The Tapestry Bag

by Isabella Muir

  Crystal indicated for me to sit opposite her on a blue plastic chair, that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a rubbish dump. She was ensconced in a threadbare armchair that fitted snugly around her rotund figure. Between us was a small wooden table covered with a piece of lace, yellowed with nicotine stains, or age, or both. The faint smell of cigarette smoke lurked, party disguised by some joss sticks that had just finished burning.

  ‘Are you ready, dearie?’

  ‘Er, yes, I think so.’

  ‘If you can pay me then. I like to get the money out of the way first.’

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ I handed over the required sum and she put it into a large pocket in the front of her flowery apron. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, bent her head and started humming. I guessed this was all part of the act, but had to grit my teeth to stop myself giggling. After a few moments she picked up a pack of cards from the table and handed them to me.

  ‘Shuffle please.’

  I looked at the cards, which were larger than normal playing cards and wondered what to do. I’d never been adept at shuffling and had visions of the cards spraying out around the caravan.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know how to.’

  ‘Just cut then, like this.’ She took the cards and divided the pack several times, then handed them back to me. I repeated the action and put them down on the table.

  ‘Cut the pack and choose a card,’ she said.

  I lifted some of the cards up and uncovered one, handing it to her.

  ‘The Tower, yes, that makes sense.’

  ‘Does it?’ I said, feeling increasingly foolish.

  ‘Choose another.’

  I repeated the action a couple more times until there were four cards laid out in front of me.

  ‘The Tower, that represents change, so no surprise there. You need to look after your health, take things easy now you have a little one to think about. The Moon, now that tells me you’re finding things a tad confusing. Had a few heated words with your husband? Don’t say a word, I don’t need to know. All I’d say is pick your battles and be prepared to lose some of them. Now here’s an interesting one, the Hanged Man.’

  ‘Oh great, so now you’re forecasting capital punishment, are you?’

  She gave me a sharp look, intending to put me in my place.

  ‘The Hanged Man signifies you are at a crossroads, you need to learn to let go, see where fate takes you. You can’t always be in control of things, in fact, I find that none of us are ever in control.’

  ‘Right, okay, and what about this last one, it looks like a devil? If it’s anything bad, I’d rather not know.’

  ‘It’s in your hands.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The Devil is nothing to be scared of, it’s showing you not to give up hope, don’t take things at face value, dig deep to find the real truth of a situation.’

  ‘So, to summarise, you’ve told me I might have the odd quarrel with my husband, I need to take it easy, remember I can’t control everything and don’t give up hope. It’s hardly fortune telling, you must say the same thing to everyone.’

  ‘No need to be rude, dearie, I’m only telling you what the cards say.’

  ‘Nothing else? Nothing about a tall, dark stranger, or a big pot of money?’

  ‘I don’t take kindly to sarcasm, I’m no fraud. I’ve been telling fortunes since I was a wee girl, just like my mother before me. It’s in my blood, been in my family for generations.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine, but I expected a bit more for my money. Seems like an easy way to earn a few shillings, it would save me going to work.’

  ‘I’d like you to go now.’ I’d upset her, clearly her sensibilities were more fragile than I thought. She stood and walked past me to the door. As she opened it I spotted a young girl coming down the alleyway towards the caravan.

  ‘Looks like your next customer is here. Maybe she’ll be better at shuffling than me.’

  As I passed the girl I smiled. ‘Good luck,’ I said. I was tempted to say a lot more, but decided Crystal gave her customers exactly what they came for. A chat and a little bit of hope that tomorrow might be a better day.

  Chapter 28

  Amid breathless excitement, he held out three thin strips of paper. ‘A letter in the murderer’s own hand-writing, mes amis!’

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  Now I had more insight into Zara’s past I believed I could get her to talk to me and hopefully persuade her to come back with me to enjoy a safe haven, at least for a while.

  At the next opportunity I took the bus to Brightport and wound my way through the streets to the alleyway. Revisiting this bleak place, littered with broken bottles and rubbish bins spilling over with refuse, was depressing. I knew the inside of the squat would be just as demoralising as on my previous visit, but I clenched my fists to remind myself why I was there and, filled with new resolve, I pushed open the door into the darkness.

  Since my last visit there had been a change around, as there were now only three old mattresses on the floor. Once my eyes had become accustomed to the gloom I could see Zara laying with her back to me. The blonde-haired lad with the guitar was sitting plucking at the strings, with his eyes closed as though in a trance. The third mattress was unoccupied, with just a couple of ragged blankets thrown across it.

  I moved slowly towards Zara, wondering whether she was sleeping, but as I knelt down to touch her shoulder she turned over and sat up.

  ‘Janie,’ she said, sweeping her hair away from her face. She looked as though she hadn’t known a proper night’s sleep for a long while. ‘I told you not to come back.’ Her voice was slurred, possibly from drugs or alcohol, or a mixture of both.

