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“Don’t forget,” persisted the nurse, “if you need to talk we can put you in touch with someone.”
“Thank you.”
Anthony left the room, walked about ten yards with his head glancing in every direction. He eventually stood near the toilets with his back to the wall for at l
east ten minutes before he thought it was safe to leave.
He grabbed his case and raced for the exit doors.
As he reached them and stepped outside into the winter sunshine he noticed a mobile roadshow presented by Radio Leeds. It was a charity event to raise awareness of oesophageal cancer.
He pushed himself onwards and walked past the outdoor unit when he heard a pop quiz the DJ was running between two contestants. He asked one of them to name the song from the burst of lyrics.
Anthony heard it and froze. His head spun, his legs turned to jelly and his stomach was ready to revolt.
There’s trouble up ahead
My mind is flashing red
And evil’s just around the bend
You’re in a cold embrace
Lost without a trace
It’s getting very near the end
His grip on the case relaxed and he had to use the roadshow stage to lean against.
“Oh please, God, not again.”
It was the third verse from “Superstitious Feeling” by Harlequin.
Anthony really didn’t know which way to turn. He’d already fainted because of the clown, and now here he was listening to the words of the world’s unluckiest song – for him, anyway.
Every single time he heard the song, something bad happened.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and a voice asked if he was okay.
Anthony grabbed his case and simply replied that he was fine without even checking to see who it was.
He needed the car park. He had to leave the bloody airport before anything else happened.
Due to the confusion and the frustration, it took him nearly ten minutes to find which park he’d left his car in.
When he finally made it to the space, Anthony dropped his case, threw his hands in the air and shouted at the top of his voice.
“Will you please fuck off?”
Chapter Twenty
The driver of the Evoque edged his way up The Headrow in the centre of Leeds, sticking to the speed limit because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He wasn’t bothered about being seen, more about being caught.
In the back of the vehicle, handcuffed and trussed up underneath the parcel shelf, his passenger constantly moaned. The driver figured his prisoner was in a real bad place about now.
He increased the volume on the radio to cut out the moaning. He was fed up of hearing it.
The traffic lights changed to green. The bus in front of him moved off and he hung a left onto Albion Street.
