by David Hatton
It was a sunny day therefore a busy day on the lake. Tourists flooded the honey trap in their rowing boats; romantic couples and drunken stag parties crossed their paths, disturbing the ambiance of Suzanne’s final journey. Avoiding the chaos, Daniel circled an island and found a quiet spot before turning the engine off. Beside them, a small sand bank led to woodlands, and rabbits rustled within the daffodils.
‘Are you coming out, love?’ Daniel shouted into the cabin.
‘I’m on my way!’ Isabella called from below deck. She hobbled out, gripping tightly on to the metal poles for safety. Glancing over the port-side, she gulped. She found a comfortable space in the centre of the boat, sat down on the floor and gripped on to the mast. She wore a black two-piece suit and sported a veil. Daniel and Michael wore a shirt and jeans with a dinner jacket.
A white plastic box beside an orange buoy opened and Michael pulled out a black rucksack. Inside he held chocolate bars and bottles of water. He searched past the snacks and pulled out a silver urn, giving it a tight squeeze before he returned to his parents. Silence fell over the passengers as Suzanne joined them on the deck.
‘We’re here today to say goodbye to our Suzanne.’ Michael began the eulogy before opening the lid. ‘We’ve said goodbye once already, but now we lay her to rest in her favourite place in the world. May the horrors of the last two years be finally put to rest and allow Suzanne to find peace with Jason in the tranquillity of Lake Windermere.’
Michael scattered the white dust into the water.
‘It seems so strange. We only retrieved her from the water a few weeks ago and now we’re returning her,’ Daniel said, lowering his head.
‘Goodbye, Suzanne, we love you.’ Isabella kissed her fingertips and blew her affection towards the lake, where Suzanne’s remains spread out across the crystal water, floating further away from their view.
25.
“Scepticism must go hand in hand with rationality. When theories are shown to be false, the correct thing to do is move on.”
- Professor Brian Cox (2008)
The gates of Strangeways had never appeared so high. She’d passed the red-brick walls hundreds of times as she walked through Manchester. Previously she’d feared that any of the inhabitants could have found a way to jump over the walls but today she realised the impossibility of that chance. Even if she did suddenly gain enough momentum to spring over the ramparts, the surveillance prevented any glimpse of freedom.
It had been three months since Elizabeth entered the Manchester penitentiary and every morning was as distressing as her first day waking up in her cell. Having slept in a room alone for the previous two years, the rustlings above her in the top bunk were now an unwelcomed disturbance first thing in the morning.
Her days were spent cowering in the corner of the communal hall. The other convicts had laid out their threats. They were far from empty; she was beaten and bruised as word spread over her involvement in a child’s death. Teeth were replaced, ribs were cracked and the blue jeans and white t-shirts she entered the prison with were permanently stained with blood.
Two weeks into her new settlement, she found friendship in a fellow inmate named Karen. With her slim frame, bronze bob and radiant smile, Karen was far from a typical prisoner. Her cream shirts with periwinkle designs and black trousers separated her from the scruffy survivors around her. As a quiet and unassuming individual, Karen surprised the other inmates as they learned of the reasons behind her downfall. Karen Simpson was handed a life sentence for the murder of a new-born baby.
Elizabeth initially kept her distance from the fellow child-killer as her own growing infamy placed her in the firing line. However an incident in the canteen brought the pair together. Having collected her lunch, Elizabeth sat down to down the first meal she’d manage to stomach since entering the prison.
‘Think you deserve to eat?’ A meaty jailbird known as Lusty approached her. Her head was shaved and tattoos covered both sleeves. A black t-shirt, stamped with love and hate, barely covered her drooping belly, and her jeans were torn at the knees. ‘I lost a kid once and if I thought that bastard was allowed to eat three meals a day, I’d make them starve. So this is for my Sammy.’
