Sal’s damp hands, pounding heart, and throbbing temple announced an impending migraine. She struggled to maintain elegant poise before polite company whose smiling faces got on her nerves.
Now and again she felt eyes rest on her in sympathy or surreptitious glances that feigned disinterest.
The champagne tasted like chilled piss and the food held no interest for her.
Here. Where it had all happened, her mind whirred back in painful rewind.
Here was their favourite place to celebrate. First date, proposal, engagement party and every milestone worth celebrating.
She wondered fleetingly how insensitive her sister could be. Of all the places to choose for an engagement party, it has to be Al Fonzi’s. She had contemplated not turning up, but felt it would cause more wagging tongues as she became fodder for dinner discussion, not as if she already wasn’t.
Here, held all the good memories until the ugly incident brought her life to a screeching nightmare.
Here, where Stanford chose to blow his brains across the dinner table in a horrific way.
The room got too claustrophobic, the laughter and music rushed at her as she stood to go to the ladies. Sal succumbed to the encroaching blackness in a dead faint.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
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