Suzanne nodded, dabbed her eyes and grabbed the hand of her companion as she retook her seat.
‘I’ll leave your son’s love with you, my dear.’ Jackie blew a kiss towards Suzanne and returned to the centre of the stage. ‘Now for an intermission. I’ll be on again in an hour, so why don’t you help yourselves to a wee drink outside in reception?’
Light poured down onto the gathering grievers, adjusting their eyes as they made their way out into the lobby and the medium disappeared behind the curtains. The diners in the Sleep Tight Hotel’s restaurant glanced up as the morose mourners hobbled out of the conference suite. A shriek of giggles spread across the queue for the buffet as word spread why the attendees appeared so sombre. The gossip did little to faze the crowd who gathered at the bar and evaluated the first half of the show. Others eagerly waited outside the conference suite with their cameras and autograph books, desperate to catch the attention of Jackie.
‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to go home.’ Suzanne looked at her watch and placed on her coat.
‘Even though you believe her now?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got my message now. There’s little to stay for. I feel bad leaving but Jackie was very clear. Jason wants me to fix my marriage and that’s exactly what I’ll do.’
‘I understand. I suppose I better go home too, I’ll get in trouble for being out this late.’
‘I suppose us meeting like this isn’t helping the situation. Can we meet again soon though? I’ve missed you,’ Suzanne pleaded.
‘I don’t know if I can risk it, but I’ll try. I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Anyway, do you want a lift home?’
‘No, Michael doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t want to risk us being seen together either. He’ll only ask questions and I’m sick of lying,’ Suzanne said. ‘Besides it’s only a short walk home from here. Thanks for coming with me tonight. I really appreciate it. I hope I haven’t got you into any trouble.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You got a lot out of it.’
‘I really did. I can’t believe she knew all that. It’s like she looked directly into my soul. She’s a miracle maker. I feel bad that I had doubts earlier.’
‘You’re really not going to stick around for the second half? We could grab a drink?’
‘I really shouldn’t drink.’ Suzanne shook her head and lowered her thirsty eyes. ‘I’m not going down that path again. It’s an hour until she’s on again anyway, I should really get going.’
They parted ways and Suzanne left the hotel. It was a crisp evening and only Suzanne’s woolly white coat with a hood of faux fur kept her warm. Winter had made its debut and snow hailed down on the streets of Manchester. The stone path grew a coating of ice, offering a slippery surface for Suzanne’s high heels.
A stroll up Oxford Road on a Saturday evening was far from tranquil. The boom of a bass shimmered from an illuminated nightclub. Two teenagers argued while a bouncer broke up a fight between a City and a United fan following a brutal battle during the derby earlier in the day. A lone girl stumbled out of a bar dressed in attire more appropriate for an Ibiza beach as her arms, legs and belly remained bare. She threw up on the road before grabbing her alcopop and continued to sup the poison which made her spew. The bile dribbled down into a nearby drain where a teenager sobbed alone. The raw scent of vomit and kebab meat filled the air and Suzanne picked up the pace to escape the youth, denying her own irresponsible past as she hypocritically shook her head in judgement.
A silver Rover hatchback pulled up beside her. The window wound down and Lady Gaga’s latest hit roared from the stereo. The side of the vehicle had crumpled and a wing mirror had snapped off.
‘Alright, love?’ the driver called.
‘Can I help you?’ Suzanne hobbled over to his aid.
The driver was in his early sixties. His stripy shirt had the remnants of tomato juice, and saliva dribbled from his swollen red lips. His greasy matted hair had grown grey and his blotchy cheeks were as red as a sun-kissed pepper. The stench of whisky steamed out of the car window and his distant eyes struggled to focus.
‘Do you want a lift, love?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Suzanne’s smile fiercely retracted.
‘I am a cabbie, love.’
Suzanne stood back and browsed over the vehicle. There was no council-approved sign over his number plate, nor was there a telephone number or company brand stamped onto the side of his car.
‘I don’t think you are,’ she barked. ‘And even if you were, I wouldn’t get in a car with you. If you don’t clear off, I’ll call the police.’
‘Alright, well at least show us your tits.’
Suzanne toppled back. She sneered at the driver before pacing up the road away from the vehicle. Occasionally turning her head, she found the Rover static and the driver continued to stare at the lone pedestrian as she escaped his lust. The slip of her sole thrust her off-balance. She grabbed on to the plastic handle of a red phone-booth door. Placing her hand over her expanding chest, she took a moment to read the call-cards lining the window until her heartbeat regained its usual rhythm. She glimpsed back to find the Rover had disappeared and she let out a ‘phew’.
Recommencing her walk home, she became distracted by the orange neon sign of a convenience store.
