Witness

by Mandasue Heller

  WITNESS

  MANDASUE

  HELLER

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  PART TWO

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  Epilogue

  For mine and Win’s beautiful mums, Jean Heller and Mavis Ward. Forever in our hearts xxx

  Acknowledgements

  Eternal love to Win, Michael, Andrew, Azzura, Marissa, Lariah, Antonio, Marlowe, Ava, Amber, Martin, Jade, Reece, Kyro, Diaz, Paul, Silvia, Marvin, Auntie Doreen, Pete, Lorna, Cliff, Chris, Glen, Joseph, Toni, Nats, Dan, Rayne, Amari, Aziah, Val, Jas, Don, Julie, Brian, Amanda – and the rest of our families, past and present. Love also to Liz, Norman, Betty, Ronnie, Laney, Shelly, Kimberley, Katy, John, Rick, Chris, my Hulme buddies, BooksOffice Elaine, Leslie, Brian, Jac, Trixy, Don, Louis, Joe, Gary, Laura, Nicola, Jodie, Neil, Angela, Jason, Alex, Lainey, Amelia, Olivia, Tom, Paul and Iain. Thanks, as always, to Sheila, Wayne, Alex and all at Pan Mac, Emma, Carolyn C, Anne O’B, Cat Ledger (RIP). And, lastly, gratitude to my lovely readers and supportive FB/Twitter/Insta friends – you’re the best!

  Prologue

  The girl’s eyes shot open when the back door slammed into the wall below her room, and her heart skittered in her chest when she heard footsteps rushing through the kitchen, the hallway and up the stairs. Unsure if it was the police raiding the house in search of drugs, or one of her stepdad’s enemies coming to fight with him again, she did what her mummy had told her to do and wriggled under the bed, burying herself beneath the dusty clothes, shoes and comics that were stashed in the space between the mattress and the floor.

  The footsteps reached the landing and she held her breath as she waited for her door to burst open. They went straight past and, seconds later, her mum screamed and her stepdad yelled, ‘What the fuck . . .?’

  ‘Shut it or you’re dead,’ a deep voice warned. ‘You know what we’re after.’

  Sure now that it wasn’t the police, because they always announced themselves and ordered everyone to stay where they were, which usually culminated in the fat lady social worker taking her to stay with strangers for a couple of days, the girl jumped when something heavy hit the wall behind her head.

  ‘Please don’t hurt us,’ her mum cried. ‘I’ll tell you where it is.’

  ‘Go get it,’ another voice ordered. ‘And don’t fuck about, or you’re dead an’ all.’

  ‘Y’ain’t gettin’ klish!’ the girl’s stepdad argued, his Jamaican accent thickening with anger. ‘Y’t’ink me don’t know yuh? T’ink yuh can step in me yard wi’ yuh face cover an’ me won’t recognize dem beady lickle ey—’

  ‘Smoke the cunt!’ the deep voice barked, and the child shuddered at the sound of a violent struggle breaking out. Glass shattered and wood splintered, then a boom that sounded like a massive firework going off filled the air, and she sucked in a sharp breath when her mum screamed again before abruptly falling silent.

  A sinister chuckle broke the silence and the girl bit down on her hand when her mum’s bedsprings started squeaking and the headboard banged rhythmically against the wall. She’d been woken by those same noises many times since her stepdad had moved in; and once, when she’d got up to use the toilet in the middle of the night, she had accidentally seen them doing naughties, so she didn’t need to guess what was happening.

  After what felt like an eternity, the thudding stopped and the girl heard drawers and cupboards being rifled through. Her bedroom door suddenly opened, and in the light spilling in from the landing she saw a pair of feet clad in green trainers. Praying that the man wouldn’t hear her breathing as he entered the room and turned in a slow circle before approaching the bed, she shrank further back when he crouched down and raised the edge of the quilt. Dark eyes peered into the cramped space and, terrified that he would see her, drag her out and kill her, hot piss trickled out from between her legs and soaked her nightgown.

  At the exact moment the man reached out to push the clothes aside, another pair of feet appeared in the doorway behind him, and the deep voice said, ‘Got it. Let’s go.’

  Holding her breath until the man in the green trainers retreated from the room, the child listened as he and the other one jogged down the stairs and left the house the same way they had entered. Scared they might come back, even after hearing the squeal of the rusted hinges on the backyard gate, she stayed where she was for several more minutes before plucking up the courage to crawl out from under the bed.

  The house was silent, but she kept a cautious eye on the stairs as she tiptoed out onto the landing and darted to her mum’s bedroom at the front of the house. The door was open and the overhead light was on, and her skinny, piss-soaked legs almost gave way when she saw the blood. There was a thick pool of it on the bed, another on the carpet, and a smear on the wall, below which her stepdad was slumped like a broken mannequin, his once-handsome face now unrecognizable.

  ‘Mummy?’ she whimpered, tearing her gaze off him and looking round for her mother.