Picking up the white bowl, she tipped the contents over Elizabeth’s head and rubbed the brown sauce into her locks. Lusty lifted up her right hand, gripped into a fist, and handed her a blow to the eye, thrusting her off the bench. Two guards rushed over and dragged the attacker away, leaving Elizabeth on the ground, holding a hand over her eye socket. Through her remaining eye, she peered around and found Karen bending over her, scraping the minced lamb out of her hair, before stroking her soiled locks away from Elizabeth’s wincing eye.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I will be,’ Elizabeth whimpered.
‘Come on, get up.’ Karen lifted the bruised prey back onto the bench, before handing her a fork and a bowl. ‘Here, eat this.’
‘This is yours?’
‘I had breakfast. I’ve not seen you eat in here yet.’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
‘Because you and me are in the same boat.’
Over the following days, Karen explained the reasons behind her downfall. She was an au pair, looking after the new-born of an elite couple in Cheshire. One evening, Karen found the child had stopped breathing and, following a routine cardiopulmonary resuscitation, she phoned for an ambulance.
It was too late.
A thorough investigation placed Karen in the heart of blame. Evidence suggested the child had been shaken shortly before he passed away. The minder was arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment for her involvement, a claim she vigorously denied throughout her trial. Over the following weeks, Karen taught Elizabeth to keep her head down and to build resilience.
On a warm Tuesday morning, Elizabeth woke up to the sound of her cellmate, Pat, grunting. The skinny tattooed punk with short spikey hair was gurning as she hovered over the toilet seat in the corner of the cell. A putrid stench followed.
Three knocks and the opening of the doors revealed it was breakfast time. Pat arose from the bowl and rushed out of her cell to join the morning scrum. A nauseous Elizabeth stepped off her bunk and regurgitated into the basin where Pat had just defecated. Sweat poured down her forehead.
With her dry throat rubbing like sandpaper, she stepped out of the cell to find water. In the canteen, Karen waved her over and rubbed the seat beside her. Grabbing a glass of water, Elizabeth joined her friend and sat down. The light reflected off her moist pale forehead and dripping locks.
‘Wow, Lizzie, you look like shit. Are you OK?’
‘I’ve just been sick.’
‘Again? This is the third day this has happened. Don’t you think you should go and see the nurse?’
‘I don’t need to see a nurse.’ Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I know what’s wrong with me.’
She grabbed her tummy and sighed.
‘I’m pregnant.’
They stared at each other for some time before a smile etched across their faces. Karen leaned in, embraced her and their lips locked.
In Salford Quays, Michael was unpacking his belongings. The Manchester Ship Canal formed the view from his new apartment. The apartment was much smaller. The lounge fit just a couch and a small table, his kitchen was made up of a dining set and a microwave, and his bedroom no longer included the en-suite luxury he’d enjoyed in the past. However he was happy to exchange all that he had for his new pad, which no longer looked over his wife’s former tomb.
Across the water, Media City transformed the former crime hub into a luxury space for young go-getters who dreamt of a creative life at the BBC. Next door, a shopping centre and theatre meant he never had to travel far, and a nearby tram provided easy access to the city centre when he eventually plucked up the courage to return to work. There was no bigger magnet however than Old Trafford Stadium, a stone’s throw away from his front door, allowing him to enjoy a short stroll home afte
r a game with time for a celebratory pint.
Sitting out on his balcony for a short break, he reflected over the previous few months. Not only had he lost his wife and son, but now his brother. Letters had arrived weekly from Robert, but Michael threw the envelopes away before opening them.
Now he was alone with all the answers, he struggled to cope with the reality. He’d learnt so much about Suzanne, some of which he’d rather have left unsaid. The affair tortured him. For days he screamed at the sky, ‘How could you?’ but eventually he had to forgive her. She was a grieving mother who’d had little support from her husband. He practically threw her into Robert’s arms.
The choice of day to relocate was a consultative one. Having provided the interview to the Castlefield Reporter, he contacted the journalist to enquire the story’s release date. The publication spurred his moving date, avoiding more headlines in his local shop and the recognition of his neighbours.
