Authors: Cath Staincliffe
Z
ak wondered how people stuck it: going to work in the dark, coming home in the dark. Animals hibernated. People should too. He managed up until Christmas but after that he found it harder to get out of bed in the mornings. Especially if he’d had a few the night before.
He got a warning, then a written warning. Not that he could read it. Then he got the push. The Jobcentre wouldn’t let him sign on for Jobseeker’s Allowance because he was voluntarily out of work; he would be sanctioned, they said, though he could appeal for hardship payment. He couldn’t face it.
He tried some of his old scams but it was tougher up here: either people were tighter with their cash or he was losing his touch. Wouldn’t need to bother if they’d given him the reward. Tight gits. Zak still couldn’t believe he wouldn’t get a penny, all he’d done.
Now he got letters through, some official with red lettering. He knew that wasn’t good. Then a bloke came round, a bailiff. Zak had till the end of the week to pay his rent or he’d be evicted. He had the numbers for Little and Large but all they’d do was slap his wrists and stick him in some other poxy job. Maybe not even that. They had warned him over and over like some stuck record, that if he messed up he’d be thrown off the programme. He sold the TV and DVD player to a pawn shop, made enough for the train and a bit left. He had to buy a ticket for Bess as well.
He felt better as soon as they got off the train and were walking down Piccadilly ramp into town. The place hadn’t changed. Like he’d never been away. It was raining, a fine drizzle. A tram hooted. He’d have to steer clear of Midge, if Midge wasn’t locked up, avoid Hulme way but there were other places he could try. He wondered if Russell was still caretaking at the flats.
Once he got himself sorted out he could maybe try and find his mam, see how she was doing. She might have somewhere he could stay. A nice house with a conservatory and fish in a pond and big leather sofas.
First things first and that meant something to help him sleep and then somewhere to kip. He bought a bottle of White Lightning at the mini-market and some rolling tobacco. There used to be a place down the other side of Victoria Station, under the bridge, that he’d used a couple of times, in between a dumpster and the wall. Arranged right you could open the lid of the dumpster and prop it against the wall, make a roof to keep the rain off. Yeah, he’d try there – he’d a good feeling about it.
He walked down Market Street, Bess at his side. The African guys were still selling umbrellas and the old guy who did rock ’n’ roll under a fishing tent was belting it out. Zak bought a sausage barm from the cart at the bottom of the hill. ‘’Ere, have one for the dog,’ the woman said, ‘on the house.’
‘Ta,’ he said.
‘Ey, I’m sick of this bloody rain,’ she said, handing him his change. ‘Drives you mad.’
Zak checked the sausage wasn’t too hot and gave it to Bess. Then took a bite of his own and set off along Corporation Street where the Ferris wheel was turning. The white framework and the lights blurry in the misty rain.
A woman stopped to make a fuss of Bess and a bit further on Zak could see the emo kids in little groups hanging in the rain outside Urbis. Home, thought Zak, smiling. How could he ever live anywhere else?
Jeri came for Nana’s funeral. Cheryl didn’t ask him to, he just said when is it and I’ll come up. He couldn’t come for the whole nine nights but he would come on the eve of the final ceremony and stay a few days.
She hadn’t told him about the pregnancy yet but she knew she’d have to. She’d do it after the service, when it was all over. She didn’t want it interfering with giving Nana her send-off.
He arrived into chaos: people crammed into the sitting room, others clattering in the kitchen, clearing up and serving food, Milo writhing in her arms, on a crying jag.
Cheryl’s heart jumped at the sight of him. He made his way through the crowd and kissed her, touched Milo’s cheek. The gesture brought an image of Nana, her palms stroking Milo’s face, singing his name as Cheryl swung him. Cheryl had to blink hard and rein in her tears.
They were barely alone that first night. Not until the early hours when the last of the tipsy mourners had left.
‘You look tired,’ Jeri said when he came in from the shower, a towel round his waist and his chest, his skin a golden caramel colour, dotted with droplets of water.
‘Mega.’ She kissed him. His lips were soft, tentative. His arms went round her and she closed her eyes, leaned into him, kissed his neck. His skin was smooth and warm and she felt the bump of his pulse through her lips.
‘You want to sleep?’ he murmured.
‘In a little while.’ She raised her face and looked at him. The swirl of desire washed through her spine and her limbs and deep inside her. She felt weak.
He nodded and led her to the bed.
