venturing out and risking catching the flu but Nana Rose hushed her. The two of them sat side by side on the sofa, holding hands, watching
Doctors
and turning over for
Sixty Minute
Makeover
. Cheryl tried to imagine herself and Vinia growing old like that. Couldn’t see it. Nana Rose would go back before it got dark at four o’clock.

‘Back home,’ Nana said, ‘it hardly change, sunset near to six every night.’

‘Warm all year,’ Nana Rose added.

‘You had hurricanes though,’ Cheryl said.

‘Oh, yes,’ Nana said. ‘Tearing the roofs off and everything blown every way.’

‘Were you scared?’ Cheryl knew the answers but knew too that Nana and Rose grew happy and mellow remembering home. Cheryl had asked Nana if she’d like to go back for a visit but Nana said it was all changed now. Cheryl thought she’d like to go, take Milo when he was bigger, see where they came from.

‘Yes, we would go in the root cellar of the farm next door and when the wind was shrieking the boys would say it was Satan flying in the wind.’

‘Poppa Joe’s car!’ Nana Rose giggled.

‘Ay! Poppa Joe’s car went up in the tree. So high. And the land there was too swampy for them to put any machines on to reach for it.’

‘And when you came here it was cold?’

‘Like the North Pole! Ice and snow and frost on the windows – on the inside.’

Cheryl made them a cup of tea and Nana Rose told them that the school was building a music centre in Danny’s memory. It was to have spaces for rehearsals and a recording studio and would be open to all of the community not just the school students.

Cheryl left Milo with Nana while she went to the supermarket. In the taxi back the guy was going on about another shooting. Somewhere on the Range. He meant Whalley Range. ‘The Range’ made it sound like a Western, thought Cheryl. Clint Eastwood and Brad Pitt with stetsons. Men of honour cleaning up town. When really the Range was mostly just a poor neighbourhood and the gunfights as pointless and sordid as Carlton shooting Danny. Stupid and deadly.

She didn’t mention the rumour to Nana but watched the local TV news later. Another lad, nineteen this time, shot leaving a bakery. Cheryl didn’t recognize the name or the photo. The report ended with a reminder that police were still investigating the murder of Danny Macateer, seven months earlier.

Cheryl felt ashamed again. The Macateers had to live knowing who was behind Danny’s death but helpless to do anything about it. Everyone just went about their business, all of them in on the dirty little secret. And Carlton and Sam Millins carried on cocky as ever. Big men, hard men, safe behind the wall of silence. Cheryl didn’t like to think about it all, doing an ostrich act like everyone else, but the guilt stuck with her, she just couldn’t shake it off. And there was anger too, useless anger, that it had to be this way.

That Saturday, she and Vinia had a proper night out. Some Breezers at home first, while she did Vinia’s nails and Vinia helped her choose which dress, with which belt and which shoes. Nana sucked her teeth at Vinia’s low-cut top and said she’d catch her death of cold.

‘Not if I find me a nice big man to keep me warm,’ Vinia joked.

‘Be careful,’ Nana told Cheryl.

‘Promise,’ she answered.

They got the bus in, standing room only, everyone piling into town. The club was in The Printworks, three floors, three different sound systems. They knew Tony on the door from school. Not a big guy, fine-featured, soft-spoken, looked more like a dancer than a bouncer. They had a quick catch-up then he sent them in. They headed for the middle floor. Dubstep. The heavy bass pulsed through Cheryl; she felt it vibrate in her belly and her throat. She and Vinia found some friends and joined up. Drinks were pricey but they bought orange, topped it up with vodka from the bottle in Vinia’s bag.

The place was filling up, the music so loud that it was impossible to hear anything. Lip reading and sign language the only way to communicate. Vital conversations had to take place in the corridor or the loos.

In a break between dances, breathless, her heart thudding, Cheryl went out to have a smoke. She passed him on the stairs. He was coming up them, two at a time. Dark golden skin, short brown dreads, almond eyes set off with rectangular glasses, bright blue frames. He wore a simple white short-sleeved shirt, black denims, baseball boots. Flashed her a smile.

Outside she wondered about him: if he was available, if he might be interested, if he was meeting someone.

