Someone who was feeling a chill was Suzanne Walker.
Suzanne sat in the third row eagerly waiting for the interval.
‘We’re leaving at half time.’ she whispered to her companion sitting to her right. ‘This woman’s a fraud. She’s nothing like Psychic Paul. I’ve seen his shows on TV, he’s the real deal. But this woman? How can she take advantage of these people?’
‘She usually gets good reviews, maybe she’s having an off-night?’ her friend reasoned.
‘Well regardless, I’m convinced this clairvoyant is a charlatan.’
‘I’m sorry I bought the tickets, I thought you’d enjoy it.’
‘I’m really grateful, honest. I’m just disappointed. I heard she was good too. Why does she try so hard to build the spooky atmosphere?’ Suzanne nodded to the skulls and cobwebs. ‘You don’t see them on Psychic Paul’s show. They’re just as fake as her act.’
‘I’m sorry you haven’t received a message yourself. Maybe that would have swung it for you.’
Despite her intentions to stand out to the spirits, Suzanne had dressed surprisingly blandly. Her slim physique was slipped into a navy blue cardigan and a black sheath dress, and only her shoulder-length blonde hair made her distinguishable amongst her fellow guests, who were covered with veils, sunglasses and fedora hats. Her azure eyes contained a tinge of sorrow and as her sleeves ruffled up, her wrist offered a glimpse of a child’s name engrained on her skin.
‘Why don’t we just go now?’
‘Because I know what these mothers are going through,’ Suzanne whispered. ‘They want… need… a final goodbye. Just one night’s peace. I can’t take that away from them. I know I’d kill for it. No, I’m not causing a disturbance, we’ll just wait until the intermission and sneak off quietly.’
She was in good company. Suzanne too felt the survivors’ guilt, the ‘what ifs’ and the unsettling final encounters with her loved one which kept her staring at the ceiling every night.
‘Have you tried leaving a message in the bowl, or a photograph?’
‘No, I’m not giving her hints. If she’s the real deal a message will come through naturally.’
‘To be fair, I haven’t seen her near those bowls all evening.’
‘Well if she really is psychic, she’ll know I’m unimpressed and up her game.’
In front, a thin lady thrust her neck around to glare at the gossiping couple behind, her brown weave flicking to the side. On her third turn, she hushed them and returned to face the stage. Suzanne whispered an awkward apology and grew red as she awaited Jackie’s next message.
‘This is the last message before we have a wee break,’ Jackie said, returning to the centre of the stage. ‘Where is Suzanne?’
She glanced up at the call of her name but remained silent. An elbow edged into her side. She turned and shook her head. ‘There’s lots of Suzannes!’
‘Suzanne…. Walk?.... Walker?’
She stared on, her jaw lowered, her hands trembling. Bumps rolled out across her arms and fine hairs stood to attention. She felt the glue on the back of her legs oozing in, setting her into her pew. Her heart pounded and her usually tanned complexion grew pale.
‘Is Suzanne not here?’ Jackie gazed over her puzzled audience. ‘I have a wee boy here… Jason. He’s fallen off his bike and he’s eager to speak to his dear mammy. He says he’s six years old. He has bright blonde hair and dashingly blue eyes.’
The clairvoyant hunched over and reached out her hand for the invisible boy as if she’d discovered a lost child in an overcrowded supermarket. Behind, a trembling Suzanne slowly rose up and timidly placed her hand in the air like a squirrel reaching for a nut in a predator’s habitat.
The crowd inhaled. She buried her head in her hands to escape their gaze. The unwanted attention brought back memories of her schooldays when she was forced to perform a solo rendition of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro on her flute before her peers in assembly. The wheezing audience caught the attention of a crouched Jackie, who turned towards the quivering creature before her and smiled.
‘Oh, Suzanne, it’s wonderful of you to join us here tonight. It hasn’t been an easy couple of years for you, has it, my dear?’
Suzanne shook her head and a tear trickled down her cheek. Her companion raised an arm, holding out a hanky.
‘Your little boy is happy and at peace now. He spends his days playing with other children in the afterlife. His one wish is that you and Daddy would stop fighting so much.’
Jackie paused, waiting for a response from the bereaved parent before her. Suzanne gave little away, forcing the medium to continue.
‘He also said to stop visiting the lamp-post where he died. Such an ugly place, it’s not suitable for your memories of him. Put those flowers somewhere pretty…like the park he used to play in just near your house.’
Suzanne nodded her head. The rotting flowers piled up next to the dual carriageway.
‘I understand why you go there, love,’ Jackie continued. ‘You hope that by replenishing those flowers irresponsible drivers might take more care when passing by.’
Suzanne tilted her head. It was true; it would never bring her son back but it might prevent others from becoming victims. The flowers also hid her memories of splashed blood and remnants of chalk etched into the tarmac.
‘Do you…’ Suzanne paused. Her words widened the eyes of those surrounding her who had yet to hear her voice. ‘Do you know who is responsible for this?’
‘No, I’m afraid not, my love. Jason didn’t see anything. He didn’t suffer though, let me assure you. He’d already left this world before the driver took off.
