Witness (17 page)

She had to use a buzzer to get on the ward. There were signs everywhere about germs and gel dispensers every few feet. Cheryl did her hands but Milo refused. At the desk Cheryl waited for the nurse, who was typing away. When she was done she stared at Cheryl, no smile. ‘Yes?’

‘Theodora Williamson,’ said Cheryl. She could see Nana’s name up on the whiteboard behind the desk.

‘Are you a relation?’

‘Yes, her granddaughter.’

The nurse nodded. ‘Room C, just there,’ she said. ‘And if you can keep the little boy quiet.’ Milo was singing softly to himself. Cheryl turned away, a flame of anger in her throat, her hands shaking.

There were four beds, curtains drawn round two, one empty and Nana by the window. She looked the same, eyes closed, but there was a mask over her nose, a tube leading from it to behind the bed. Cheryl guessed it was oxygen. She wheeled the buggy to the foot of the bed. Left Milo there and edged round to the chair at the bedside.

‘Night night,’ said Milo.

Cheryl took Nana’s hand. It was cool and light, the bones frail as a bird’s. Did you talk to people who’d had a brain haemorrhage? Was it like a coma where they could still hear you? Cheryl wanted Nana to wake up and smile. Or to snap at her, ‘I ain’t need no audience, child.’ And sort out getting herself home.

‘Nana?’ said Cheryl.

Milo giggled.

Cheryl’s phone rang, the ring tone – a sample from one of Jeri’s remixes – startlingly loud and punchy in the room. Cheryl jumped and pressed the screen. It was Joe Kitson.

‘Cheryl, where are you?’ The signal was poor, his voice breaking up.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

The nurse appeared in the doorway. ‘No mobiles,’ she snapped.

‘It’s just—’ Cheryl began.

‘They interfere with the equipment. You need to switch it off now.’

‘Well, where?’

‘You’ll have to take it outside.’

She’d lost the connection anyway. It was quarter past nine. She should be on her way to the crèche. Tears pressed at the back of her eyes.

‘Nana, I have to go now. I’ll be back later.’ It wasn’t enough. ‘I’ll pray for you, Nana, shall we pray?’ Cheryl closed her eyes, bent closer. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name …’

When she had finished the prayer she kissed Nana on the forehead, smelt a trace of bay and rosemary from her hair oil. Nana mixed it up every few weeks, had her own recipe. Cheryl preferred hers over the counter.

‘Cheryl, where are you?’ Joe sounded worried.

‘At the hospital. My nana – she collapsed. Could be her brain.’

‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s unconscious. They have to do a scan.’ She didn’t know what else to say. She watched three lads leave the building. One had a fresh white plaster cast on his leg; another had his arm strapped up. She wondered what had happened, a car crash? A fight? ‘I should be here,’ she said.

‘When’s the scan?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Cheryl, I’m sorry but I have to ask you to do this. We only get one chance.’

‘But how long—’ Her chest felt crushed, her breath thick.

‘I don’t know. It won’t be all day, I’m pretty sure of that.’

‘When she wakes up—’

‘Please. I can come and get you now.’

A pigeon landed close by and pecked at the floor. Milo clapped at it and yelled with delight when it flew off.

Nana in the bed, still and small and her face all wrinkled.
Every line a story
. That’s what she used to say when Cheryl tried to tempt her with anti-age creams and that. Nana in the bed. And Danny laughing with Cheryl about church, flushing at her interest when he talked about the gig at Night and Day. Danny on the screen, singing like a dream, trying to moonwalk, laughing. The life in him!

‘Cheryl, are you there?’

Nana furious at people for not speaking out:
like
a new set of chains, slaves to fear
. ‘Yes,’ said Cheryl, ‘I’m here.’

Unlike the first time that she’d left him at the crèche, Milo was clingy, wailing when she tried to put him down then grabbing her leg and burying his face in it and sobbing.

‘You go,’ the crèche worker said, smiling: she must have seen it all before.

Cheryl stalled.

‘He’ll be fine,’ the woman said. Cheryl nodded, biting her lip, her nose tingling. The worker picked Milo up and turned away with him, ignoring his outstretched arms. ‘Mummy’s coming back soon; we’ll have a look at the toys over here.’

‘He loves dogs,’ Cheryl called after her, sniffing.

Joe smiled and thanked her again as she got back into the car. But the way his fingers tapped at the wheel as they waited for the lights to change showed he was stressed too. It was almost quarter past ten.

