by Mel Sparke
And it all started with that tarot reading! she sighed to herself as she watched Ravi go up to the kiosk with his money. I wish someone could make sense of this, because I can’t.
But then it suddenly occurred to her-as the women beside her started discussing the latest heart-rending break-up in Home and Away-who the very person was who could help her.
“Could I have some lemonade in that?”
The orange juice was only half-way up the tall glass, so Anna stopped pouring from the carton and squinted in the fridge to see if she had any left.
“OK,” she said, spying a quarter full plastic bottle and pulling it out. “There you go, Ravi!”
“Sorry…” Maya apologised as her little brother trotted off to the sofa in Anna’s living room, sipping his fizzing drink, while at the same time trying not to drop the bag of crisps or the comic he had tucked under his arm.
“What for?” asked Anna, pouring out the Earl Grey tea she’d made for herself and Maya in her cracked earthenware pot.
“Sorry for bringing him round,” Maya nodded towards her brother, who was now transfixed by the explosions in an old James Bond re- run on the telly. “And sorry he’s being so demanding-he wouldn’t try it on at home.”
“A bit of lemonade? Who cares?” Anna smiled, tucking her long, mid-brown hair behind her ears.
“And… sorry for turning up like this,” Maya apologised again. “You’ve only just finished your shift downstairs. You must be exhausted.”
“I am tired, but just tired of whiny customers-not tired of friends,” Anna reassured her. “So is this just a social call or…?”
As Anna trailed off, Maya realised that her confused state of mind must be written across her face.
“I-I-” she tried to begin, casting a quick glance over to her brother to check he wasn’t listening in. But with the quadruple delights of Wotsits, orangey lemonade, a comic and an on-screen succession of explosions, there wasn’t much chance of that.
Anna smiled at her patiently and pushed Maya’s newly-poured cup of Earl Grey across the small table to her.
“It’s just that I’ve been feeling really… muddled ever since that tarot reading,” Maya explained, although ‘muddled’ felt like the understatement of the year.
“Did it upset you?” asked Anna, sounding suddenly worried - and possibly guilty, Maya thought, since she’d arranged the day out for the girls to the Psychic Fair.
“No-not upset, more unsettled. I mean, it was all so accurate-about my past and my life and everything-but all this stuff about love and life changes…”
“Maya, you know I’m interested in all kinds of New Age stuff, but it doesn’t mean I take everything as gospel,” said Anna.
Maya immediately thought of Alex and what he’d said about not all art being great just because it was stuck in a gallery. Alex-now there was the real problem.
“I just thought getting our fortunes told was a bit of fun, that’s all,” Anna continued.
“Listen, Anna, I know you won’t say anything to anyone…” Maya began nervously.
“Of course not,” the other girl nodded.
“But there’s someone I think-I think I’ve fallen for… and it’s stupid, and he doesn’t know. And even if he did, he wouldn’t - couldn’t - feel the same way back…”
Maya wasn’t sure she was making any sense, but it felt good to talk to someone about it. Someone like Anna, who wouldn’t try and prise out of her-like Sonja or the others might-just who exactly she was talking about.
“And you think this is what your fortune foretold?” Anna prompted her.
“Well, no-that’s the problem. I think that tarot thing put all this into my head. I don’t think I’d have even thought about this… this… person,” Maya managed to say, though the word ‘man’ had been the first word on her tongue, “if that tarot-reader hadn’t suggested it.”
“Well,” said Anna measuredly, aware that Maya didn’t want to disclose who was really on her mind. “The thing about tarot or any other kind of reading is that it isn’t set in stone.”
“What do you mean?” asked Maya.
“The tarot-reader just tells you about the path you seem to be on at that moment. But you can change that path at any point and then, of course, your future changes too.”
“I don’t understand…” said Maya, trying to get her logical mind to make sense of what her friend was telling her.
“It’s like… well…” Anna racked her brain for an example. “It’s like if someone was in a bad relationship with a boy, a psychic might say that-looking ahead-your love-life was really rocky. But you might decide after that to finish with him completely. And once you’ve done that, your whole future changes; it’s like that reading suddenly becomes invalid. Does that make any sense?”
Maya had a funny feeling that Anna had just told her a true story.
“I think so,” she wrinkled up her nose. “So, even if this woman was for real, and genuinely saw love coming up for me…”
“You don’t have to follow that path,” finished Anna. “If this… person… isn’t right for you, for whatever reason, then you don’t have to go any further with it, or think fate is throwing you together for ever. You choose.”
Maya wasn’t sure if that made her feel any better or not. Knowing she didn’t have to believe in her tarot reading completely was a relief… but maybe a bit of a disappointment too.
“And don’t forget, the rest of us had rubbish readings that day, so who’s to say yours wasn’t all rubbish too?”
Because everything else that woman in the cardie told me was so accurate, Maya thought to herself, knowing full well that Anna knew that too and was only trying to make her feel better.
“So… this person,” Anna smiled gently, running her finger around the rim of her tea cup. “It definitely couldn’t happen?”
Maya pictured Alex’s grey-blue eyes laughing at her as he joked in the gallery the day before. Then she pictured two more important things: the ten-year age gap between them and that smiling girl on the stormy hillside in the broken frame.
