‘Go see Nana,’ Cheryl told him. She put him under one arm and he kicked his legs and yelled. She struggled outside and he calmed down when they got to the car.
‘Whatever happens with the verdict,’ Joe said as he drove towards the hospital, ‘what you did today will make a real difference. The more people speak out, the more people will in future. Like a snowball. The community protect the gangs out of fear – what you did today helped change that. They’ll see it is possible to be a witness and be safe. You should be proud of yourself, you really should.’
Cheryl blinked. ‘I’m glad it’s over. They were so mean, really tight.’ She felt drained, hollow.
‘That’s what they do, they have to try and discredit the witnesses to save their clients. But you did good. Think what it means to the Macateers.’
He was right, that was something, that was important. Despite her exhaustion she felt a surge of pride. A lift in her mood. She’d done it! Been bold. Stood up to Carlton, borne witness for Danny. Oh, if only Nana knew – though she could never tell her – how proud that would make her.
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ Joe said, ‘but you know how to reach me if you need anything.’
‘Like getting rid of benefit investigators?’
Joe laughed. He pulled up outside the main entrance. ‘I hope your grandma’s better soon. And good luck with the baby,’ he said.
Cheryl nodded. He was the only person who knew. She’d tell Nana as soon as she could. It’d be something to look forward to. When Cheryl had found out she was carrying Milo she had been so anxious about Nana’s reaction, even wondered about an abortion. But when Cheryl, in tears, told her, Nana just said to dry her eyes. ‘A child is a blessing-’ she’d touched Cheryl’s cheek – ‘a gift.’
Milo was drowsy but not asleep; she put him in his buggy and waved as Joe drove off. She felt a sweep of fatigue. The day had gone on forever. If Nana was okay maybe she’d take Milo home, they could both have a nap then come back to visit after tea.
When she reached the ward, the nurse she’d seen before was at the desk. ‘Miss Williamson,’ she said, ‘we were about to ring you. Doctor would like a word.’ She pointed the way.
Cheryl wheeled Milo into the small room and parked him beside her. There was a woman there in a white coat.
‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news,’ the doctor said. ‘Your grandmother suffered a second cranial bleed just over an hour ago. We did all we could but attempts to revive her failed and she died.’
Cheryl’s heart tore, the pain ripping through her like an electric shock, taking her breath. No! Her eyes swam. Nana died without her, she should have been here, and she should never have left her. Now she was dead. No! Please God, no! Nana was dead. Cheryl placed her hands over her eyes, leaned her elbows on her knees.
‘Peepo!’ Milo said.
Cheryl burst into tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mike
DANNY MACATEER TRIAL OPENS. It was on the front page of the Manchester Evening News, with pictures of the boy’s family arriving at court. Decked out smart but sober. Mike bought a copy on his way to the tram after he’d finished work.
The story carried over on page two with more background to the case and the pictures of the lad they’d used before. On the tram Mike counted maybe a third of the people reading the paper, and this time tomorrow it’d be in again and it’d be Mike they were reading about; Witness B. It made him feel good, a glow inside.
The new place he was working was a temporary contract – three months, minimum wage, £5.80 an hour. A fulfilment centre for a batch of online shopping outfits. The work itself wasn’t exactly fulfilling: matching orders from the stacks in the warehouses, wheeling them through to Despatch. Seven hours a day. But the other staff were okay, a right mix: Polish, Latvian, African, couple of Somalis and a lad from Congo, a Scouser, the rest Mancunians of all creeds and colours. Mike liked Jan, the Polish lad. He was into chess and soon had most of them playing to pass the lunch break. Mike hadn’t won a game yet but he was getting better at it. Mike had met up with Jan a couple of times after work for a pint. Jan was thinking about going back home now the bottom had dropped out of the employment market in the UK. They were all on temporary contracts, made it easier for the company to respond to fluctuations in demand – they just let them go when orders dropped off.
Mike had got a text from Joe confirming that he would still be needed Tuesday. Mike had replied and then deleted it. He had booked a day’s leave and told work it was a family wedding. He hadn’t told Vicky anything and that’s the way it would stay.
Tuesday he left the house as usual at seven fifteen. Then he had to hang about in town until ten when he could get into court, the back way like before. This volunteer Benny showed him into the waiting room. There were a group of lads there already and pretty soon the place filled up. Seven trials on, Benny told him, a couple due to finish today.
Mike read his witness statement through. There were bits he’d forgotten, like the dog barking at the house at the edge of the rec, and there were other bits that were bigger in his head than they were just written down. Like the shooting – in Mike’s head it was almost slow motion, the man stepping out of the car, raising his arm, Mike seeing the lad walking over the grass, his back to the shooter, the way the lad jerked and spun round before falling. It must have been quick but in Mike’s head it took forever.
After he’d got to the end, he read a magazine for a bit, aware of the tension in the place. Each time one of the volunteers came in to call someone, everyone was on pins, swapping glances, on the verge of wishing each other good luck though they were all strangers. Mike wondered if he should feel more sense of worry or dread about it. He didn’t share Vicky’s paranoia and believed Joe when he said there was no link between the bother they’d had and the gang. But should he be more wary about being in court?
Joe arrived and asked him how he was, if everything was okay, and Mike said fine. Then Benny said it was his turn and Mike’s nerves kicked in, but nothing too heavy.
They went down through the building. Mike reckoned he’d a good sense of direction but he’d lost his bearings by the time they got to court. It all speeded up then, he went into the witness box and Benny sat behind him. There were curtains round the box, just the front open, and he felt like a horse with blinkers on. He’d a daft urge to whip ’em back and eyeball the guys in the dock. He swore the oath then the prosecution barrister asked him to tell the jury what he’d seen.
He laid it out, driving up Princess Road, seeing the man step out of the car, the shot, Mike slamming on his brakes and pulling over. He remembered The Clash was playing but he left that out. Then running to help, the nurse already with the boy, Mike calling the ambulance. Mike felt his heart pick up pace as he talked but he thought he sounded calm enough.
The barrister asked what else he could remember and he mentioned the dog because that was in his statement, and the ambulance coming, then the churchgoers, the boy’s family, arriving. Mike’s chest was tight then, remembering the woman crying over her son, and the older one, the grandma, on her knees on the grass. Mike was thinking what it would be like if they lost Kieran or Megan. Massive.
Next, the woman who was defending Derek Carlton questioned him. Had he been able to identify the man who’d fired the gun?
‘No,’ Mike replied. ‘He was a black guy but I couldn’t make his face out.’
‘You were some distance away. How far do you think?’
‘Thirty yards?’
‘More like fifty,’ she corrected him, a glint in her eye like she’d scored a point. ‘So, it could have been anyone firing that gun.’