‘That’s more like it,’ he said as the road opened up ahead. He picked up speed.

Cheryl felt the back of her neck burn and her mouth water, then the spasm bucking in her stomach. ‘Stop! Please. I’m gonna be sick.’ Oh, God.

He didn’t need telling twice but pulled up on to the pavement. Cheryl flung the door open and bent over. She retched again and again, thin yellow stuff, until there was nothing left, just a taste like sour cherries in her mouth, her throat raw, eyes watering.

She had a tissue somewhere in her bag. She wiped her mouth and got back in. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’ll be okay, you know,’ Joe said.

Cheryl began to laugh, tears in it too.

‘What?’ He indicated, pulled out.

‘It’s not nerves – well, I am scared, but I’m pregnant too.’

‘Ah, morning sickness.’

Oh, God. It was all too much: the baby, Nana, the room she was heading towards. She was tired and shivery. She didn’t want to cry, she wouldn’t cry. Not now. She covered her eyes with her hand.

Joe said okay and left it. She was glad he didn’t keep talking, didn’t ask questions or try and cheer her up.

He parked up and she lit a cigarette as they walked around to the witness entrance. Her eyes flicking here and there, watching for familiar faces, ready to duck or run. ‘Can I finish this?’ she asked him as they reached the door. He nodded.

‘Ta.’ She smoked it quickly like it was oxygen and she needed it to breathe. There was no ashtray so she had to chuck it down, grind it underfoot. The pavement was littered with tab ends. Some had lipstick on. Cheryl had no make-up on, hadn’t even combed her hair. She wondered if the jury would trust her more looking plain and washed out.

‘Ready?’

Her stomach clenched. She nodded once. In through security and up to the office, not the waiting area she’d seen last time.

Benny, the volunteer, explained why. ‘The family are here, we don’t want them to see you.’

They were here! Danny’s twin Nadine, his parents, Nana Rose. Nana Rose didn’t know about Nana. Cheryl hadn’t had a chance to ring anyone. Nana Rose had a mobile, Cheryl knew that much, Nana had given Cheryl the number; she should ring and tell her. It would look weird if she hadn’t. She explained to Joe, who agreed. Did she want tea, coffee?

She didn’t know if she dare. She shook her head. ‘Just some water, ta.’

Cheryl rang Nana Rose. It went to voicemail. ‘It’s Cheryl, Nana’s not well. They’ve taken her into MRI. She fell this morning. They think it’s a brain haemorrhage. She needs a scan, that’s the next thing. I’ll let you know. Bye. Bye.’

It struck Cheryl that if Nana had been well, she’d be here somewhere too. Going into the court and hearing Cheryl’s voice all disguised and not knowing it was Cheryl.

Benny brought her the witness statement to read. All the stuff she’d said that Joe had typed up and she’d signed. ‘Take your time,’ Benny said, ‘read it through and let me know if there’s any mistakes. This is the statement the defence have a copy of; this is what they’ll ask you about.’

Cheryl tried to read it but it was hard, her mind kept dancing away, floating off to brood on Nana.

Joe returned with her glass of water. ‘How’s it going?’

‘My mind’s in bits,’ she sighed.

‘Read it out.’

‘What?’

‘Read it to me, out loud.’

Her cheeks grew hot, was he teasing her?

‘It helps to say it out loud, to practise. After all, you’ve never spoken about this to anyone but me.’

‘But I won’t have to read this when I go in there?’

‘No, you just use your own words to describe what happened, then answer their questions, maybe elaborate if they ask you to.’

She drank some water then did as he said, her voice husky from being sick, tripping over some words and finding others that made her voice tremble and her heart ache. But she got through it.

‘How about a biscuit?’ Joe offered.

‘Or toast?’ suggested Benny. ‘We have a toaster.’

Cheryl covered her mouth, blinked and nodded. ‘Dry,’ she managed as Benny reached the door. ‘Dry toast.’

Before she could finish the toast Benny came to tell her, ‘It’s about ten minutes now, we should go down.’

Cheryl couldn’t swallow. The food lodged in her mouth. She felt embarrassed, face burning as she had to spit out the wad of toast on to the plate.