She stood with Tony and smoked and listened to the racket from inside the club. It had begun to rain, a fine drizzle that settled on her bare arms and shone like glitter. Her hair must look the same.

Back inside she saw him on the stage, on the decks. ‘Who’s he?’ she mouthed to Vinia, pointing at the guy. Vinia shrugged. The girl beside her pulled out a flyer and pointed to a name on the line-up: Jeri-KO.

Cheryl moved closer to the stage, raising her arms above her head as the music gained momentum. Waiting for him to see her, watching for any obvious girlfriend.

Jeri-KO raised his hands, the lights flared white behind him, drenching the audience, casting him in silhouette. He pivoted on the spot. His profile was all smooth planes. The music thundered under Cheryl’s feet, Jeri-KO was dancing now, a voice sample streamed in above the rhythm ‘We know what we want,’ boomed a deep West Indian voice, ‘we want to run free, we want to fly high, we want to get lost in the beat.’ Drums crashed in and the crowd roared. Cheryl threw back her head and swung her hips to the rhythm. A strobe began casting them all as automatons, jerky stop-motion images. Cheryl closed her eyes and danced, the percussion like waves and the melody soaring over the bass.

When Cheryl opened her eyes and joined the rest of the club in applauding his set, his eyes found hers. She sketched a nod, a smile wide on her face. He blew her a kiss.

In the loos Vinia was having none of it.

‘He blew me a kiss.’

‘He can’t see a thing in the crowd, girl, mistake you for his long-time girlfriend.’

‘You’re jealous,’ Cheryl smirked.

‘Nothing to be jealous of.’

Cheryl stretched her mouth in the mirror, touched up her lipstick. She stepped back, swivelled side on and stood tall. She looked fine. Vain maybe but hell – got it, flaunt it. ‘You wait and see,’ she told Vinia.

But when Cheryl went back in he was nowhere to be seen. She felt her anticipation drain away. A little romance would have been nice. She was so lonely sometimes, sure there was Milo and Nana and Vinia but that wasn’t the same.

Now she felt tired and thirsty. She wove her way through the dancers to the bar, waited to be served and asked for a glass of tap water.

Turning back, she caught her heel on something and stumbled forward, losing hold of the glass. It was only plastic so it didn’t shatter but the water splashed all over the back of a woman in hot-pants.

The woman swung round and glared, shouting at Cheryl who backed away saying sorry, her eyes pricking.

Cheryl found Vinia and told her she wanted to go but Vinia wasn’t ready. She dragged Cheryl into the corridor. ‘It’s only just getting going. Stay.’

Cheryl sighed. ‘I’ll get a cab,’ she said.

She stood with Tony. The taxis were slow. ‘Be about twenty minutes for a private cab,’ Tony told her. Cheryl was debating whether to walk along and join the queue at the rank for a black cab, wondering whether that would be any quicker, when he came down the hill at a bit of a run. Slowing, his face opening with a smile as he saw her.

‘You’re not going, are you?’ he asked. She couldn’t place his accent.

‘Thinking of it.’

His tongue was caught between his teeth. White teeth. He laughed.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said, knowing this was risky, showing too keen an interest.

‘Took some of my gear back to the hotel.’

‘You don’t live in Manchester?’

‘Bristol.’ He looked about, sniffed. ‘We could get something to eat?’

‘Cool,’ she said, ‘yeah.’ She turned to Tony. ‘Where’s open now?’

He made some suggestions. Cheryl nodded, barely taking them in.

‘Thanks, mate,’ Jeri-KO said. Then to her, ‘Sushi sounds good. Okay by you?’

Cheryl knew what sushi was, raw fish, Japanese food. Never had it. ‘Good, yeah.’ She turned to Tony. ‘See you.’

He winked at her. ‘Take care.’

Cheryl felt the fizz of excitement inside, the dizzy sensation like she’d faint or fall or float off.

‘Is Jeri-KO your real name?’

‘Jeremy – I prefer Jeri. And you’re Cheryl.’

She stopped, surprised. ‘How do you know?’

‘I asked around.’

She smiled. And he took her hand.