Cath Staincliffe - Witness

After four days Milo started eating again, but he still had a rattling cough. Nana caught the cough. It kept her inside too. She said the cold wind set it off. She didn’t even get to church. She sent Cheryl to the health food shop to buy black molasses and liquorice roots. She boiled up some mess that looked like dirty car oil and stank the house out. A tonic.

Nana Rose, Danny’s grandma, came round to visit. She’d gone so thin since the murder and her back was bent as though it was too heavy to bear. Nana scolded Rose for venturing out and risking catching the flu but Nana Rose hushed her. The two of them sat side by side on the sofa, holding hands, watching Doctors and turning over for Sixty Minute Makeover . Cheryl tried to imagine herself and Vinia growing old like that. Couldn’t see it. Nana Rose would go back before it got dark at four o’clock.

‘Back home,’ Nana said, ‘it hardly change, sunset near to six every night.’

‘Warm all year,’ Nana Rose added.

‘You had hurricanes though,’ Cheryl said.

‘Oh, yes,’ Nana said. ‘Tearing the roofs off and everything blown every way.’

‘Were you scared?’ Cheryl knew the answers but knew too that Nana and Rose grew happy and mellow remembering home. Cheryl had asked Nana if she’d like to go back for a visit but Nana said it was all changed now. Cheryl thought she’d like to go, take Milo when he was bigger, see where they came from.

‘Yes, we would go in the root cellar of the farm next door and when the wind was shrieking the boys would say it was Satan flying in the wind.’

‘Poppa Joe’s car!’ Nana Rose giggled.

‘Ay! Poppa Joe’s car went up in the tree. So high. And the land there was too swampy for them to put any machines on to reach for it.’

‘And when you came here it was cold?’

‘Like the North Pole! Ice and snow and frost on the windows – on the inside.’

Cheryl made them a cup of tea and Nana Rose told them that the school was building a music centre in Danny’s memory. It was to have spaces for rehearsals and a recording studio and would be open to all of the community not just the school students.

Cheryl left Milo with Nana while she went to the supermarket. In the taxi back the guy was going on about another shooting. Somewhere on the Range. He meant Whalley Range. ‘The Range’ made it sound like a Western, thought Cheryl. Clint Eastwood and Brad Pitt with stetsons. Men of honour cleaning up town. When really the Range was mostly just a poor neighbourhood and the gunfights as pointless and sordid as Carlton shooting Danny. Stupid and deadly.

She didn’t mention the rumour to Nana but watched the local TV news later. Another lad, nineteen this time, shot leaving a bakery. Cheryl didn’t recognize the name or the photo. The report ended with a reminder that police were still investigating the murder of Danny Macateer, seven months earlier.

Cheryl felt ashamed again. The Macateers had to live knowing who was behind Danny’s death but helpless to do anything about it. Everyone just went about their business, all of them in on the dirty little secret. And Carlton and Sam Millins carried on cocky as ever. Big men, hard men, safe behind the wall of silence. Cheryl didn’t like to think about it all, doing an ostrich act like everyone else, but the guilt stuck with her, she just couldn’t shake it off. And there was anger too, useless anger, that it had to be this way.

That Saturday, she and Vinia had a proper night out. Some Breezers at home first, while she did Vinia’s nails and Vinia helped her choose which dress, with which belt and which shoes. Nana sucked her teeth at Vinia’s low-cut top and said she’d catch her death of cold.

‘Not if I find me a nice big man to keep me warm,’ Vinia joked.

‘Be careful,’ Nana told Cheryl.

‘Promise,’ she answered.

They got the bus in, standing room only, everyone piling into town. The club was in The Printworks, three floors, three different sound systems. They knew Tony on the door from school. Not a big guy, fine-featured, soft-spoken, looked more like a dancer than a bouncer. They had a quick catch-up then he sent them in. They headed for the middle floor. Dubstep. The heavy bass pulsed through Cheryl; she felt it vibrate in her belly and her throat. She and Vinia found some friends and joined up. Drinks were pricey but they bought orange, topped it up with vodka from the bottle in Vinia’s bag.

The place was filling up, the music so loud that it was impossible to hear anything. Lip reading and sign language the only way to communicate. Vital conversations had to take place in the corridor or the loos.

In a break between dances, breathless, her heart thudding, Cheryl went out to have a smoke. She passed him on the stairs. He was coming up them, two at a time. Dark golden skin, short brown dreads, almond eyes set off with rectangular glasses, bright blue frames. He wore a simple white short-sleeved shirt, black denims, baseball boots. Flashed her a smile.

Outside she wondered about him: if he was available, if he might be interested, if he was meeting someone.

She stood with Tony and smoked and listened to the racket from inside the club. It had begun to rain, a fine drizzle that settled on her bare arms and shone like glitter. Her hair must look the same.

Back inside she saw him on the stage, on the decks. ‘Who’s he?’ she mouthed to Vinia, pointing at the guy. Vinia shrugged. The girl beside her pulled out a flyer and pointed to a name on the line-up: Jeri-KO.

Cheryl moved closer to the stage, raising her arms above her head as the music gained momentum. Waiting for him to see her, watching for any obvious girlfriend.

Jeri-KO raised his hands, the lights flared white behind him, drenching the audience, casting him in silhouette. He pivoted on the spot. His profile was all smooth planes. The music thundered under Cheryl’s feet, Jeri-KO was dancing now, a voice sample streamed in above the rhythm ‘We know what we want,’ boomed a deep West Indian voice, ‘we want to run free, we want to fly high, we want to get lost in the beat.’ Drums crashed in and the crowd roared. Cheryl threw back her head and swung her hips to the rhythm. A strobe began casting them all as automatons, jerky stop-motion images. Cheryl closed her eyes and danced, the percussion like waves and the melody soaring over the bass.

When Cheryl opened her eyes and joined the rest of the club in applauding his set, his eyes found hers. She sketched a nod, a smile wide on her face. He blew her a kiss.

In the loos Vinia was having none of it.

‘He blew me a kiss.’

‘He can’t see a thing in the crowd, girl, mistake you for his long-time girlfriend.’

‘You’re jealous,’ Cheryl smirked.

‘Nothing to be jealous of.’

Cheryl stretched her mouth in the mirror, touched up her lipstick. She stepped back, swivelled side on and stood tall. She looked fine. Vain maybe but hell – got it, flaunt it. ‘You wait and see,’ she told Vinia.

But when Cheryl went back in he was nowhere to be seen. She felt her anticipation drain away. A little romance would have been nice. She was so lonely sometimes, sure there was Milo and Nana and Vinia but that wasn’t the same.

Now she felt tired and thirsty. She wove her way through the dancers to the bar, waited to be served and asked for a glass of tap water.

Turning back, she caught her heel on something and stumbled forward, losing hold of the glass. It was only plastic so it didn’t shatter but the water splashed all over the back of a woman in hot-pants.

The woman swung round and glared, shouting at Cheryl who backed away saying sorry, her eyes pricking.

Cheryl found Vinia and told her she wanted to go but Vinia wasn’t ready. She dragged Cheryl into the corridor. ‘It’s only just getting going. Stay.’