Cath Staincliffe - Witness

By the time she reached the car, the blister on her heel had popped, a bite with each step, reminding her how long it had been since she’d given the boots a good outing.

She was honest with herself: those moments with Joe had been a glimpse of the life she hungered for. She might – she hoped she would – live another forty years, that was almost a lifetime for generations who had come before. She would not waste it. It’s all there is, she thought, and then we die. She would not let fear or false humility or convenience trap her into a lonely existence. She wanted to share it with somebody. If not Joe, then she would find someone else, actively look for love. Other people did it, dating sites and the like; she would too, a promise to herself. She finished her water and put Ziggy in the car. The dog was shattered, he fell asleep immediately. Then she drove home, the sun, a glorious blood-red blaze, setting in her rear-view mirror.

Cheryl

Cheryl waited until Nana had been in bed for an hour then she went into the bathroom with the kit. She’d taken forever to buy it, hanging round the pharmacy until the girl behind the counter was giving her funny looks, like she was going to nick something.

After a week of being sick she finally clocked this was not a bug. And it wasn’t down to nerves about the trial. The smell of food, meat particularly, brought water to her mouth and convulsions to her stomach. She had to hold her breath when she changed Milo’s nappies too, turning her head away to gasp lungfuls of air. And her boobs hurt, tight and tender.

Cheryl unwrapped the stick and peed on it. She closed her eyes and waited. Counted to ten. She was numb and tired, her feet were cold. If the result was negative, what then? Relief. Life would go on in the same old way. She’d get past going to court on Monday then be back to normal. Milo would start nursery school part-time in the New Year. Cheryl would check out the model agency, get a fresh portfolio together. Have a bit more money and not be fretting so much. She’d stopped the nails since the thing with the benefit fraud people. Cancelled those she’d already booked in. Maybe she’d take up Jeri’s offer of putting her in touch with some of those video makers.

She’d had to wait for her benefit to go in until she could afford to buy the testing kit. Eight quid a pop. If the test was negative she’d have more freedom, more choices, stuff she could do. Get to know Jeri better, work out if they were heading for something serious, or if they were just having fun for a while.

He’d sent her some music, a compilation from the festivals he’d guested at. Awesome stuff. He texted her most days now, called too. Touching base, he said. Never the other way – she had to watch her credit.

Last night he’d called: how did she fancy a night out on Sunday. He could get a flight late afternoon, be in Manchester for six, fly back Monday night. He was eager, giddy like.

Monday was the trial.

‘Oh, Jeri, I’m sorry, I can’t. Monday I’m busy.’

‘How come?’ His voice had gone flat.

She wanted to tell him, imagined the way the weight would lift if she could share this with him. ‘I’ve got an interview at the Jobcentre first thing. If I don’t go they cut me off.’ She hoped he wouldn’t realize that she didn’t have regular visits to the Jobcentre.

‘That’s cool,’ he said, sounding more relaxed, ‘I can keep the bed warm.’

‘But Nana’s out Sunday too, so I’ll have Milo.’ The lies were sour in her mouth.

‘Man! Don’t they have babysitters up there?’ He sounded mean now, the first time he’d ever expressed a cross word to her.

‘We’ll do it another time, Milo’s not used to other people, I wouldn’t feel right. It’s been so long but I really can’t make this weekend, babe. Hey, maybe we’ll come to you when you get home, a few days like you said, but I’ll have to bring Milo.’

‘Deal. And my niece is a highly accomplished babyminder, so once he’s settled we can do our own thing.’

He had chatted on and Cheryl squashed any thought of a possible pregnancy into a tight corner at the back of her head. He told her about the advertising company who wanted one of his tunes for an online campaign and the possibility of a Jamaican gig in the summer. ‘You could come, catch up with your roots.’

‘Oh, man, I’d love that,’ she said. She could take pictures for Nana; see all the old home places Nana talked about.

‘Good luck, Monday,’ Jeri said as they finished up.

Cheryl froze then recalled her story. ‘Ta. It’ll be cool.’

‘Night, babe.’

‘Night.’

Cheryl opened her eyes and peered at the plus sign and the bold capitals pregnant. Tears stung her eyes. There was always an abortion but she couldn’t imagine that, not for her. She thought of growing big again, and the labour. Telling Nana. Telling Jeri. Something like this wasn’t part of his dreams. Babyfather when they’d barely spent a month together in real time. She had managed fine without Milo’s dad. A boastful boy who had several other kids dotted round the area and who Nana had chased off when he called round feigning an interest in Milo – then three months old. He was in the army now; Cheryl hadn’t seen him for over a year. So maybe she would have to do the same again. No exciting new modelling assignments, no man, no trip to the West Indies. Future postponed.

Cheryl worked out her dates. Only one time had she and Jeri taken a risk. The baby would come in April. A girl perhaps. Dark like her or more light-skinned with Jeri’s fine almond eyes. Alongside the worry and the sadness, Cheryl felt a tickle of joy. A sister for Milo. She put her hand on her belly, imagined it there, small as a jelly bean.

Sunday night, close to dawn, something woke Cheryl. She groaned and rolled on to her back, waiting for Milo to cry out again, but he was quiet. Maybe it was something outside? There were foxes sometimes that screamed and cats that howled like babies.

Cheryl was turning over again when she heard a thump, felt it shudder through the bed, through her. Not the door, but what? Someone in the house, someone breaking in?

She got out of bed and put her bathrobe on. Her heart going wild. They’d found out she was going to be a witness. They were coming for her! Fear scouring through her veins. She stopped at the bedroom door, uncertain whether to wait where she was. She couldn’t just stay here, do nothing. Quietly as she could she opened the door. The landing was dark, the doors shut. She listened, closed her eyes to hear better. Couldn’t make out any sounds that didn’t fit, couldn’t sense any presence. She snapped the landing light on.

She stood, her legs itching from being still, eyes gritty and full of sleep. Still nothing. She looked across to Nana’s door, she didn’t want to disturb her, she had such trouble sleeping now, but what if someone had broken in and was hiding in there?

Torn, Cheryl tiptoed across the landing and listened, her ear to the door. Nothing. Then she knocked gently. ‘Nana?’ Turned the handle and went in, looked across to the bed but the covers were thrown back. Cheryl put on Nana’s light and saw her, on the floor, at the far side of the bed, on her side. Her eyes were fluttering, her skin a horrible yellow shade to it.

‘Nana?’ Cheryl felt her own skin crackle like lightning. She knelt beside her; put her arm on Nana’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Nana?’

Nana gave a little whimper, her eyes blinking away, and a bit of drool leaked from the corner of her mouth. Her hands were trembling.

‘Oh, Nana. Wait there!’ Like she could go anywhere else. Dumb.

Cheryl ran to her room and rang 999, asked for an ambulance, her voice all shaky as she gave her name and address. She went back to Nana, knelt beside her, held her hand, and tried to answer all the questions: can you confirm the number you are calling from; what’s the address of the emergency; can you tell me what happened; are you with the patient now; can you tell me how old the patient is; do you know their date of birth; is she conscious; is she alert and responsive; is she breathing?