Vinia was at the funeral. Cheryl was glad she’d come even though the friendship was in tatters. Nana had been like a grandmother to Vinia, who’d not known her own, both of them dying when she was still small. Nana regularly fed and sheltered Vinia when Cheryl brought her back from school. Times in Vinia’s own home were always stormy and Nana’s was a refuge of sorts.
Cheryl felt spacey all day, reeling between hot tears and a cold, shattered, numb sensation. Jeri wore a beautiful black suit made of fine, soft wool and a white shirt. He looked wonderful, Cheryl thought, like a model himself in a glossy magazine, advertising a watch or men’s fragrance. When they first arrived at the church she could sense the ripple of interest from the congregation. She could imagine the gossip.
At the cemetery, Vinia came up to them. Cheryl’s heart sank. Not now, she thought.
‘Jeri,’ Vinia greeted him. ‘Hi, Milo.’ Milo grunted. He’d got a cold and he was grumpy with it. Vinia’s eyes were red, her nose puffy. She’d been crying. ‘Cheryl, I am sorry,’ Vinia said.
‘Thanks.’ Cheryl tried to smile, moved to walk away but Vinia put her hand out, touched Cheryl’s arm. ‘You were right.’ Vinia lowered her voice, glanced at Jeri.
About what? Had Vinia found out Cheryl had testified? Cheryl’s belly churned, her pulse rate rose. Instinctively she drew away from Jeri, turned her back to him, blocking his view of Vinia.
‘I’ve written to him,’ Vinia said. ‘It’s over. You happy now?’
Cheryl shrugged. ‘’Spose.’
Vinia’s bravado faltered. Her eyes grew wet. ‘I miss you, girl.’ She looked ashamed.
Cheryl swallowed. Gave a nod.
‘We good?’ For the first time she saw the need in Vinia and the fear too, the apprehension that Cheryl might still rebuff her, and Cheryl understood that this had not been easy for her friend.
‘Yeah,’ Cheryl nodded.
Vinia gave a little breath, found her cigarettes and held them out to Cheryl, who hesitated then shook her head.
Vinia signalled towards Jeri with her eyes, raised her eyebrows in a silent question: you told him?
Cheryl shook her head and shot Vinia a warning look then turned to go. ‘We’ll see you at the hall.’
They sat in the living room, Jeri and Cheryl, side by side, drained by the day. Milo was asleep upstairs. Cheryl was on edge, running versions of her announcement in her head while Jeri talked about Jamaica and how they might travel.
‘I can’t come,’ Cheryl said, the words blunt.
‘Why?’ He frowned. ‘We can sort out the passports. I know you don’t like taking money but—’
‘I’m pregnant.’ Her voice shook.
Jeri turned to her, his face blank with amazement. Time stretched out. ‘Oh, man,’ he said eventually.
Cheryl searched his face, looking for clues to revulsion or pleasure or annoyance. Finding nothing.
‘I thought you should know,’ she said flatly. ‘Doesn’t mean I expect anything.’
‘It’s a surprise.’ He got to his feet. He had his back to her, still in his white shirt, his suit trousers. His hands in his pockets. ‘Oh, man,’ he said again softly.
Cheryl had her hand over her mouth. She had no more tears today but her lips were trembling. She didn’t want him to know how much this hurt. She’d been such a fool to think she could hold on to a man like him with his glamorous job and his money and his fine looks.
The silence yawned between them. Then, ‘Do I get a say?’ His voice was tight.
‘In what?’ Whether she kept the baby? Did he want her to get rid of it?
He turned to look at her; his face was drawn. A line furrowed his brow. ‘You don’t expect anything from me,’ he said steadily. ‘Is that because you don’t want anything from me? You’d rather be on your own? My part’s over?’
He thought she’d used him. She shook her head, she didn’t know what to say. ‘It was an accident,’ she told him.
He pressed his hands to his head, squashing his dreads. Sighed. ‘I don’t know where I stand with you, Cheryl. We get on real well, it’s going fine, then suddenly you’re busy, you can’t get to Bristol, I can’t visit you here. You make stupid excuses about babysitters. You treat me like a yo-yo.’
‘No!’ She had to put him off because of the trial, that was why. Mostly why.
‘You were happy enough for me to come for the funeral but now that’s done, I’m not needed. Yeah?’
She couldn’t tell him about the trial. She couldn’t ever tell anyone. That secrecy was all that kept her safe, her and Milo and the little baby to come. And the rest? Holding him at arm’s length? Not getting too close, too eager. How could she explain that?
