Suicide Vacation

by Rich Allen

  Jack woke up to bright sunshine filtering through the net curtains. It was hard to believe that it was Sunday already. He checked his phone, but still no word from Zoe. She would surely have landed by now. He ate a light breakfast and showered as normal. By the time Rose got out of bed, Jack was sat on his upright futon, fully groomed, reading through Chris Fisher’s email about the Spirit FM Morning Show. As Chris had intimated, it all seemed straightforward. Mainly music, with a pop quiz at half eleven and some listener requests between one and two. Easy peesy.

  “Want some breakfast, sis?”

  “Toast and black coffee,” she mumbled as she made her way to the bathroom.

  Jack smiled. Neither of them were what you might call ‘Morning People.’ Must be genetic, he thought.

  He put the kettle on while his sister took a shower. Again he checked his phone. Still no word. Perhaps he should ring Zoe? No, she said that she’d call him when she got back home. Maybe her flight had been delayed or something. He turned on the radio. The news came on with no mention of tragedy in the skies. Phew! If she hadn’t phoned or texted by this afternoon then he’d call her. He put it to the back of his mind and cracked on with making his sister’s breakfast.

  When Rose had been fed and watered, Jack suggested that they take a stroll somewhere. It was such a lovely day - one of those Sundays that oozed optimism. The sort of day that cried out for a roast dinner and a walk in the park followed by a leisurely read of the Sunday papers.

  Rose drove them to Jesmond Dene where they enjoyed a Roast dinner in (of all places) an Italian restaurant. Jack thought the food was lovely, though why they’d melted cheese on top of the vegetables was beyond him. Afterwards, a walk became more of a necessity than an option. They strolled down into the Dene and past Pet’s Corner. Children played on the rides whilst parents queued up by the ice cream van. An optimistic profession, Jack thought. Even at the slightest hint of decent weather, ice cream men would load up the van with Mr Whippy and hit the parks and seafronts.

  “So, are you still heading back in the morning?” Jack asked Rose as they walked past the Fisherman’s Lodge Restaurant.

  “Yeah that’s the plan. If the traffic’s ok, I should make it back to Derby for just after lunch. It’s been really good seeing you again, bro.”

  “You too, Rose.”

  “It’s made me realize that I’ve taken you for granted though,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “No, I have, Jack. I had no idea how bad your life was. No idea how out of touch I’d become with my only family.”

  “You have a busy life, and besides – I never let on how bad things were, did I?” So don’t go blaming yourself. What matters now is the future not the past.”

  Rose smiled. “You’re right of course,” she said. “We can’t change the past, but we can promise to make things different in the future. From now on, I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you.”

  “Well. You are my big sister. It’s what you’re here for,” he said.

  It was after four by the time they made it back to Jack’s flat. He’d been checking his phone every twenty minutes for the last several hours, but still no word from Zoe. He texted her as soon as he got in the front door: ‘Hey. How was your flight? You get back safe? Love Jack x’

  They watched TV for a while then Rose started packing away some things while Jack prepared their light dinner of fish finger sandwiches. A much underrated delicacy, he thought. He grabbed his phone to see if Zoe had replied to his text, but no joy. As the evening wore on Jack became even more worried.

  Rose and he sat on the same futon watching a game show where contestants could win up to ten thousand pounds for eating disgusting things. A man from Cheshire had just eaten a dog food kebab for a grand. Jack found it hard to focus, though. What had happened to Zoe? Why hadn’t she replied to his text?

  His patience finally withered and he called her. Damn! Straight to voicemail. A few minutes later his phone beeped and he held it in his hand like a mysterious box he might’ve found in his attic. Was this from Zoe? He opened the message. Yes!

  ‘Hi babe sorry didn’t call earlier. Been busy that’s all. Landed ok. Will speak tomorrow I promise. Mom and Pop ok. Good luck with the show. Knock em dead.’

  Jack smiled like he’d just found a tenner down the back of the sofa.

  “You look happy about something,” Rose said. “I take it that was a message from the lovely Zoe.”

  “Indeed. She’s home safe and sound.”

  “That’s good. Are you watching this? That woman’s about to eat Stick Insect Soufflé.”

  They both had early starts in the morning, so turned in just after ten. As he lay under the duvet, Jack felt the butterflies in his tummy. Tomorrow would be the first time in a year that he’d been on the radio. He wasn’t sure that he could still do it. Well, he’d find out soon enough. From sitting behind the microphone, his thoughts turned to Sandra Chandler. Had she managed to read his manuscript yet? He’d forgotten to check his email at the library. He could do that from the radio station in the morning. He found sleep evasive. He felt nervous about doing the radio show and worried about how things would pan out with Zoe. As for his book – well there was nothing more he could do but wait. But the real reason he couldn’t sleep was all too obvious to him. Since landing back in the UK, he’d tried to put it to the back of his mind, but watching Jaws had reignited his interest. He’d failed to discover Quint’s true identity and that irritated him like an itch that he just couldn’t reach. He double checked his phone alarm and tried not to think about Quint. It didn’t work.