“It definitely couldn’t happen,” Maya croaked, taken aback by the hard knot of what felt like tears and disappointment that had formed in her throat.
CHAPTER 14
A TRICKY CUSTOMER
“So how come you’ve never been to see us play at the Railway Tavern yet?”
“Dunno. Stuff to do, people to see, I s’pose.”
Ollie doubted it. Bryan wasn’t exactly Mr Gregarious. He wasn’t known for his razor-sharp wit and sparkling social skills.
“Anything interesting in there?” Ollie asked, giving up on cross-examining Bryan about his no-show at The Loud’s gigs and trying instead to get a conversation going about whatever was so riveting in the NME this week.
“Nothin’ really…” droned Bryan, never lifting his gaze from the music paper he had spread open on the counter.
Ollie sighed, leaned his weight on the till and stared off towards the window of Nick’s Slick Riffs. There was no point trying to peer out into the street to see if any customers were approaching; the windows were too badly in need of a wash.
Nick tried to keep the café next door scrupulously clean, but he seemed to think a bit of dust and dirt added a certain ambience to the record shop. And on this particular occasion, the daylight was also obscured by huge sale signs, designed to catch the eye of any passing commuters and customers of the End.
Only it was 5.00 pm this Monday afternoon and it couldn’t really be said that the sale signs had done their job. The usual mixed handful of regulars had bumbled in, trawled the racks of second-hand records and CDs, and bumbled back out again. It was just the laid-back level of non-business that suited Bryan down to the ground, but for Ollie-used to tearing around a busy café and kitchen juggling orders and charming customers left, right and centre-it wasn’t exactly fascinating work.
He didn’t mind working in the record shop when Bryan was off on holiday or skiv
ing off with Nick buying stock. Then Slick Riffs became Ollie’s playground-he could indulge in listening to whatever music he wanted to at practically whatever volume he fancied, while serving the odd music enthusiast who happened by. But being seconded to ‘help Bryan out’ during a sale frenzy that had never happened (and, obviously, was never going to happen) was enough to numb his brain.
“I thought Nick would have been twisting your arm to come along to see us since he’s our manager?” Ollie tried again to make conversation. He knew Bryan and Nick were long-time drinking buddies, sharing a passion (well hidden in Bryan’s case) for old rock music.
“Nope…” droned Bryan, flipping a page over.
“You normally head over to the Railway Tavern for a pint after work most nights with Nick, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So why don’t you just hang around one Thursday night and check us out?”
“Mmm,” grunted Bryan. “Might do.”
“We do a lot of numbers I’m sure you’d be into,” Ollie persisted, staring at the top of Bryan’s shaggy head of hair bent over the NME’s reviews section.
“Mmmm…”
It didn’t seem as if Bryan was paying a whole lot of attention. Ollie decided to try a new tack.
“Yeah, all our songs are based on ancient Tibetan monk chants.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We come on stage in gold lurex jumpsuits.”
“Right.”
“And Joe plays drums with a snake draped round his neck.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And we’ve got these girls who come on if we get an encore and they belly dance across the stage.”
“Mmmm…”
Ollie was starting to enjoy himself now. Talking rubbish to Bryan till he noticed could help pass the time quite nicely.
“And then when everyone’s clapping at the end, we release these cages of wild flamingos.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And—”
Suddenly the door rattled open and, with the imminent arrival of a potential purchaser, the two salesmen sprang into action: Ollie leaping to a standing position behind the counter instead of leaning laconically over the till; Bryan raising his sleepy eyes from the printed page to observe the doorway.
“Hello…” she said, almost shyly, as she walked towards the counter.
“Uh, huh-hi,” Ollie stuttered, feeling himself twitch with surprise at the sight of Stalker Girl. He’d completely forgotten about her-been relieved to forget about her-since her non-appearance at the gig on Thursday. She hadn’t been in the End for a week, the teasing (courtesy of Matt and Catrina) seemed to have died down, and he’d thought-hoped-that was it.
Wrong! thought Ollie, wondering what was going to come next.
Stalker Girl lowered her head coquettishly and began twirling one finger through a strand of her dark fringe. Her gaze was for Ollie only as if Bryan was totally invisible.
Sensing this, Bryan relaxed and carried on reading his music paper.
“Can I, urn, help?” said Ollie, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
If she’s here to tell me she did send that picture on Valentine’s Day or that it was her who left that weird message at the caff last weekend, I’m going to throw up, thought Ollie, feeling prickles of cold, panicky sweat break out on his skin.
“Your friend next door, the waitress girl, told me you were here…” said Stalker Girl in a tiny, baby-doll voice.
Thanks a lot, Anna, Ollie grumbled silently as he studied SG’s face and tried to work out how old she was. Not as young as that voice, though, that was for sure.
“Uh-huh,” he muttered non-committally.
Maybe about fifteen, Ollie decided silently.
“So…” said Stalker Girl, twirling from side to side, glancing at the racks that lined both walls of the shop. “Got any of your own CDs in here?”
Ollie looked at her quizzically. It took a second for him to realise that she meant The Loud, not his own music collection at home.
