Witness - [42]
‘What sort of measures?’ Her voice shook. She imagined herself and Owen in some shabby safe house, guards with dogs at the gate, bored minders playing cards.
‘You’ll give your evidence from behind screens so although the judge and jury will be able to see you, the defendants and their supporters won’t. You will be anonymous: Miss A or whatever.’
Fiona saw Danny’s face again, the line of his jaw, those golden eyes, felt the slick warmth of his blood on her hands. Her pulse kicked. She wrenched herself away, concentrated on stretching her neck, relaxing her feet, her diaphragm.
‘Fiona?’
‘Still here.’
‘I want to thank you,’ he said. The sincerity, the kindness in his tone brought sudden tears. Daft. ‘Without you we’d never have got this far. And with your help we’ll put these guys away for a long time. Is there anything else you want to ask me now?’
She sniffed, cleared her throat. ‘No, that’s all fine.’
‘Well, any time. You have my number. And thank you again.’
A hard frost still lingered at the water park. Iced puddles were cracked into milky patterns, and the mud on the rutted paths was rimed white. Ziggy barked for the ball and his breath rose like little swags of mist. An easterly wind poked freezing fingers into the slightest gaps in Fiona’s clothes: at her wrist when she raised her arm to throw Ziggy’s ball and at her throat where her coat wasn’t snug enough. She should have worn her scarf. The sky was pearly white, stippled grey here and there, the cloud cover so dense that she could not gauge the wind in it.
Bullfinches and great tits flitted among the bare branches in the copse, robins combed the ground. No sign of spring here yet. In the larger trees the bowl-like birds’ nests and the larger squirrel’s dray were visible. Close to the open water of the lake she found the wind too ferocious, stinging her eyes and making her nose numb. She called Ziggy to head inland to more sheltered paths.
Perhaps they should book a holiday, Fiona thought. She’d made desultory conversation about the idea at Christmas but Owen didn’t seem interested in anything she suggested. Perhaps if he brought a friend, she thought now. Just a week. Even that would be costly, the boys would pay full fare if they flew anywhere. Or somewhere at home – an English seaside break: rain and steamy cafés. The smell of vinegar and candy floss. Owen and friend could go off exploring on their own. And what would she do? The thought of being trapped in a B &B or a holiday cottage with two bored teenagers for seven days in a row made her heart sink. America then? She had cousins in Maine; Owen could hang out with their kids. The travel would cost more but they wouldn’t have to pay accommodation. They would perhaps need to dip into Owen’s university fund to pay for it.
Fiona stopped and watched a kestrel hovering overhead. The bird hung, a black silhouette against the bright sky. Then plummeted. Rose with something in its talons. A mouse or shrew.
‘You get any Valentines?’ she joked with Owen at teatime.
He didn’t answer, just the usual drop-dead glower.
‘If we had a summer holiday,’ Fiona said, ‘maybe you could bring a friend along.’
Owen gave her a sidelong glance, frowning.
‘Just something to think about,’ she said.
‘Where?’ Owen asked.
‘Don’t know,’ Fiona rushed on. ‘The seaside or up to Scotland. Or Maine, to Auntie Melanie’s.’
‘America?’ A whiff of interest.
‘Nothing’s decided. Just be nice to have something to look forward to. But if we did go to America we couldn’t really afford for you to bring a friend, not unless they could pay the fare.’
Owen nodded. He went back to his shepherd’s pie, scooping it up on his fork, his knife untouched. Why did she bother ever setting him a knife, he never used one.
‘The police rang me today.’ Fiona realized she wanted to tell him before he left the table. ‘They’ve charged someone with Danny Macateer’s murder. There’ll be a trial.’
‘You’ll be a witness?’ Owen spoke with his mouth full.
‘Yes.’
‘Who did it?’
‘They’re called Derek Carlton and Sam Millins; they’re part of the gangs. The police had a pretty clear idea of who was behind it all along but they’ve only now got enough evidence to charge them.’
‘How come?’
Fiona shrugged. ‘He said a breakthrough.’
‘Maybe they found the gun,’ said Owen. ‘Or DNA.’ Fiona relished his contributions, these rare and fleeting times when he reverted to human form and was sociable and articulate.
‘Maybe,’ she smiled.
Owen was out that evening, he’d gone to a competition at the skate park. Fiona was reading but her concentration was all over the place. Joe Kitson’s phone call was repeating in her head. All the talk of special measures and protection. She thought of the man she’d identified, the driver of the car, Sam Millins. He had driven the car to the recreation ground and waited at the wheel while the other man shot Danny. They were dangerous people. So dangerous that she had to be hidden from view when she gave her evidence.
A noise from the back of the house jolted through her and she sprang to her feet, gasping in fright. What was it? Was there someone outside? She crept over to the french windows and looked out. Nothing to see in the dark, just the glitter of frost over everything and the bare black arms of the magnolia tree raised to the sky.