  Chapter Thirty Two:

  Rose was up and showered before Jack’s alarm went off. He fumbled with the phone like a drunkard trying to hold onto an eel. It must’ve taken him hours to nod off, he thought. By half past eight he was dressed and ready to roll. Rose had made toast for them both and they stood in the kitchen munching loudly.

  “What time are you at work tomorrow?” Jack asked.

  “Nine. But I’ve got lots of stuff to sort out before then. I can give you a lift into the radio station if you like?”

  “Thanks, but it’s not really on your way. I’ll be fine with the Metro.”

  “Ok. Suit yourself.”

  After breakfast, Jack helped his sister load her bags into the car. “Say hi to Brian for me,” he said to her as they embraced.

  “Ok.”

  “I hope things work out between you two.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Listen, give me a call next week – you promise?”

  “I promise,” he said. “And thanks again, for everything.”

  “Stop thanking me will you. I’m your sister for heaven’s sake.”

  Jack smiled at her. “Safe driving sis. Text me when you get home won’t you?”

  “Will do.” She waved at him then got in the car and manoeuvred the vehicle out from its tightly sandwiched position. Jack waved as it shot down the end of the street and then out of sight. He checked his watch: five to nine. Time to catch the Metro and hit the airwaves.

  He arrived outside Monument twenty five minutes later. It had started to spit with rain as he walked up Grey Street towards the Spirit FM building. Using his fob, he opened the outer door and walked into the receptionist-less reception area. His fob buzzed him through the next door and to the lift. He called it down and its chrome doors opened up with a welcoming ping. The lift was empty so he checked his hair in the mirror. Ten seconds later and he was on the second floor. Still no signs of life. He walked to the double doors and scanned his fob against the security panel. The door release sounded and he’d made it into the inner sanctum of the radio station.

  Several people who he didn’t recognize sat around a table drinking coffee. He smiled and walked past them. Down the corridor and on past News where he noticed Chris Fisher sat at his desk. Jack approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hi, Chris.”

  Chris turned around and looked up.
“Hey, Jack. You ok? All set?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Though, I’m a bit nervous to be honest.”

  “Hey listen you’ll be great,” Chris said. “Just take your time and settle back into it. Once you get your first few links out of the way, you’ll be absolutely fine.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” Jack said.

  “You sorted with all the show features?” Chris asked. “You got my email, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I read the email. It’s all good,” said Jack.

  “That’s great,” said Chris. “I’m afraid that I’ll be in meetings quite a lot today, but I’ve asked Steve to hang around for a bit just to make sure that you’re cool with everything. There’s also Tim, our Station Sound Producer kicking around somewhere. He’ll be able to sort out any problems.”

  “Great.”

  The start of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor bellowed out of Chris’s phone. “I’d better take this,” he said.

  “No worries. I’ll catch you later,” Jack said to him.

  “Good luck mate.”

  As Chris answered his phone, Jack turned and headed down the corridor and into Spirit’s On-Air Studio.

  “Hey, Jackie boy! You come to see how the proper DJ’s work?”

  “Morning, Steve.”

  “Mate. You look nervous as a kitten. You not get much sleep?”

  “Nah. Not much,” Jack said. “The butterflies kicked in last night. To be honest, I’m not sure I can do this anymore, mate.”

  “Don’t talk crap,” said Steve. “Of course you can. Listen, if an idiot like me can do it then anyone can!”

  Jack smiled. “Yeah, that’s true!” he said.

  Chapter Thirty Three:

  Steve had stayed on in the air chair after he’d finished his show and Jack watched him drive the sequence in and out of the news which came from the adjacent studio. There was an ad to play straight after the weather and Jack took control after that, playing the hour opener off the touch screen. Off the back of it he hit the Next Song button and the familiar piano intro of Steely Dan’s ‘Haitian Divorce’ began.

  “See. I told you it was a piece of piss didn’t I?” Steve said.

  “I just don’t trust these touch screens, that’s all,” said Jack. “Thanks for driving in the news.”

  “No problem. Look I’ll be out in the office if you need me.”

  “Cheers, Steve.”

  Steve closed the studio door, leaving Jack all alone in the soundproofed bubble. The next sequence was a short Spirit FM sweeper into ‘I Want to Break Free’ by Queen. I can do this, he thought. I can do this! He’d already planned his opening link, but he pre-faded the mic and did a quick rehearsal. When ‘Haitian Divorce’ began to fade out he hit the sweeper icon on the touch screen:

  On 97.2 FM and Digital Radio – this is the north east’s Classic Hits Station: Spirit FM. The baritone voice-over belted out this strapline over a bed of zaps and whooshes. Jack hit the Next Song button and the desperately quiet start of ‘I Want to Break Free’ began to tickle the speakers. The in-flight mixer would have made it more seamless but he didn’t feel confident enough to put his trust in the auto pilot system just yet.

