‘Yes, we would go in the root cellar of the farm next door and when the wind was shrieking the boys would say it was Satan flying in the wind.’
‘Poppa Joe’s car!’ Nana Rose giggled.
‘Ay! Poppa Joe’s car went up in the tree. So high. And the land there was too swampy for them to put any machines on to reach for it.’
‘And when you came here it was cold?’
‘Like the North Pole! Ice and snow and frost on the windows – on the inside.’
Cheryl made them a cup of tea and Nana Rose told them that the school was building a music centre in Danny’s memory. It was to have spaces for rehearsals and a recording studio and would be open to all of the community not just the school students.
Cheryl left Milo with Nana while she went to the supermarket. In the taxi back the guy was going on about another shooting. Somewhere on the Range. He meant Whalley Range. ‘The Range’ made it sound like a Western, thought Cheryl. Clint Eastwood and Brad Pitt with stetsons. Men of honour cleaning up town. When really the Range was mostly just a poor neighbourhood and the gunfights as pointless and sordid as Carlton shooting Danny. Stupid and deadly.
She didn’t mention the rumour to Nana but watched the local TV news later. Another lad, nineteen this time, shot leaving a bakery. Cheryl didn’t recognize the name or the photo. The report ended with a reminder that police were still investigating the murder of Danny Macateer, seven months earlier.
Cheryl felt ashamed again. The Macateers had to live knowing who was behind Danny’s death but helpless to do anything about it. Everyone just went about their business, all of them in on the dirty little secret. And Carlton and Sam Millins carried on cocky as ever. Big men, hard men, safe behind the wall of silence. Cheryl didn’t like to think about it all, doing an ostrich act like everyone else, but the guilt stuck with her, she just couldn’t shake it off. And there was anger too, useless anger, that it had to be this way.
That Saturday, she and Vinia had a proper night out. Some Breezers at home first, while she did Vinia’s nails and Vinia helped her choose which dress, with which belt and which shoes. Nana sucked her teeth at Vinia’s low-cut top and said she’d catch her death of cold.
‘Not if I find me a nice big man to keep me warm,’ Vinia joked.
‘Be careful,’ Nana told Cheryl.
‘Promise,’ she answered.
They got the bus in, standing room only, everyone piling into town. The club was in The Printworks, three floors, three different sound systems. They knew Tony on the door from school. Not a big guy, fine-featured, soft-spoken, looked more like a dancer than a bouncer. They had a quick catch-up then he sent them in. They headed for the middle floor. Dubstep. The heavy bass pulsed through Cheryl; she felt it vibrate in her belly and her throat. She and Vinia found some friends and joined up. Drinks were pricey but they bought orange, topped it up with vodka from the bottle in Vinia’s bag.