  A faint groan drifted up from the other side of the bed and the girl picked a path through the shattered glass and debris. Her mum was lying in the gap between the bedside cabinet and the wardrobe, limbs at odd angles as if she’d fallen off the bed, blood-soaked nightdress pulled up over her stomach. She wasn’t wearing knickers and the girl averted her gaze and stared at her face instead, but immediately wished she hadn’t when she saw the mess the men had made of it.

  Snapped out of her stupor when a bubble of blood popped at the corner of her mum’s lips, the girl fled from the room, oblivious to the pain of the glass piercing the soles of her feet as she raced along the landing and down the stairs.

  The front door was locked and the top bolt was too high for her to reach it. In a blind panic, she ran to the back door, and a shrill, thin scream started trickling from her throat as she lurched out into the jet-black yard.

  ‘Sshhh!’ someone hissed, clamping a rough hand over her mouth. ‘Come with me . . .’

  PART ONE

  1

  ‘Holly, I’m off,’ Josie Evans called out as she pulled her coat on and snapped the poppers shut. ‘I’ve got to nip into the office before I start work, and I’m running late so you’ll have to make yourself a butty. Go easy on the milk, ’cos there’s not much left and I’ll want a brew when I get home. Oh, and don’t forget I’m doing a double tonight, so I won’t be back till morning.’

  When no answer came, she popped her head around her daughter’s bedroom door. Holly was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her mousy-brown hair hanging down around her face, her gaze fixed on the schoolbooks that were spread out on the grubby duvet.

  ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re off.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve to make myself a butty and not drink all the milk.’

  ‘And I won’t be home till morning.’

  ‘Mmm hmm.�
�

  ‘Don’t open the door. If anyone knocks, ignore it. And if you hear any—’

  ‘Mum,’ Holly groaned, looking up at last. ‘I’m not a kid. I know the rules.’

  Josie opened her mouth to point out that, at fifteen, Holly was still a child and the rules were there for a reason. But she swallowed the words when she saw the pained expression on Holly’s face, and said, ‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.’

  Holly looked down at her books without replying and watched from the corner of her eye as her mum shook her head before leaving the room. As soon as the front door clicked shut, she shoved the books aside and flopped back against her pillows. Every night before she left for work her mum trotted out the same list of dos and don’ts, and it did her head in. It was like she thought Holly was going to throw a wild party the minute her back was turned and invite all the local misfits round. Stupid cow!

  No longer in the mood for revision, Holly got up when her belly growled and wandered into the kitchen. There were only two slices of bread left and both had green specks of mould on their crusts. Scraping them off with her thumbnail, she took a pack of ham slices out of the fridge. It was three days past its use-by date, but there was nothing else in, and it smelled OK when she sniffed it, so she threw the sandwich together and took a bite out of it as she headed into the living room.

  Almost choking on the food at the sound of a loud bang outside, she switched the light off and rushed over to the window. There had been three shootings on the estate that month, and the victim of the most recent one had collapsed just inside the gates to her block. She had been sleeping at the time, so she hadn’t known anything about it until she set off for school the next morning and saw the blood on the path. The victim had survived, but he’d refused to name his attacker, and that, along with the scraps of crime-scene tape that were still attached to the gate and the railings, were a constant reminder that the gunman remained on the loose – maybe living in this very block.

  Relieved to see that it was only a group of youths taking turns to pull wheelies on a mud-spattered, backfiring motorbike tonight and not a shooting, Holly took another bite of the sandwich as she watched the bike’s tyres churn up the grass at the front of the block. An angry shout suddenly drifted up to her, and she pressed her forehead against the glass when the old man who lived in the flat below came out onto the path brandishing his walking stick.

  ‘Bugger off out of it!’ the man bellowed, waving the stick at the lads as he approached them. ‘I’m bloody sick of you lot coming round here making a racket. And look what you’ve done to the grass. You want locking up!’

  ‘Who the fuck d’ya think you’re talking to?’ one of the lads sneered, shoving him roughly back. ‘Piss off inside before I cave yer ’ead in, ya fuckin’ nonce!’

  The man staggered backwards and then fell, and Holly was sure that the gang were about to beat him up when they closed in on him.

  ‘Oi, pack that in!’ a woman yelled from the floor above. ‘And you just wait till I see your mam, Robbie Campbell. If she don’t leather you, I bleedin’ will!’

  The fact that the woman knew one of their names had the desired effect and the lads stopped toying with their prey and took off. About to move away from the window when they’d gone, Holly hesitated when her eye was drawn to the front-room window of one of the old terraced houses directly across the road. The light was on and the blinds were open, and Holly frowned when she saw the woman who had moved in there a few months earlier walking backwards with her arms outstretched in front of her, as if to keep someone at bay.

  Shocked when a man she’d seen coming and going from the house lurched into view and slapped the woman across the face, sending her sprawling on the floor, Holly edged behind the curtain and peeped round it in time to see the woman haul herself up to her knees, only for a kick in the ribs to send her flying again. The man leapt on her, and Holly shuddered when he pinned her to the floor and started punching her in the face.

  A police car suddenly hurtled round the corner, sirens blaring, lights flashing, and screeched to a halt outside the house. Two male officers jumped out, batons drawn, and rapped loudly on the door. The man opened it seconds later with a bemused expression on his face – as if, Holly thought, he’d been enjoying a quiet night in with his missus and didn’t understand why the police were there.

