Cath Staincliffe - Witness

‘I’ll do it,’ Mike told Joe, ‘but she mustn’t know.’

Joe dipped his head, drained his coffee.

‘Don’t ring the house, and no letters,’ Mike warned him.

‘I can text you,’ Joe suggested, ‘will that be all right?’

‘Yeah, text’s fine.’ Mike pulled his plate back, bit into the pastry, famished now, the sweet raisins and currants just the job.

‘Good.’ Joe took his number and got to his feet, said he’d be in touch.

Mike felt better. So much better that he whistled all the way home: ‘Here Comes The Sun’.

He told Vicky that he’d retracted his statement and that the police were not happy with him. She studied his face and he half thought she’d spotted the lie but then she just said, ‘It’s for the best, Mike.’

A couple of weeks before the trial, Joe texted him to arrange something called a pre-trial visit. It just so happened that Vicky was there when the text came through, doing her books at the kitchen table. Mike was filling in his notes for Jobseeker’s Allowance. He had written: Visited library and searched online for vacancies; filled in an application form for a packer at a fulfilment centre , and was considering what to put next when his phone went. He picked it up and saw it was a text from Joe. He wanted to kill it but he felt her eyes on him, so he opened the message and skimmed it, his mind scrabbling, like a rat in a tin, for a cover story.

‘Who’s that?’ Vicky’s eyes pinned him to his chair.

‘Our kid,’ Mike’s voice was creaky, ‘wants to know if I’m up for a pint tonight.’ Martin never asked Mike for a drink, they only met up at family dos these days, but it was the best Mike could come up with.

‘Thought he did five-a-side on Tuesdays,’ she said, one eyebrow raised, her pen tapping the table.

‘Not all night.’ Mike stood up. ‘Anyway, I can’t be arsed.’ He went up to the toilet, read the text again, then deleted it. And prayed that they’d not have reason to see Martin any time soon.

So many lies, just to tell the truth.

Cheryl

Joe, and this volunteer Benny, showed Cheryl where she’d give her evidence. It was a little room down in the basement, empty apart from a table and two chairs. There was a monitor on the table and a camera fixed on top of that. That was where Cheryl would sit. Benny would sit in the other chair.

Milo was at the crèche at the Town Hall. ‘Think of it as a rehearsal for you both,’ Joe had said. ‘On the day you’ll know what’s what.’

Cheryl looked round the little room. There were no windows or anything so it felt like you were underground. Everything looked new and clean, like it was for show. With the three of them standing there it felt crowded.

‘What will they ask me?’ Cheryl said. A sickly, cold feeling creeping through her – not long and it would be the real thing.

‘The prosecution barrister will take you through your statement, first,’ Joe said.

‘I’ll see them on the screen?’ Cheryl pointed to the monitor.

‘Yes. And you’ll have a microphone attached to your clothes but your voice will be distorted. The big screens in the courtroom will be switched off and only the judge and jury and the barristers will see you on their screens. Then the defence barristers will question you. You’re likely to get two sorts of questions: those that cast doubt on your evidence – did you really see such and such, can you be certain, can you remember clearly – and other questions which will examine your motives, try and cast doubt on your credibility as a witness.’

Cheryl didn’t like the sound of that. ‘They gonna say I’m a liar?’

‘They will imply you might have other reasons for coming forward because of an existing relationship with the defendants,’ Joe said. ‘A grudge, or an attempt to get the reward money. Don’t let them get to you, stay calm. If you do start getting upset count to five before you answer. There’s only one thing that matters and that is giving your evidence: what you saw, what you heard, telling the court what happened.’

She had butterflies in her belly already.

‘If you get distressed,’ Benny said, ‘I can hold this up.’ He picked up a piece of red card, the size of a cigarette packet. ‘It’s a signal to the judge.’ He was being kind but it made her feel even worse. ‘We’ll have tissues here, water. Before you start you will swear on a holy book, or affirm.’

Cheryl nodded like she was following but her head was buzzing, her mind cloudy.

Up in the offices where all the witnesses came, Joe went over the arrangements with her again. A week on Monday he would collect her and Milo from outside the supermarket at nine. They would take Milo to the crèche and let Cheryl settle him in then Joe would bring her here. When Cheryl had finished giving her evidence, they’d fetch Milo and he’d drop them both back at the supermarket. She would tell friends and family that she was going into town shopping. Any problems, she had his number.

It didn’t take long for problems to pitch up. Starting with Vinia. She came round at teatime. Nana had made chicken and rice and insisted Vinia fetch a plate and eat some. Milo had eaten most of his and was messing now, dribbling juice into his bowl and making the grains of rice float around. Cheryl took the bowl from him, gave him a biscuit and fussed about clearing up, feeling edgy with Vinia being about.

Nana wiped her mouth, set her cutlery side by side. Cheryl saw she had only picked at her food. ‘Rose tells me the trial for Danny will be starting Monday week. All the family will be going.’

Cheryl struggled for something to say, felt the vibes in the room, strung tight like piano wire. Nana had been triumphant when Carlton and Sam Millins were charged. ‘At last,’ she’d crowed to Cheryl, ‘how the mighty are fallen.’ But she was fair too, and had continued to welcome Vinia into her house unlike some who cut Vinia dead because she was Carlton’s stepsister.

‘Will you go, too, Nana T?’ Vinia asked.

Nana nodded. ‘I think so. Rose would like me there. And the satisfaction of seeing justice done. I know Carlton is family, Vinia, but he took a life and he must pay.’

‘If he’s guilty,’ Vinia said. ‘He says he didn’t do it.’

Nana didn’t reply to that, just sucked her teeth and put the telly on. Nana didn’t know Vinia was visiting Sam Millins. Cheryl hadn’t dared tell her. Vinia couldn’t help having Carlton as her stepbrother but being Sam’s girlfriend – that was different. That was a choice and one that Cheryl herself couldn’t get her head round. Cheryl had tried to talk to Vinia about it.

‘No one would blame you if you walked away. It’s not fair for him to expect any more after a couple of dates. He could be in jail for years, Vinia.’

‘You just don’t like him,’ Vinia complained.

‘No, I don’t. And neither did you, till now.’

‘He’s different on his own, he’s real gentle.’

Cheryl threw her hands up, shook her head. ‘You know what he’s done! You should get out now.’ How could she let him touch her? How could she bear his company?

‘I promised him – that I’d stay true.’

Cheryl stared at her friend. Vinia was supposed to be the wild one, never let a man hold her back, reckless and devil-may-care, and here she was like some wet airhead. ‘It’s your life, Vinia!’ How could she make her see sense? ‘You stick with him, it’s not going to go well.’

‘Least I’ll have a decent life.’

‘With him in prison?’

‘He’s gonna make sure I’m looked after. Cars and clothes, a nice place to live.’