  ‘I need to talk to you, but not here, the air doesn’t suit my little one,’ I said, patting my midriff. ‘Will you come outside and walk with me a while? We could grab a coffee somewhere? My treat?’

  She sighed, as though she didn’t have the energy to argue. Standing up she grabbed a thin grey jacket and a woollen hat. I thought about the stylish Zara I remembered and wondered if she would ever be that person again.

  We walked out into the alleyway in silence. I was desperate not to say the wrong thing and have her close the shutters down again, but I wasn’t sure what the right thing might be. She stopped at the first café we came to and pushed open the door to release a waft of greasy fry-ups and cigarette smoke. I sent out a silent prayer that the odours wouldn’t mean me spending the next half hour in the toilet throwing up.

  This must have been her regular haunt, as the burly chap behind the counter poured her a mug of tea without her asking and pushed it towards her.

  ‘What’ll it be for you, love?’ he said.

  ‘Coffee, black, please.’

  She took a seat at a corner table and I sat opposite her. She ladled two teaspoons of sugar into her mug and stirred it for several seconds, her gaze permanently down.

  ‘How are things?’ I asked.’

  She shrugged and took a sip of tea and finally she looked up at me.

  ‘What is it you want from me?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing, I just want you to be okay.’

  ‘You need to understand, the life I had is over now. This is the life I’ve chosen, the one I deserve.’

  ‘Why would you deserve to be miserable? You’re the victim of a terrible accident as much as poor Joel, but it’s not your fault.’

  ‘Yes, it is my fault, that’s just it.’

  She took a sip of her drink and looked directly at me, as if to challenge me to answer. I wondered if she thought she was meant to be punished in some way for trying to take her own life. I wished I had experience in counselling or anything that might guide me, give me a clue about what to say next.

  ‘Charlie had to go to the vet,’ I said.

  She looked at me, but it was as though I was speaking another language, or talking about another world.

  ‘Dad’s dog, Charlie,’ I conti
nued. ‘The crazy animal decided to tread on a sleepy wasp, poor thing. He made such a fuss, limping around. But he’s okay now.’

  There was still no reaction, so I tried again.

  ‘Do you remember how you envied his hair? You told me girls would pay a week’s wages for those chestnut locks with golden highlights. Any hairdresser would kill to be able to achieve that effect, you used to say. And then I told Charlie his Auntie Zara had gone a bit crazy.’ Everything I said seemed to be making the situation worse. Perhaps it made more sense to focus on the truth.

  ‘Zara, I’ve spoken to your sister.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought she might be able to give me some insight about how I can help you.’

  ‘Janie, will you do something for me?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Leave now and don’t come back. Don’t speak to my sister again. Just pretend you never met me.’

  ‘I can’t do that, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You have a new life to look forward to. My life is tainted, it’s black and it will only bring you sorrow.’

  ‘It’s too late, I’m already involved. I can’t just walk away and forget I ever knew you. We’ve been good friends, we are good friends. You are like the sister I never had.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ she said. Still I was getting nowhere.

  ‘You’ve been to Joel’s grave, haven’t you?’ I said.

  She looked at me and then looked down at the table. The café door opened and as a customer entered he brought in a blast of cold air that made me shiver.

  ‘Joel’s death was my fault.’ As she spoke she picked at the cuff of the old jacket she was wearing, still avoiding my gaze.

  ‘What are you talking about? You don’t drive,’ I said, trying to absorb her words.

  ‘I was there.’

  ‘He was knocked down by a car, no-one was there. Nothing you’re saying makes sense.’

  ‘I was there that night. I followed him, we had an argument.’

  She stood up, dipped her hand into the cotton bag she’d looped over the back of the chair and took out some coins. ‘Like I say, you don’t want to get involved in my mess, it will take you to places you’d rather not know about,’ she said.

  I put my hand on hers and gently pushed it away and then went up to the counter and paid. Once outside in the chill north-easterly wind, it was evident that Zara was getting little warmth from the thin cotton jacket she was wearing.

  ‘What happened to the warm coat you had last time we met?’

  ‘I gave it to Dee, her need was greater than mine,’ she said, as she started to walk ahead of me.

  ‘Slow down, there was a reason you used to call me ‘little one’, remember?’

  ‘I want you to go now, Janie,’ she said, as she turned the corner into the alleyway. The thought of her returning to the darkness of the squalid squat and the misery of the life she’d chosen weighed me down with sadness.

  ‘I’ll be back, I’m not leaving you, not like this.’

  It was time to enlist support. This was a bigger problem than I could deal with on my own and I believed what they said about a problem shared.

  Dad was just saying goodbye to his last patient of the day when I arrived.

  ‘Hello princess, I didn’t expect you today. Is everything okay?’

  ‘I need your help,’ I said, as I walked through to the kitchen. I poured a glass of water and sat down at the little Formica table that had always been the focal point for our chats.

  ‘I’ve been to see Zara again and she’s in a dark place.’

  ‘The squat?’

