Witness - [64]

He turned away and Cheryl was left shivering, tears burning the back of her eyes. They were done with her.

‘Let’s get you a cup of tea,’ Benny said. ‘You deserve it.’

Cheryl cleared her throat, took off the microphone.

Upstairs Joe was waiting. ‘How’d it go?’

‘They didn’t believe me.’ A nugget of rage boiled inside her.

He smiled. ‘You can’t know that, the jury will make their own minds up.’

‘They made out like I was in it for the money, that I had some issue with Carlton and Sam Millins, and all these stupid questions-’

‘It’s their job, it’s not personal.’

‘It felt personal!’ Cheryl shook her head, disgusted with it all. Weary. ‘I’ve got to get to the hospital.’

‘Tea’s here.’ Joe nodded as Benny came in with tea and a plate of toast. ‘Only take a minute.’ All fatherly.

Cheryl tried to smile but her face was all wonky. She sipped the tea and ate the toast. She turned her phone on but there were no messages. Then Joe drove her to the crèche. This time Milo kicked off because he wanted to stay, he’d found a play set with Dalmatian puppies and a kennel and was in woof heaven.

‘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.