  He felt his throat turn to sandpaper and he had to nip out to the kitchen to get a large glass of water. When he re-entered the studio there was only a minute and a half left on the song. He’d waited a year for this moment – he couldn’t screw it up now. He put on his cans and tweaked the volume. Just about right: loud enough in his ears but not so loud as to create any feedback. The slightest whistling might knock him off his stride. The song began to fade. Time for action. He slid the microphone fader up and instantly forgot all his rehearsed material.

  “That was Queen and ‘I Want to Break Free.’ I’m Jack Holden and I’ve been free from the radio for about a year now. But like a career criminal, I feel most at home in a small window-less box. It’s good to be back inside – this is Spirit FM.” His hand trembled as he reached for the touch screen and hit Next Song. The unmistakable intro of ‘Billie Jean’ escaped through the studio speakers as he slid the mic fader back down. Inside, he released a huge sigh. He saw Steve walk past the studio window, giving him the thumbs up sign. Now that his opening link was out of the way, it would get easier. It always did.

  The rest of the hour was a breeze. It was mainly a case of banging out the hits, though he had a couple of live reads to do; one for a reverse auction and another for a sponsored competition on the drive time show. That was commercial radio: All sell, sell, sell. Some texts and emails started rolling in: mostly ‘Welcome back…we missed you’ with the odd ‘Where’s Lindsay?’

  After eleven, a young producer called Andrea appeared through the glass in the adjacent studio to direct him through the pop quiz. Easy enough. She handed him a list of questions; some which required him to play music clips for the callers to guess. Geoff in Cramlington and Lynne in Monkseaton weren’t, to be fair, the sharpest tools in the shed. Jack had a good craic with them nonetheless, nearly splitting his sides when Lynne answered “Another Hole in the Wall,” when he’d asked her to name Pink Floyd’s only British number one single.

  “Yeah their famous hit about an ATM,” Jack had replied.

  Geoff won the pop quiz and with it a meal of mediocre dining at Dirty Joe’s Pizzeria. Jack then played a short song before going into the ads and taking stock of his morning’s work. It couldn’t really have gone any better. The ads finished, followed by a jingle and then Paul McCartney sang ‘Hey Jude…’ A seven minute song: luxury.

  The studio door opened and Jack noticed Steve stood there with a grin across his chops. “Everything alright, Jack?”

  “Yep I think so. You think it’s sounding ok?” Jack asked him.

  Steve hadn’t entered the studio; he just stood in the doorway with his foot keeping the heavy door ajar. “Yeah sounds good to me. Listen, I’ve got a visitor here to see you.”

  “What?” Jack didn’t like surprises. Please don’t let it be a nutty listener, he thought. In the past he’d had trouble with stalkers.

  “They insist that you keep your eyes closed,” said Steve.

  “Stop messing about,” Jack said.

  “So go on then, close your eyes.”

  “Hey stop messing about Stevo. Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No. Look, just do as you’re told for once and close your eyes.”

  “Oh, very well.” Jack acquiesced. He heard the door close but kept his eyes shut. He hated practical jokes, and Steve had form in that department. He waited a few more seconds. “Can I open them?” he asked.

  “Yes you can, babe.”

  Jack’s eyes flashed open in a millisecond. “Oh my God! Zoe!” he got out of his chair and felt her warm embrace. “What…how… I mean I thought you…” he mumbled.

  “Are you this eloquent on the radio, babe?”

  Jack mentally pinched himself. He couldn’t believe that Zoe was actually here, in the radio station. “But I thought you were back in California, with your folks,” he said.

  “Well, that was the plan, but Mom and Pop talked me into coming over here first. They were adamant, and, as she seems so much better, I thought that I’d surprise you.”

  He hugged Zoe tight as Macca’s ‘Na na na na na na na’s played in the background. “Well, you sure managed that. It’s so good to see you,” he said. They kissed and through the window, Jack spotted Steve pretending to put his finger down his throat. Behind his back, Jack shot Steve a one finger salute. “Just a second honey,” Jack said as he released Zoe from their embrace and quickly lined up another song to segue into Hey Jude.

  “So this is where it all happens huh? I’ve never been in a radio studio before. Are you sure you don’t mind me being in here? I mean I don’t want to distract you from your job,” Zoe said.

  “Some distractions are worth it. No, you’re absolutely fine. So, did your folks get back home safe?”

  “Yeah, Mom called me first thing this mornin
g. They’re all good. I can stay here until the end of the week if you don’t mind putting me up?”