  ‘Yes, but in her head too. She’s told me stuff that…I don’t know what to believe to be honest. Dad, will you come with me to see her, help me talk her round?’

  ‘You know I’ll help, but I’m still not convinced you should be doing this without involving the police.’

  ‘I can’t tell the police, not yet. The thing is dad, Zara believes she’s to blame for Joel’s death.’

  ‘Oh, Janie.’

  ‘No, don’t you see? She can’t be, she doesn’t even drive. For some reason she’s blaming herself and I can’t get her to listen to me. I thought perhaps with you there, it would be a calming influence. She might be more prepared to listen. We need to persuade her to leave that place, to come back and stay with Greg and me, at least for a while.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Greg about any of this?’

  ‘I can’t, not yet. But I will, I promise.’

  Dad had been standing, leaning against the kitchen counter and now he eased his way over to one of the chairs and sat opposite me. Charlie had been laying at my feet, watching dad’s every move and now he adjusted his position to sit beside dad, pushing his head up against him.

  ‘That’s Charlie informing me it’s time for his afternoon stroll. Will you join us?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I should be getting back. I want to be home before Greg, otherwise he’ll worry. Will you think about it? I can’t bear to leave her there.’

  ‘Yes, love, I’ll think about it. I’ll give you my answer when you call in Thursday.’

  I stopped at the corner shop on the way home and bought a few bits for tea and as I turned down into our street I noticed someone walking away from our house. Although I only saw them from behind there was something familiar about them I couldn’t quite place. I pushed open the front door and saw an envelope laying on the mat. There was no stamp, so it had been hand delivered and at first glance I was fairly certain the envelope was identical to the one I received a few weeks earlier.

  I took the shopping through to the kitchen and looked at the envelope more closely. I retrieved the other envelope from my bedside drawer and put them side by side. Sure enough they were a match, both written by the same person. Any detective, Poirot included, would investigate the handwriting, work out a way to match it to a potential suspect. But I didn’t have any suspects, just a few suspicions. And I wasn’t a detective, real or fictional.

  Opening up the envelope I had just received I expected to see another press cutting, instead it was a handwritten letter.

  ‘I know something about your friend that I’m sure the police would be interested in. Perhaps you’d like to make me an offer to keep my mouth shut. I’m not greedy, so I’m sure we can come to a sensible arrangement. I’ll contact you again when you’ve had time to think about it.’

  The letter wasn’t signed or dated. It looked as though someone knew something about Zara that might get her into trouble. More than that, this person must have been following me, or at least they knew about my friendship with Zara. I read the letter through again, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about what it was intimating.

  Just then I heard Greg’s key in the front door, so I shoved both envelopes into my coat pocket and started busying myself with putting away the shopping.

  ‘Hi love,’ I called out. ‘You’re home early. All okay?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. Tired is all. How’s my girl?’ Coming into the kitchen, he threw his lunchbox into the sink. ‘Hug?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got your coat on. I thought you weren’t going to your dad’s today?’

  ‘No, I needed to get a few bits from the corner shop, left it last minute. Saturday tea okay?’

  ‘It’s Tuesday.’

  ‘I know, but I thought egg and chips would be just the thing for a growing lad.’

  ‘Me or Bean?’

  ‘Both of you.’

  It wasn’t until much later, after we’d eaten, cleared up and caught the news headlines, that I was able to think again about the envelopes. The more I thought about it the more it looked as though both letters had been sent from someone who knew something about Joel’s accident, or thought they did. It sickened me to imagine that someone wanted to make money from someone’s misfortune and as I lay in bed that night I rehearsed several conversations with this evil individual. If blackmail was at the heart of
it and if I could prove it, then he would get his comeuppance with a spell in prison. But guesswork and solid evidence are two different things.

  I would tell dad about the letters. His eyes might not work, but I’d learned over the years dad didn’t need sight to work out what was going on.

  Chapter 29

  ‘Poirot,’ I asked earnestly, ‘have you made up your mind about this crime?’

  ‘Yes – that is to say, I believe I know how it was committed.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Unfortunately, I have no proof beyond my surmise, unless…’

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  Thursday morning the rain was lashing down and I was tempted to stay curled up under my warm blankets. Then I thought of Zara and any selfish thoughts vanished.

  When I arrived at dad’s he was already hovering by the front door with his jacket on and Charlie sitting alert beside him.

  ‘Just out walking? It’s a bit late for his stroll, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘No, that was two hours ago. We got soaked. Now we’re all dried off and ready and waiting for you. We’re going to see Zara, aren’t we?’

  ‘Have I told you recently how much I love you?’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s always nice to hear.’

  ‘Thanks dad, really. It means a lot. I know you’re not comfortable with this, but I’m certain you’ll make a difference.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get going. I’ve only got one patient today at 3pm, so we’ve plenty of time.’

  Although dad was confident walking around the town, he rarely caught a bus. At least if he did then I made sure I was with him. Charlie did a great job, but negotiating a dog as well as bus fare could present a challenge.