Witness (16 page)

Jeff had left her for another woman. The hurt of that had never really gone away. Shelley was right, it had shadowed the relationships she’d had since and made her cling to her independence. If she didn’t give them much then little could be taken away. But it was a half-life however much she tried to make of it. In time, and not so long from now, Owen would go out into the world. She would be alone. Walking the dog, delivering babies, climbing hills. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more, she wanted love and intimacy.

Joe seemed interested.
I’d love to hold your hand.
But that will have to wait till this is all over
. He might be stringing her along, happy to let her believe there might be more to come so she would do her best as a witness. That possibility and the suspicion behind it rankled with her and she scolded herself. When her thoughts lit on the trial, the pleasure she felt at seeing Joe again was dampened by a wave of anxiety. She felt the squirt of panic in her stomach, the clamouring of her mind. She was dreading it. She quickly drew on the CBT techniques that she’d learnt. Stood still and focused on her physiology, her breathing, the set of her muscles, and derailed those responses. It worked; she stopped the panic from growing, from devouring her.

She walked on another mile and found a natural picnic area, a bowl surrounded by a horseshoe of rocks. She took her rucksack off and lay down, stretched out on the grass, wriggling until she found the most comfortable position. Ziggy ran to her and sniffed at her face which tickled and made her laugh. She pushed him away.

The sun was warm on her skin and even with her eyes closed the world was full of light. She could still hear the fluting cadence of the larks and fainter, further away, the piercing, eerie cry of a hawk. She rubbed the palms of her hands over the springy tufts of grass and smelt the sweet, peaty aroma of the earth. She was drifting, lulled into a doze with the warmth and peace of the place.

An aeroplane woke her; she blinked and scanned its jet trail chalked through the blue above. Ziggy was lying a little way away, head on his paws. Fiona sat up and got the water bottle from her rucksack, drank deep. She threw Ziggy a dog biscuit, then ate the apple she’d packed.

The rest of the route took her to the end of the ridge and down through a forested valley, sown with conifers and oak, rowan, silver birch and beech trees, the ground underfoot crunchy with beech mast and pine cones. They passed a waterfall which roared over a cliff and thundered its way on to a plateau of large stones below. Twisted trees and huge ferns at either side of the force were slick with green slime. Fiona sat and watched the sheets of water for a while, the mizzle of spray settling on her hair and clothes. Ziggy drank from a pool near the bottom. They tracked the stream back to the road, the way dappled with shadows from the trees and the golden sunlight.

By the time she reached the car, the blister on her heel had popped, a bite with each step, reminding her how long it had been since she’d given the boots a good outing.

She was honest with herself: those moments with Joe had been a glimpse of the life she hungered for. She might – she hoped she would – live another forty years, that was almost a lifetime for generations who had come before. She would not waste it. It’s all there is, she thought, and then we die. She would not let fear or false humility or convenience trap her into a lonely existence. She wanted to share it with somebody. If not Joe, then she would find someone else, actively look for love. Other people did it, dating sites and the like; she would too, a promise to herself. She finished her water and put Ziggy in the car. The dog was shattered, he fell asleep immediately. Then she drove home, the sun, a glorious blood-red blaze, setting in her rear-view mirror.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cheryl

C
heryl waited until Nana had been in bed for an hour then she went into the bathroom with the kit. She’d taken forever to buy it, hanging round the pharmacy until the girl behind the counter was giving her funny looks, like she was going to nick something.

After a week of being sick she finally clocked this was not a bug. And it wasn’t down to nerves about the trial. The smell of food, meat particularly, brought water to her mouth and convulsions to her stomach. She had to hold her breath when she changed Milo’s nappies too, turning her head away to gasp lungfuls of air. And her boobs hurt, tight and tender.

