adrenaline. ‘Someone very close to me died recently. I was very fond of … this person.I miss them …’ Maggie nodded sympathetically. ‘And … I’ve never ever done this before and in fact I’ve always been sceptical – but if I could just talk to them, if only for a few seconds, or hear something from them,’ I went on anxiously. ‘I’ve even looked up a few psychics in Yellow Pages – there’s this thing called “Dial-a-Medium”; and I actually selected one of them and called their number but then I couldn’t bring myself to speak because I felt so embarrassed but now that I’ve met you I feel I –’
‘Do you want a reading?’ Maggie interjected patiently. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell me, sweetheart?’
I sighed with relief. ‘It is.’
She reached into her cleavage and pulled out first a packet of Silk Cut, then a little black diary. She slid the tiny pen out of its spine, licked her index finger and flicked over the pages. ‘So when shall I put you in for?’
‘Well … after I’ve dropped off the things I’m bringing Val?’
‘This time next week then?’ I nodded. ‘My terms are fifty quid cash, no refunds for a bad connection – and no dissing the deceased,’ Mags added as she scribbled away. ‘That’s my new rule. So …’ She tucked the diary back into her bosom then opened the pack of cigarettes. ‘That’s a private sitting at eleven a.m. next Tuesday. See you then, sweetheart,’ she said as I left.
As I drove back to Blackheath I tried to analyse my motives for going to a medium. I’d always regarded such activities with distaste. My grandparents had all died, but I’d never felt the slightest urge to try and contactany of them on ‘the other side’. But since Emma’s death I’d increasingly been aware of the desire, somehow, to reach her. Meeting Mags had made me feel that I could at least try.
But what did I hope to get out of the experience? I wondered as I approached Montpelier Vale. A message from Emma, presumably. Saying what? That she was … okay? How could she be? I reflected as I pulled up outside the shop. She’s probably floating around in the ether, bitterly pondering the fact that thanks to her so-called ‘best friend’ she was now never going to get married, have children, turn forty, go to Peru like she’d always wanted to do, let alone get the OBE for services to the fashion industry as we’d often drunkenly predicted. She would now never get to enjoy the prime of her life, or the peaceful retirement that should have followed it, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. That Emma had been deprived of all this was, I reflected bleakly, thanks to me – and to Guy. If only Emma had never met Guy, I wished as I parked …
‘It’s been an amazing morning,’ Annie said as I pushed on the door.
‘Has it?’
‘The Pierre Balmain evening gown has sold – subject to the cheque clearing, but I doubt there’ll be a problem.’
‘Fabulous,’ I breathed. That would help the cash flow.
‘And I’ve sold two of those fifties circle skirts. Plus you know the pale pink Madame Grès – the one you don’t want?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that woman who tried it on the other day came back –’
‘ And? ’
‘Bought it.’
‘ Great .’ I clapped my hand to my chest in relief.
Annie looked at me with puzzlement. ‘Well, yes, it means you’ve taken over £2,000 and it’s still only lunchtime.’ I couldn’t tell Annie that my reaction to the sale of the dress had nothing to do with the money. ‘The woman’s completely the wrong shape for it,’ Annie went on as I went through to the office, ‘but she said she had to have it. The card payment was fine, so she took it away.’
For a split second I wrestled with my conscience – the £ 500 from the sale of the gown would be so useful. But I had vowed to give the money to charity and that’s what I’d do.
Suddenly the bell over the door tinkled and in came the girl
‘Do you want a reading?’ Maggie interjected patiently. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell me, sweetheart?’
I sighed with relief. ‘It is.’
She reached into her cleavage and pulled out first a packet of Silk Cut, then a little black diary. She slid the tiny pen out of its spine, licked her index finger and flicked over the pages. ‘So when shall I put you in for?’
‘Well … after I’ve dropped off the things I’m bringing Val?’
‘This time next week then?’ I nodded. ‘My terms are fifty quid cash, no refunds for a bad connection – and no dissing the deceased,’ Mags added as she scribbled away. ‘That’s my new rule. So …’ She tucked the diary back into her bosom then opened the pack of cigarettes. ‘That’s a private sitting at eleven a.m. next Tuesday. See you then, sweetheart,’ she said as I left.
As I drove back to Blackheath I tried to analyse my motives for going to a medium. I’d always regarded such activities with distaste. My grandparents had all died, but I’d never felt the slightest urge to try and contactany of them on ‘the other side’. But since Emma’s death I’d increasingly been aware of the desire, somehow, to reach her. Meeting Mags had made me feel that I could at least try.
But what did I hope to get out of the experience? I wondered as I approached Montpelier Vale. A message from Emma, presumably. Saying what? That she was … okay? How could she be? I reflected as I pulled up outside the shop. She’s probably floating around in the ether, bitterly pondering the fact that thanks to her so-called ‘best friend’ she was now never going to get married, have children, turn forty, go to Peru like she’d always wanted to do, let alone get the OBE for services to the fashion industry as we’d often drunkenly predicted. She would now never get to enjoy the prime of her life, or the peaceful retirement that should have followed it, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. That Emma had been deprived of all this was, I reflected bleakly, thanks to me – and to Guy. If only Emma had never met Guy, I wished as I parked …
‘It’s been an amazing morning,’ Annie said as I pushed on the door.
‘Has it?’
‘The Pierre Balmain evening gown has sold – subject to the cheque clearing, but I doubt there’ll be a problem.’
‘Fabulous,’ I breathed. That would help the cash flow.
‘And I’ve sold two of those fifties circle skirts. Plus you know the pale pink Madame Grès – the one you don’t want?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that woman who tried it on the other day came back –’
‘ And? ’
‘Bought it.’
‘ Great .’ I clapped my hand to my chest in relief.
Annie looked at me with puzzlement. ‘Well, yes, it means you’ve taken over £2,000 and it’s still only lunchtime.’ I couldn’t tell Annie that my reaction to the sale of the dress had nothing to do with the money. ‘The woman’s completely the wrong shape for it,’ Annie went on as I went through to the office, ‘but she said she had to have it. The card payment was fine, so she took it away.’
For a split second I wrestled with my conscience – the £ 500 from the sale of the gown would be so useful. But I had vowed to give the money to charity and that’s what I’d do.
Suddenly the bell over the door tinkled and in came the girl
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