Bryan snorted, but didn’t look up.
“Well, The Loud aren’t really at that stage yet,” Ollie shrugged. “Hopefully, if we get spotted by a record company, we might, uh…”
His words fizzled out and he finished his sentence with another shrug instead.
“Listen, I just wanted to…” the girl began, then paused.
A gulp in Ollie’s throat seemed wedged midway between going up or going down as he waited to hear what she was about to come out with.
“I just wanted to say sorry,” she said, lifting her hands on to the counter and drumming her fingers agitatedly on its surface.
Stalker Girl was getting way too close for comfort.
Moving his hands off the other side of the counter, Ollie knew it was his turn to speak.
“Sorry for what?” his voice came out in a squeak as he scanned her pale, slight face for clues to what was on her mind.
“Sorry for missing the gig on Thursday night,” she explained. “I’ve had flu.”
“That’s, uh, OK,” Ollie grunted, momentarily distracted with thoughts of what Matt would make of this bizarre little encounter. (“What, so all the regulars of the Railway Tavern have to come in with a note from their mummy if they miss a Thursday night? I tell you, Ol, that is one weird girl…”)
“But I didn’t want to miss it-I love coming to see you… uh, your band,” said the girl, now leaning her elbows on the counter.
“Well, that’s nice…” Ollie waffled, taking a step back and wishing Bryan had a bit more savvy and could see that he needed help.
“Astrid,” said the dark-haired girl, thinking Ollie’s hesitation was down to him being unsure of her name.
“Er, Ollie,” Ollie offered a reluctant introduction.
“I know…”
She was staring at him again and he didn’t know what he was meant to say or do.
“Yeah, Thursday night… it was really busy. So, no problem,” he mumbled and followed it with a strangled attempt at a laugh.
“But I just wanted to be there, to cheer you on…” she gazed up at him with adoring, unblinking dark eyes.
“Well, all our mates were there doing that, Y’know, Kerry and the other girls.”
Ollie didn’t know if she knew Kerry and everyone, but it suddenly struck him that it might be a good idea to drop his girlfriend’s name into the conversation.
“Those girls…” said Astrid, with a little twitch at the side of her mouth, “the waitress and the others. They’re all just your friends?”
“Yeah. Well, no,” Ollie shuffled on his side of the counter. “I go out with Kerry.”
“Kerry…?”
The girl’s eyes widened so much at her name that Ollie immediately thought of the exaggerated eyes of every Disney heroine ever.
“Urn, Kerry-with the longish curly hair?” he awkwardly explained, waving his hands stupidly around his head.
“But… but I thought she was just…”
The dark-haired girl had pushed herself up to a standing position and was now clenching both her hands under her chin, her eyes darting about all over the place.
“A mate?” suggested Ollie. “No, we’ve been going out together for ages.”
He felt pleased with himself; the mention of Kerry seemed to have hit home with Astrid somehow. Maybe now she would just back off and leave him alone a little more; be a little more normal…
His heart sank as his eyes met hers; now even more Disneyesque as they filled with huge, fat tears.
“Listen, I’m sorry, uh, Astrid,” Ollie scrambled for words.
“You-you-” she stammered, struggling for a suitably damning word. “How could you?”
Ollie shrugged helplessly as the girl turned and ran out of the shop.
The dust floated in the silent air as the reverberation of the slamming shop door rattled round Ollie’s stunned head.
“Hur-hur… Just like Mick…”
Ollie shot a glance round at Bryan,
who was chuckling away to himself.
“What?” Ollie asked, feeling as weak and wobbly as if he’d just done ten rounds with Prince Naseem.
“You’re just like Mick Jagger-always breaking the hearts of all the girl fans!” Bryan guffawed, laddishly amused.
Ollie suddenly wondered if a future career as a Vespa repair man wasn’t safer than the route he’d chosen.
CHAPTER 15
FREEZE FRAME
Outside the breeze-block hut, flakes of white snow whirled in the dark night air.
The weather, plus the wave of flu that had hit the town’s population, had affected the turn-out tonight. There weren’t that many people at the photography club, and-unusually-Maya found she had the dark room all to herself.
Hope it stays this way, she mused as she set up the developing trays. Being on her own suited her at the moment-having the bustle of people around her only made her thoughts more jumbled and incoherent.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if she could talk over her state of mind with one of her friends, but she didn’t want to bother Anna again - and after running through the roll call of the rest, she decided it was a bad idea to consult any of them.
To fall for someone who was practically a teacher was totally taboo-her mates would put it different ways, but they’d all be scandalised and eventually suggest that it would be a good move to drop the idea and drop out of the club, she was sure. Well, all except Cat, who’d find the whole thing deliciously shocking, tell her to go for it and then revel in gossiping about it.
Neither option suited Maya. The very idea of giving up photography - and giving up the chance to see Alex every week-filled her with misery. But then again, the very idea of anything happening between them was unsettling to say the least, as well as impossible. Considering that Alex didn’t think of Maya in any way except as one of the many people he taught-not forgetting the matter of his girlfriend-the chances of anything developing between them was a whole lot less than zero.