Cheryl unwrapped the stick and peed on it. She closed her eyes and waited. Counted to ten. She was numb and tired, her feet were cold. If the result was negative, what then? Relief. Life would go on in the same old way. She’d get past going to court on Monday then be back to normal. Milo would start nursery school part-time in the New Year. Cheryl would check out the model agency, get a fresh portfolio together. Have a bit more money and not be fretting so much. She’d stopped the nails since the thing with the benefit fraud people. Cancelled those she’d already booked in. Maybe she’d take up Jeri’s offer of putting her in touch with some of those video makers.

She’d had to wait for her benefit to go in until she could afford to buy the testing kit. Eight quid a pop. If the test was negative she’d have more freedom, more choices, stuff she could do. Get to know Jeri better, work out if they were heading for something serious, or if they were just having fun for a while.

He’d sent her some music, a compilation from the festivals he’d guested at. Awesome stuff. He texted her most days now, called too. Touching base, he said. Never the other way – she had to watch her credit.

Last night he’d called: how did she fancy a night out on Sunday. He could get a flight late afternoon, be in Manchester for six, fly back Monday night. He was eager, giddy like.

Monday was the trial.

‘Oh, Jeri, I’m sorry, I can’t. Monday I’m busy.’

‘How come?’ His voice had gone flat.

She wanted to tell him, imagined the way the weight would lift if she could share this with him. ‘I’ve got an interview at the Jobcentre first thing. If I don’t go they cut me off.’ She hoped he wouldn’t realize that she didn’t have regular visits to the Jobcentre.

‘That’s cool,’ he said, sounding more relaxed, ‘I can keep the bed warm.’

‘But Nana’s out Sunday too, so I’ll have Milo.’ The lies were sour in her mouth.

‘Man! Don’t they have babysitters up there?’ He sounded mean now, the first time he’d ever expressed a cross word to her.

‘We’ll do it another time, Milo’s not used to other people, I wouldn’t feel right. It’s been so long but I really can’t make this weekend, babe. Hey, maybe we’ll come to you when you get home, a few days like you said, but I’ll have to bring Milo.’

‘Deal. And my niece is a highly accomplished babyminder, so once he’s settled we can do our own thing.’

He had chatted on and Cheryl squashed any thought of a possible pregnancy into a tight corner at the back of her head. He told her about the advertising company who wanted one of his tunes for an online campaign and the possibility of a Jamaican gig in the summer. ‘You could come, catch up with your roots.’

‘Oh, man, I’d love that,’ she said. She could take pictures for Nana; see all the old home places Nana talked about.

‘Good luck, Monday,’ Jeri said as they finished up.

Cheryl froze then recalled her story. ‘Ta. It’ll be cool.’

‘Night, babe.’

‘Night.’

Cheryl opened her eyes and peered at the plus sign and the bold capitals pregnant. Tears stung her eyes. There was always an abortion but she couldn’t imagine that, not for her. She thought of growing big again, and the labour. Telling Nana. Telling Jeri. Something like this wasn’t part of his dreams. Babyfather when they’d barely spent a month together in real time. She had managed fine without Milo’s dad. A boastful boy who had several other kids dotted round the area and who Nana had chased off when he called round feigning an interest in Milo – then three months old. He was in the army now; Cheryl hadn’t seen him for over a year. So maybe she would have to do the same again. No exciting new modelling assignments, no man, no trip to the West Indies. Future postponed.

Cheryl worked out her dates. Only one time had she and Jeri taken a risk. The baby would come in April. A girl perhaps. Dark like her or more light-skinned with Jeri’s fine almond eyes. Alongside the worry and the sadness, Cheryl felt a tickle of joy. A sister for Milo. She put her hand on her belly, imagined it there, small as a jelly bean.

Sunday night, close to dawn, something woke Cheryl. She groaned and rolled on to her back, waiting for Milo to cry out again, but he was quiet. Maybe it was something outside? There were foxes sometimes that screamed and cats that howled like babies.

Cheryl was turning over again when she heard a thump, felt it shudder through the bed, through her. Not the door, but what? Someone in the house, someone breaking in?