‘Good luck,’ Joe told her. ‘Soon be over. You need to leave your phone.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

Then they were going downstairs, this way and that. Into the box. The cell. That’s what it felt like to Cheryl: underground, warm and lit and carpeted but still like somewhere you were locked up. Cheryl was trembling, she kept thinking of Carlton now, her guts iced-water at the thought he might find out she was here. Benny reminded her about the red card in case she got upset. He asked her if she would make the oath on the Bible and she said yes.

Cheryl sat on the chair.

‘A bit closer,’ Benny said. ‘Good, and when you talk just look at the screen, don’t worry too much about the camera – if you’re looking at the screen then they will see you. Can you clip this on?’ Benny passed her the little microphone and Cheryl stuck it to her top. Then Benny handed her a plastic cup of water.

There was a feeling running through Cheryl and she tried to place it: like the moments before the dentist, or waiting for a test at school, or the week before Milo was born. The sensation of something looming, no escape, no way back. A steamroller rumbling towards her, the ground shuddering.

When she was having Milo, when the pains got really bad, she was crying and saying to Nana, ‘I can’t do this, Nana, I just can’t.’

‘No goin’ back,’ Nana had said. ‘Baby’s coming and no one can stop it. You nearly there.’ Nana had rubbed Cheryl’s back, really hard, and that had helped a bit then she felt the pain rolling inside a different way and they told her to push.

Afterwards Nana was always coming up with home remedies for Cheryl and the baby. Old wives’ tales from back home. When her breasts got sore and swollen, Nana told her to comb them with her Afro comb and stick plantain leaves in her bra. Cheryl was scandalized. ‘I ain’t combing ’em! Nana, that is so gross.’

‘Is sense, you’ll see.’

The midwife said that massage did help, Cheryl could do it in a warm bath, apply steady pressure towards the nipple where the lumpiness was worst, express a little of the milk. She tried that and it got better. But she drew the line at stuffing vegetables in her bra. And now, what would Nana think of a second child? Would it be too much for her now she was sick?

‘Okay,’ Benny said. ‘They’re putting the cameras on now.’ Cheryl shuffled in her seat. Rubbed her palms on her jeans. The screen went from black to colour. She could see the courtroom, the judge. Somewhere there, out of sight, were Carlton and Sam Millins. Vinia. And the Macateers. Cheryl took a sip of the water, it was lukewarm, the plastic cup felt oily in her fingers. She rubbed her hand on her jeans again.

Then the sound came on, she could hear the rustle as people moved, the hum of chatter. Then the judge spoke.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution’s first witness will be giving evidence from a video link and their voice will be distorted. In certain cases these special measures are adopted but it is of the utmost importance that you do not assume from this any prejudice against the defendants nor attach any greater weight to the prosecution evidence. Your judgment will rest solely on the strength of the evidence you hear, not on the manner in which it is presented.’

The usher in the court stood up. ‘Witness A will now swear the oath.’

Benny nodded and held out the Bible to Cheryl. Cheryl placed her hand on the book and read the card. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

One of the men in wigs, a tall, skinny man, stood up and spoke to Cheryl: ‘Please tell the court in your own words what you saw on the twentieth of June last year.’

‘I saw Danny Macateer.’ Cheryl’s tongue felt too big for her mouth, her lips were dry. The room was cool and she felt goose pimples flare on her arms. ‘I was on Abbey Street, near the shop, on the corner with Faraday Street. We said hello and that and he went on.’

‘Which way did he go?’

‘Along Abbey Street towards the main road.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I set off home, down Faraday Street.’

‘You knew Danny?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘From around, from church and that.’ Cheryl couldn’t tell them that their nanas were best friends, nothing had been kept in her evidence that might give a clue to who she was.

‘How did he seem?’

The question floored her. His smile, the way he laughed when she mimicked Nana Rose. His quiet pride in his music. She swallowed. ‘Good. Happy, he was going to a rehearsal.’

‘Tell us what happened then.’

‘I was walking down Faraday Street, a car came past the other way; it was Carlton and Sam Millins.’ Cheryl could hear voices in the court, reactions to what she had said.

‘Derek Carlton?’

‘Yes.’ No one calls him Derek, she thought. She wanted to laugh. ‘They went the same way as Danny, turned into Abbey Street.’

‘How did you know it was Derek Carlton and Sam Millins?’

‘I saw them. And it was Sam’s car – the BMW.’

‘How do you know both these men?’

‘They live in the area. Everyone knows them, their gang runs the place, they cause a lot of trouble.’