appeal, and Vicky had taken on more clients. Mike now walked Megan to school and picked her up, while Vicky drove Kieran in. She’d got extra work from two residential care homes for the elderly. The Perms, she called them. They all wanted the same hair. ‘Will we be the same?’ she asked Mike one Saturday teatime as she got back. ‘Well, you’ll be bald, but will I suddenly want to look like my grandma?’
‘Bald?’
‘Thinning on top, now.’ She nodded at his head. ‘Ten years be nothing left.’
‘You going off me?’
‘Never.’
‘Prove it,’ he said.
‘Now? The kids are in the garden.’
‘A quickie?’
She rolled her eyes but the smile breaking on her face gave him his answer.
It was on the local news, after the national headlines. A reward had been offered for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Danny Macateer’s killers. Vicky turned to watch on her way out of the room with the dustpan and brush. Mike saw the tension grip her shoulders, saw her lift her chin. But she said nothing. He thought of the shooter, the man he’d seen raising the gun. Was he watching this? Did it make him feel big? Was he sure he could keep people quiet, confident no one would dare speak out and he’d get away with it, or was there that little bit of him waiting for a knock on his door?
He didn’t deserve to get away with it. Scum like that. Whatever Vicky thought, if the police caught him then Mike would be there like a shot. Swearing on the Bible, saying his piece. Doing all he could to help put the guy inside for life.
Cheryl
Nana hadn’t been feeling too good. She took herself off to the doctor’s and when she came back she told Cheryl that they were sending her for tests.
Cheryl felt something twist inside her. ‘What kind of tests?’
‘I don’t know, I ain’t no doctor. They just want to check all is as it should be. I’s not getting any younger.’ Nana was folding and unfolding a tea-towel. Cheryl wanted to grab her hands, stop her.
‘I could come with you,’ Cheryl offered, feeling clumsy, not sure how to be.
Nana sucked her teeth and told her she could manage just fine, fine and dandy. ‘Could be weeks, they said, for the appointment.’
Milo fell over, stumbled backwards and bumped his head on the corner of the couch. All cushioned there – so he was fussing more than hurt. Cheryl scooped him up, kissed his cheeks. ‘Hi, Nana, say hi!’ she coached him, swinging him towards Nana.
Nana clapped her hands. ‘Here’s Milo.’ She stroked the child’s face. ‘It’s still dry,’ she said to Cheryl. ‘You taking him out?’