She got out of bed and put her bathrobe on. Her heart going wild. They’d found out she was going to be a witness. They were coming for her! Fear scouring through her veins. She stopped at the bedroom door, uncertain whether to wait where she was. She couldn’t just stay here, do nothing. Quietly as she could she opened the door. The landing was dark, the doors shut. She listened, closed her eyes to hear better. Couldn’t make out any sounds that didn’t fit, couldn’t sense any presence. She snapped the landing light on.

She stood, her legs itching from being still, eyes gritty and full of sleep. Still nothing. She looked across to Nana’s door, she didn’t want to disturb her, she had such trouble sleeping now, but what if someone had broken in and was hiding in there?

Torn, Cheryl tiptoed across the landing and listened, her ear to the door. Nothing. Then she knocked gently. ‘Nana?’ Turned the handle and went in, looked across to the bed but the covers were thrown back. Cheryl put on Nana’s light and saw her, on the floor, at the far side of the bed, on her side. Her eyes were fluttering, her skin a horrible yellow shade to it.

‘Nana?’ Cheryl felt her own skin crackle like lightning. She knelt beside her; put her arm on Nana’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Nana?’

Nana gave a little whimper, her eyes blinking away, and a bit of drool leaked from the corner of her mouth. Her hands were trembling.

‘Oh, Nana. Wait there!’ Like she could go anywhere else. Dumb.

Cheryl ran to her room and rang 999, asked for an ambulance, her voice all shaky as she gave her name and address. She went back to Nana, knelt beside her, held her hand, and tried to answer all the questions:
can you confirm the number you are calling
from; what’s the address of the emergency; can you
tell me what happened; are you with the patient now;
can you tell me how old the patient is; do you know
their date of birth; is she conscious; is she alert and
responsive; is she breathing?

The operator said an ambulance was on its way. Could she make sure the door was open so they could get in?

Cheryl ran downstairs; she unlocked the front door and left the latch off. Ran back, still on the phone, still answering questions, following instructions:
has there been any change; could you please
gather together any medication the person uses, the
paramedics will bring that with them
.

Cheryl collected the tablets from Nana’s bedside table and the ones she had downstairs in the top cupboard in the kitchen.

When she got back upstairs Nana’s eyes were closed, and still. Cheryl’s guts turned to ice. ‘Nana?’ She squeezed Nana’s knuckles and stroked her head, the hair soft with the oil that Nana rubbed on it.

‘She’s asleep,’ Cheryl told the operator, hearing the terror in her own voice.

‘Is she still breathing? Listen and put your hand by her mouth.’

Cheryl put her hand close to Nana’s lips; felt a slight, damp stream of air. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘That’s good; the ambulance will be with you any time now.’

‘Tell them to come upstairs,’ Cheryl said, she couldn’t remember if she’d already said that earlier. Nana was quiet. Cheryl wondered what was wrong. Then there were voices and she felt the temperature fall as the paramedics came in and up the stairs.

One of them got down by Nana and began to examine her, the other talked to Cheryl, lots of the same questions as the operator had asked. Cheryl was still on the phone. ‘You can hang up,’ the paramedic told her. Cheryl noticed he’d had his teeth done, veneers, a bit too big, too long, like horse’s teeth.

The one on the floor said they needed the stretcher.

Nana’s eyes stayed closed, she didn’t even open them when they moved her. They put all the tablets in a bag and wrote her name on it.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Cheryl asked.

‘Hard to say. Best we get her in and let the doctors see. She allergic to anything?’

Cheryl shook her head.

They took the stretcher down and out into the ambulance. It was growing light, the sun a soft orange ball to the east, the sky a pale baby blue.

‘Ask at A&E,’ the man said.

It was going to be a nice day. The thought made her want to cry. She rubbed at her face. They closed the ambulance doors and drove away.

Cheryl went inside, the pulse hammering in her throat. Milo was awake, she heard him cry out. A sudden cramp seized her, a rush of saliva in her mouth. She reached the kitchen sink in time. Retched until she was empty. She cleared up then went to get Milo. She changed him and sat him in his high chair with a banana while she got herself changed. She half-filled a bottle with apple juice and diluted it, grabbed a packet of raisins and made a little sandwich with honey in for him to have later. Added extra nappies to his bag, and a change of clothes.