Initially avoiding the interview, Michael infuriated Nathan at the newspaper as he declared himself too depressed to talk. A court order soon fixed that and Michael soon found the interview therapeutic. Getting it all off his chest to a stranger. It was worth the wait for Nathan, who now had a juicy story of sex, lies, deceit and sibling rivalry to ice the cake.
During a short break, he stepped over to the Lowry Outlet Mall for a beer. A poster caught his eye of an upcoming show due to land in the local theatre; Jackie Wallace’s Psychic Hour. Jackie was about to embark on a national tour, starting with a show in her home county. He scratched his head, still struggling with the question over whether it was all guesswork, or whether she was the real deal. Either way, she’d answered the bugging questions which he desperately needed answering.
A smile sprouted across his face as took in the advert. She held on to a crystal ball, and celebrity testimonials surrounded her trimmer figure. Whilst initially furious that she could take advantage of his downfall, he was now pleased that she’d found stardom. He couldn’t begrudge her achievements as she’d done so much for him; he had a lot to thank her for.
Except he hadn’t thanked her.
They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since he yelled at her shortly after her interview on The Morning Show when she revealed Robert’s involvement in Jason’s death. He’d had a lot of time to reflect since and he had to admit he had no idea how she received her messages. Maybe Suzanne really did jump into her body at that moment.
He scribbled a Thank You note together on a notepad and jumped on a tram to Chorlton. While the police had offered to return his vehicle following their investigations, he asked them to scrap it; he couldn’t drive that car knowing what it had done to his son.
There was little sign of life around Jackie’s home and her yellow Mini was nowhere in sight. He slipped the note into the letterbox and turned around. As he stepped out onto the street, the door opened behind him.
‘Michael?’ He instantly recognised the familiar voice. He turned around and found the smiling psychic holding on to the note, clutched to her chest.
‘Jackie!’
‘What are you doing here?’ She ran up to him and embraced him. In her violet two-piece suit, she had once again upstaged the widower who’d approached her house in a scruffy pair of jeans and a hoody stamped with the Chicago Bears logo.
‘I came to say thank you. I couldn’t see your car, otherwise I’d have knocked on.’
‘I’ve upgraded to the beast over there.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the road. He turned around and found the silver four-by-four standing strong before her lawn. ‘Are you coming in then or not?’
He entered her home and updated her on the details of the case, his sister-in-law’s involvement and his brother’s deceit.
‘I’ll be honest, I haven’t read anything about the case since we last spoke. I’ve left that part of my life behind. It had consumed me for months and it was too painful. I’m also too busy to read the news these days. I barely have time to open my mail.’ She chuckled and pointed to the pile of envelopes scattered across the welcome mat.
‘You’ve done so well, Jackie, but you deserve it. You helped me so much.’
‘Thank you, that means a lot.’
He stood silently, eating over a final question he’d held since he visited his parents in the Lake District.
‘Suzanne….’ He paused. ‘Is she still around?’
Jackie tilted her head and a smile transformed into a frown.
‘I’m afraid not, my love.’ She shook her head. ‘She’s gone on to the other side now. She’s much happier there. She’s free at last. With Jason.’
‘I see.’
‘You see when someone sticks around, it’s usually because they have unfinished business. Sometimes it’s to apologise to a friend if they departed on sour terms, or answer questions which they couldn’t in this life. In Suzanne’s case, she stuck around to tell you who killed her and your son. She couldn’t move on until you could, and it’s important that you do move on, Michael. Live your life.’
‘That’s good to hear. Is there a heaven or hell?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t see much after they’ve passed on. I don’t believe in either. I personally believe that our spirits go to sleep and we’re peaceful for eternity. But either way… I know they go somewhere else, beyond. We’ll find out what it’s like when it’s our turn.’ Jackie winked. ‘But I do know something, Michael. Suzanne’s love is with you every day, regardless of whether she’s around physically or not. You don’t have to be a medium to know that.’