‘Why me?’ She found her voice. ‘You could be with anyone. All those talented people, musicians and dancers – all those places – your life …’ She knew she wasn’t making sense. She pressed her temples. ‘I thought you’d drop me, even before the baby, thought you’d hurt me.’
‘Why?’ His eyes flashed.
‘Because I’m not like you.’ Her eyes burned. ‘I don’t even have a pay cheque. I haven’t got a passport. I was trying to be realistic. This …’ She flung her arm out, taking in the room. ‘This is it!’
‘You think so little of me? Of yourself? I started out in a place just like this!’ He raised his voice. ‘There was never enough money. You think I’ve forgotten all that?’
‘But you could have anyone,’ Cheryl said.
‘Most of them, the hangers-on, the groupies, they’re takers, Cheryl. They like the image, the lifestyle. It’s all skin deep. You’re different. You’re real.’ When he spoke again his voice was very quiet. ‘Least, I thought you were.’
In the pause that followed she heard an ambulance siren. She wondered who was hurt and what had happened to them. If there was more trouble.
‘I was scared,’ Cheryl said, ‘I’m sorry. And I really didn’t know you, if I could trust you. I still don’t.’ She stared across at Nana’s chair, empty.
‘I could say that too,’ he said.
‘I’m not ashamed of who I am,’ she added, ‘I’m not. I’m as good as anyone else. I care about you,’ Cheryl cried, ‘I really like you but it’s all mixed up and I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘Hey.’ He moved to sit beside her, pulled her into his arms. ‘Hey.’
She wept dry tears, for herself, for Nana.
‘I’m here,’ Jeri said, ‘I’m here because I want to be with you. You’re beautiful, outside and in. I can’t get you out of my head, girl. First time I saw you, blew me away, I knew. That feelin’ – man … I really like you, Cheryl, and we’re having a baby. You and me. We’re having a baby, yeah?’
Cheryl nodded, choking on a sob.
‘We’ll work it out, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
Cheryl pulled away and looked at him. He held her eyes, his own bright and steady.
Joe Kitson rang Cheryl. He was putting her forward for the reward money. If approved, and he’d do his damnedest to make sure it was, she’d be given a code to take into a city centre bank so her anonymity would be preserved.
‘You’d have to be careful with the money,’ he said. ‘Don’t want people asking questions.’ He sounded flat, tired. ‘Say you’d inherited it or something.’
Cheryl’s throat ached. ‘My nana, she erm … she died. I could say she had some savings put away.’
‘Oh Cheryl, I am sorry.’
‘Yeah.’ Cheryl pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth.
‘I know it wasn’t about the money,’ Joe said, ‘what you did was amazing. You remember that.’
Cheryl sniffed hard.
She sat for a while after the call. So tired. The house quiet, Milo having his nap. She pulled the throw round her and curled up on the sofa.
God
bless, sweet pea
. She slept.
Zak was getting chips. He asked for scraps as well: the little bits of crunchy batter you got for free, and lots of salt and vinegar. He’d found a place to score just before and was looking forward to getting off his face once his belly was full.
He was heading for the corner, opening the chip paper, Bess by his heels when he saw them. Three lads. One held a baseball bat. Didn’t recognize them though there was something familiar: maybe he’d run into them before at Midge’s or somewhere.
Zak yelled at Bess to stay and ran, dropped the chips and ran, into the alley, his feet beating on the flagstones, the wind in his ears blocking out sound. They were behind him. He didn’t need to look. He pelted to the end of the alley, gulping air, and darted across to another one opposite. There were wheelie bins near the end of it, a cluster of them. Zak ran between them, tipping them over as he went, a barricade to try and slow his pursuers. As he gained the end of the alley he turned right and out of the corner of his eye, caught the flurry of motion behind.
Faster. Faster. He ran, feeling the spike of pain in his chest, his breath rasping, a stitch in his side. A junction. He swerved sharply to the right and along the cul-de-sac, into someone’s front yard, swung himself up and scrambled over the wooden door which led into the back garden and crouched, waiting, trying to halt his breath, the crackling sound it was making.
He waited. The slick of sweat cooling tight on his skin, the smell of his own fear high in his nostrils. His throat was parched and his guts hot liquid. He listened, straining to hear beyond the pulse throbbing in his skull and the drone of a plane above. He waited until cramp bit at his calves and he’d begun to shiver with cold.