  The cops weren’t fooled, and one of them yelled at him to come outside with his hands behind his head. No longer smiling, he tried to make a run for it, but a baton-whack to the back of his legs brought him down before he reached the gate, and he let out a roar of pain and anger when one of the cops squirted pepper spray in his eyes.

  He rolled around on the path, screaming threats and kicking out at the officers who were now trying to cuff him, and Holly winced when he clamped his teeth around one of their hands and they both started whacking him with their batons. Scared that they might kill him, Holly was relieved when a van pulled up behind the car and another four officers leapt out.

  The new arrivals made short work of dragging the man to his feet and tossing him into the back of the van, and the first two dusted themselves down before going inside the house.

  Action over, Holly drew the curtains and took another bite of the sandwich as she switched the light back on. Almost immediately, the electric went out, plunging her into darkness again. The emergency credit had already been used, so she lit a candle and carried it into her room. Still thinking about the woman from across the road as she changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed, she reached for her phone to tell her best mate, Bex, about the fight she’d witnessed. She had no credit, so she sent a text asking Bex to ring her.

  When ten minutes had passed with no word from Bex, she tried their other friend, Kelly. Getting no response from her either, she blew out the candle after a while and settled down for an early night, thinking that she would tell them both when they met up at the park behind Bex’s house in the morning.

  As soon as Holly’s head hit the pillow, a pounding bass beat started up in the flat above, and she groaned when she remembered it was Friday night: party night for the man who’d moved in there a few weeks earlier. The music was already loud enough for the ceiling light over her bed to be swaying and she knew it would only get worse as the night wore on.

  Cursing the man under her breath when shouting and raucous laughter signalled the arrival of his rowdy mates, she pulled the pillow over her head to escape the noise. A vision of the woman from across the road immediately flashed into her mind, and she shivered when she recalled the man punching her in the face. Unlike Holly’s mum, who rarely made any effort with her appearance, the neighbour was always immaculately made-up and stylishly dressed, and Holly didn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt her the way that man had done tonight. But at least now he’d been arrested he wouldn’t be able to do it again and the woman would be free to find someone who treated her better.

  2

  Saturday morning dawned bright, but the sun wasn’t throwing off any heat and the icy air bit into Holly’s flesh when she climbed out of bed. Still groggy, because the party in the flat above had gone on well into the early hours, she pulled on her dressing gown and stumbled over to the window.

  A concrete play area consisting of two broken swings, a rickety slide and a roundabout that no longer turned sat to the left of the glass-littered residents’ car park. None of the local parents allowed their kids anywhere near it, because the gangs who hung out there to smoke weed and get pissed had turned it into a no-go zone. Holly didn’t even like walking past when the gangs were there, afraid that she would catch their eye and become a target for the abuse they hurled at anyone who dared look their way. Thankfully, the area was deserted now, so she decided to make an early start on her chores.

  After washing and dressing, she picked up the cash, electric card and shopping list her mum had left on the hall table. Her mum worked nights – every night – and rarely got up before 3 p.
m., so the household chores were left to Holly. She kept the flat reasonably tidy throughout the week, but Saturday was the day she did the weekly shopping, the laundry, the polishing and vacuuming. And once those things were out of the way, she was free to go out and meet up with her friends for a few hours. Looking forward to that, because she’d been revising for her GCSEs all week and desperately needed some downtime, Holly tiptoed past her mum’s room where she heard loud snores coming from inside and quietly let herself out.

  About to cross the road after leaving her block, Holly hesitated when the neighbour she’d seen being beaten up came out of her house carrying two bulging bin-bags. The woman was wearing a black satin dressing gown, and her honey-blond hair was pinned on top of her head, revealing a vivid red mark on her neck and a bruise on her cheek.

  Shocked by the blast of a horn, Holly leapt back onto the pavement in time to narrowly avoid being hit by a Transit van. Blushing when it passed and she saw that the woman was looking at her, she dipped her head and scuttled away.

  Suzie Clifton dumped the bin-bags on top of the wheelie bin and wiped her hands on her dressing gown as she watched the girl hurry down the road and around the corner. She’d seen her before, at the window of the first-floor flat directly opposite – and, judging by the colour her cheeks had gone when their eyes had met, she guessed the girl must have been looking over last night when Rob went for her.

  Suzie didn’t blame the girl for staring. She’d have done the same if she had witnessed something like that. And at least the girl hadn’t given her a dirty look, as if to say you must have deserved it, like that old bitch next door had done when Suzie had gone into the backyard for a fag earlier. That stuck-up cow thought she was a cut above because she owned her house while Suzie was only renting. But fuck her. Suzie didn’t give a shit what she or anyone else around here thought about her.

  Rushing inside when she heard her phone ringing, Suzie snatched it up. She didn’t usually take calls from withheld numbers but she answered this one without hesitation, hoping that it would be the police calling to tell her that they were going to hold Rob over the weekend and then drag his sorry arse in front of the magistrates on Monday morning.