Michael wiped away a tear dripping down his cheek and smiled. He rubbed his own upper arms as if embracing his departed wife. Despite the warm message from Jackie, he remained unfulfilled by Suzanne’s parting.
‘Did she say anything before she left?’
‘She did. She said ‘I love you… chicken’.’
Silence fell between them as Michael soaked in her message. He’d not heard his nickname for months.
‘That’s what she always called me.’ He smiled. ‘That was just between us. You really are the real deal. Thank you.’
She chuckled, grabbed his hand and rubbed his wrists. ‘You will get through this.’
‘I know.’ He unclutched from her grip and rubbed his moist eye.
‘Now for that brew.’
He followed her into the kitchen where she boiled the kettle. On the dining table, Tarot cards and a crystal ball were scattered across the top.
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
‘Hmm?’ Jackie glanced at the table where Michael hovered beside. ‘Oh that! No, no. I had a client come over earlier, she’s left now, you’re free to stay. It’s nice to see you.’
‘I’ve never had a Tarot reading before. What’s it all about?’
‘Well the client picks three cards and I provide the interpretation for them. As a medium I’m able to source advice from my spirit guide who helps me interpret the cards for each individual.’
‘You have a spirit guide?’ Michael asked with an air of surprise. ‘You’ve never mentioned this before.
‘Have I not told you about my Josie?’ Michael shook his head. ‘She follows me everywhere. She channels the spirits for me and tells them to leave me alone when I need a wee bit of peace.’
‘That must be a blessing, given what you said about them frustrating you during your childhood.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I had to come and see you about Suzanne. Not even Josie could keep her quiet. She’s a feisty one.’
‘That’s her. So is Josie a spirit?’
‘Of course!’ Jackie brought a pot of tea over to the dining table and placed it in front of Michael. ‘Would you like a reading?’
Michael stroked his chin and shrugged. ‘Why not? It’d be nice to know if my future looks any brighter than my past.’
They sat down and Jackie shuffled the cards before spreading them across the table face down before Michael. He selected three cards and Jackie turned over t
he first card. A royal-esque figure with a long white beard, a golden crown and red robes sat proudly on a white throne.
‘The Emperor represents your desire to control your surroundings. Over the last few years, you’ve lost all control after everything that you’ve lost. But soon you’ll be very powerful, Michael, and you’ll be able to go your own way in life without obstacles.’
The second card displayed a woman in a white gown and long hair. Above her head, she held a crown and her palm gripped on to a sword. The title ‘Justice’ sprouted across the top of the card.
‘As the name suggests, I believe we’re going to see justice for those who betrayed you.’
‘I sure hope so.’ Michael smiled.
The final card displayed a couple holding hands. The couple were nude and looked up to the sky where an angel hovered her hands out over the pair. ‘Lovers’ was written in italics beneath their feet. Jackie and Michael broke into laughter. Even an amateur like Michael could guess what the card suggested for his future.
‘Well I think we’re going to finally see a little more romance in your life, Mikey-boy! At the very least I believe you’ll find contentment and happiness, if nothing more.’
‘That’s good to hear, I sure hope you’re right.’
‘I’m rarely wrong.’ She winked. ‘Well there you, your first Tarot reading done. Do you fancy going out for lunch?’
‘That’d be lovely. Shall we go into town? My treat.’
‘Let me go and change then’
Jackie left the kitchen and ran upstairs, leaving Michael to drink his tea alone at the dining table. He became restless as she hurried around upstairs attempting to choose the perfect outfit. With only a sleeping cat for company, Michael stood up and browsed around the living room, admiring the artwork on her walls.
In the corner of the room, a desktop computer slept. A flashing green light and a nimble humming suggested the device was on standby. Above the keyboard, a pile of newspaper cuttings was spread across the keys. The top sheet covered the story of his brother’s sentence for covering up his wife’s crimes.