Cath Staincliffe - Witness

She showered quickly, towelled herself dry, brushed her teeth. Her hair was shiny, the shade a rich brown. Like chestnuts. If she bought some to roast would Owen eat them? Probably not, with adolescence had come the same finicky appetite as toddlerhood. Junk food and sugary snacks were high on the list of favourites.

She lay in the dark but sleep wouldn’t come, her nerves alive and singing, muscles clenched, her mind darting here and there. She pulled on some clothes and went downstairs. The house was cooler already, made her shiver. She practised her CBT exercises then tried to read. At four in the morning, swaddled in blankets, she took out the folder, Danny’s folder, with all the clippings she had kept. There had been nothing in the papers for weeks now. Four months on and no one had been arrested. She traced a finger round the boy’s photograph, gazed at his smile, at the expression in his eyes. Waiting for dawn.

Mike

They had a break-in. Opportunistic. Mike had left the lounge window open. He’d simply not noticed. Set off to pick Megan up from school, rain pissing down and the sky dark as slate. It had rained all day, all week. Patches of water standing on the bit of lawn in their back yard. Their coats steaming on the radiators every night. They only put the heating on for a couple of hours, trying to make savings. Later they sat watching telly with their warmest clothes on, sharing a fleece throw for a blanket.

Mike had done a load of washing that day and had put the heating on early to dry it. The window was open to get rid of some of the moisture in the air, though given the outside was like a hundred degrees humidity anyway who knows if it helped. They’d already spots of black mould in the corners of the kitchen.

The burglars had been in and out in the half-hour Mike had been gone. He didn’t notice at first, came in with Megan, her chattering still, unbuttoned her coat, then his own. Took her through to make her some toast and on his way saw the gap where the telly had been, the aerial cable dangling, DVD player gone, DVDs scattered on the carpet.

Mike swore.

‘Where’s the telly?’ said Megan.

‘It’s gone.’ Mike’s brain was already adding it all up, looking across the open plan room to the windows.

‘Where’s it gone?’

‘Don’t know.’ Mike walked over; saw the drops of water, streaks of mud on the window sill, and marks on the carpet.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because.’ His head was too busy to be dealing with her an’ all. ‘Look, just give us a minute, Megan.’

Megan sighed and moved to her toy box.

Mike checked the kitchen. They’d left the microwave and there was nothing else worth taking. Upstairs looked untouched. No insurance though. They’d let that lapse when it came due for renewal.

How would they manage without a telly? It kept the kids quiet, even Kieran could be soothed by putting on a familiar DVD. Mike and Vicky too, barely any social life but a bit of something on the box or a decent movie was one of their few pleasures.

He made Megan’s toast, gave her some juice and rang his brother Martin. Martin made a living on eBay, pretty much, that and car-boots. He always knew where you could pick up a bargain. Mike explained his predicament.

‘Aw, mate!’ Martin commiserated. ‘How’d they get in?’

‘Lounge window. Never thought. Only gone twenty minutes.’

‘Leave it with us, see what I can do.’

Martin rang back within the hour. He could get them a digital set but it wouldn’t be flat screen, DVD player too. Might have a couple of pixels out but the lot for £95. Cheap as chips. But Mike had nothing. No contingency, no rainy day fund. He imagined saying no, turning down the chance, and then the weeks to come with the four of them out of sorts and climbing the walls.

Mike took a breath. ‘I haven’t got the readies at the moment.’

‘No problem.’ Martin was quick to step in. ‘I’ll sort it. Pay us back when you can.’

Which could be never, thought Mike, the prospect bitter in his mouth. ‘Appreciate it,’ Mike told his brother.

‘Probably be tomorrow,’ Martin added.

‘That’s great. Thanks, mate.’

Mike had expected Vicky to go ballistic when she heard. He even thought about lying to her, for like a nanosecond. Knew he couldn’t get away with it. But instead of blaming him, letting some steam off and giving him a good bollocking for being so thick, she went white. Locked on to the thieves.

‘While you were getting Megan?’ she said quietly. ‘So they must have been watching the place.’

‘What?’

‘Waiting for you to go out. Knowing your routine.’ A big frown on her face. Her lips bloodless. ‘Watching us, then coming in here and taking the only things we’ve got that are worth anything.’

‘Vicky, I’m sorry.’

She wasn’t interested in him, in apologies. ‘They targeted us, Mike, don’t you see?’

‘They were probably just passing,’ he said. ‘An open window, it’s asking for it. It’s down to me, I’m sorry.’

‘Just passing!’ The incredulity laid on heavy. ‘Why would anyone be just passing here, in the pouring rain? It’s a cul-de-sac.’

‘There’s the alley, they could have been cutting through.’

She stopped, her face alert, like she’d just heard something. ‘They must have had a car. That telly’s too big to carry.’

‘Not impossible.’

‘And the DVD player.’

‘There might have been two of them.’ As soon as he said it Mike knew she’d turn that round to support her theory. ‘Look,’ he hurried on, changing tack, ‘they didn’t take anything else. No mess, nothing broken. Martin will sort us out.’

‘You don’t care.’ Her face was flushed now.

‘What?’

‘Strangers, some low-lifes who’ve been watching the place, have been in here, touching our stuff, watching us, waiting for you to leave.’ She’d never been the hysterical type and this sudden melodrama made Mike feel peculiar.

‘They haven’t even been upstairs,’ he said.

‘What if this is about the murder?’

‘What?’ He shook his head.

‘About getting at us, getting at you.’

‘Vicky they nicked the TV, what are you on about?’

She stared at him, her mouth twisted with distaste, derision.

‘Look.’ He stepped closer to her, put out a hand, touched her shoulder. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock but let’s keep it real. Some scallies took the telly. End of.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Vicky, ‘not by a long chalk.’

And she wasn’t wrong.

The other side of Christmas, not that there’d been much festivity in their house but they’d done their best to make it a happy time for the kids. Megan was young enough to be pleased with simple things, cheap toys off the market, the idea of it all. Kieran liked the music. Favourite Christmas songs on his old CD player. Mike and Vicky had debated whether to get him a new one but decided not. The lad loved his old one and they’d learnt the hard way not to force change on him. Getting him into new clothes as he grew bigger was challenge enough. They bought him a second-hand mobile handset in the forlorn hope that it would stop him hiding theirs. And there was one thing that would guarantee his pleasure. An addition to his collection of miniature steam trains. The engines were his passion.

The Museum of Science and Industry in town was a godsend. Full of working engines in tram sheds and railway memorabilia, it was one of the few manageable destinations for family outings. And it was free.

They’d gone there again after Christmas. Kieran’s face went still with appreciation as they stood in the great engine hall or went outside to watch the Planet locomotive chug its way past. His attention was fixed as though he was breathing in essence of steam train.