She drank a glass of milk and rang a taxi. There was a tenner in Nana’s ginger jar. Rainy day money. If anything counted as a rainy day, today did.

The taxi came straight away, sounded its horn. Cheryl carried Milo out in one arm, his bag and buggy in the other. They settled in the cab.

‘Where to?’

‘Manchester Royal, A&E.’

The cab pulled out. Milo sat beside her, eyes bright, pointing at the advert on the fold-down seats opposite. ‘Woof!’ he said and kicked his legs.

‘Yeah,’ Cheryl managed, trying not to weep, ‘woof.’

There was a dull calm in A&E. None of the rushing about or panic Cheryl imagined.

Cheryl gave Nana’s name at the window and was told to wait. Someone would call her. They’d no idea how long but it was fairly quiet still. It was eight o’clock and Cheryl was supposed to be meeting Joe Kitson at nine, due at the court for ten. She couldn’t think about that now. She just couldn’t.

She let Milo toddle about for a bit, watching to make sure he didn’t trouble anyone. One woman with grey hair and age spots splashed over her face played peek-a-boo and made Milo laugh. ‘Peepo,’ he echoed. Then the woman was called through and Milo hauled himself up and sat on her empty chair for a while.

Cheryl kept checking the time, her nerves about to snap. Had they forgotten her? She couldn’t stay still any longer; she fetched Milo and went outside to the smoking shelter. She lit a cigarette, the first drag making her dizzy, the second a buzz of relief. The rest tasted foul, her mouth was dry and chalky. She had some of Milo’s juice. Milo walked along the yellow lines of the ambulance bay, humming to himself.

‘You a car, Milo?’

‘Car,’ he agreed, then ‘Tacta.’

‘Tractor.’

She’d have to stop smoking. But not yet. Not today. Not with everything going on. She heard a siren woo-wooing and called Milo closer. Finished her cigarette and took him in as the ambulance pulled up. She didn’t want him to see anything scary. Didn’t want to see it herself.

Another half-hour. Milo was getting bored and Cheryl was about to ring Joe, and tell him she was stuck at the hospital, when they called her name. The doctor checked out who she was and asked her a few questions about Nana and how she had been over the last couple of weeks.

‘Not sleeping well, tired, she thought it was the anaemia,’ Cheryl said. ‘And feeling a bit sick.’

‘And her appetite?’

‘She isn’t eating much. What’s wrong with her?’ Cheryl should have seen it, got help. Nana was sick and Cheryl had just let her carry on instead of asking her to go back to the doctor.

‘Those symptoms may have been side effects.’

‘Side effects?’ Cheryl couldn’t keep up. Milo wriggled off her lap and climbed into his buggy. She should’ve brought some toys for him, some books.

‘She was on new medication.’ Cheryl didn’t even know that, Nana never talked much about these things.

‘We’ve admitted your grandmother for assessment; we think this episode may have been a cerebral haemorrhage, a bleed in the brain. There are a number of tests we’re doing now to best assess her treatment, starting with a scan.’ Cheryl nodded,
bleed, brain
echoing in her head. She felt panic beating against her ribs.

‘Can I see her?’

‘I’ll check for you. I’m not sure whether she’s on the ward yet.’

Cheryl waited while the doctor rang someone up. Milo had taken his shoes and socks off. Cheryl put them in his change bag – she couldn’t face wrestling with him now.

‘They’ll ring back down,’ the doctor said. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

Cheryl sat, the minutes scraping by. She gave Milo his raisins. Then, ‘You can go up now,’ the doctor said. ‘Medical Assessment Unit in the orange zone. Head left out of here and follow the signs.’ He made it sound easy but Cheryl took a wrong turn somewhere and had to retrace her steps. She thought of the lie she’d told Vinia – saying she was here when she’d been to the police station. Was this punishment for that lie? Nana sick, blood in her brain. But people got better, didn’t they? It was like a stroke: they did rehab and had to learn how to walk and talk again.