by Tanith Morse
Tarot was my favourite bookshop on Monmouth Street. It was not as well known as Mysteries orWatkins, but I preferred it there because I found the staff to be especially knowledgeable. What also attracted me were the in-house clairvoyants that gave private readings in the afternoons. For thirty pounds you could have your future predicted by a psychic using methods ranging from tarot to aura. One guy in particular, Gerry, was very intuitive. In the past he’d correctly predicted Beth’s pregnancy and revealed many home truths to me about my childhood. Now I was hoping that he would be equally perceptive about my relationship with David.
After trudging through a maze of back streets I eventually found Tarot squashed between a fashion boutique and a bakery that sold horribly over-priced cupcakes. As soon as I entered the shop the intoxicating aroma of jasmine incense hit me. I glanced round. The walls were stacked from ceiling to floor with self-help manuals, books on meditation, Reiki and positive thinking.
The grey-haired sales-assistant smiled at me from behind the till, clearly recognising me from previous visits. Once, we’d had a forty-five minute debate about the effectiveness of Louise Hay’s positive affirmations, and I’d impressed him with the depth of my knowledge.
‘Is Gerry in today?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to book a reading.’
‘Yes he’s in. He’s currently with a client at the moment.’ The man reached under the counter and brought out a worn-looking appointments diary. After flicking through the well-thumbed pages, he informed me that there was a slot available in half an hour.
I made the booking then tried to kill some time browsing the bookshelves and buying one of those sickly, over-priced cupcakes from next door. It looked more like plastic than something edible, smothered in garish coloured icing and topped off with a rubbery-looking strawberry. I almost broke my tooth trying to take a bite.
When I returned to Tarot I found Gerry waiting for me in a little room partitioned off by a beaded curtain at the back of the shop with walls covered in pictures of zodiac signs, Aleister Crowley and the Dalai Lama.
Gerry beamed at me from behind a table littered with plastic stars and shiny business cards. ‘Oh it’s you,’ he trilled. ‘Good to see you again. Maddy, isn’t it? Please, sit down, sit down.’
He weighed about twenty stone and wore his coal-black hair slicked back like Rudolph Valentino. His ghastly spray tan was riddled with streaks, particularly between his short, chubby fingers, and his eyes were an intense blue beneath his suspiciously dark lashes.
I took a seat opposite him.
‘Did you do a bit of shopping today?’ he asked, referring to my paper bag.
‘Er, no, it’s just a cake.’
‘Not one of those vile things from next door is it?’
‘Actually, it is,’ I laughed. ‘It was so horrible I couldn’t even finish it!’
Gerry took the bag from me, inspected it and then made a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.
‘Disgusting!’ He pushed it back to me. ‘Okay, let’s get started.’
I relaxed my shoulders. Cleared my head in preparation for Gerry to work his magic. From previous experience, I knew that this was the best way to get in contact with the astral plane. Unlike other psychics, Gerry didn’t use tarot cards or birth charts to predict the future – instead he got in contact with his ‘angels’, celestial beings that showed him the gateway to your destiny.
‘All right Maddy, close your eyes and try to concentrate. Clear your mind of all thoughts, both positive and negative. Just sink into yourself . . . become at one with your aura. Okay, now give me your hand.’
We linked hands across the table. Gerry’s palms felt all clammy like the underside of a fish. His eyelids flickered like he was having a disturbing dream. Then, slowly, he opened them and stared into the middle distance. When he spoke again, his voice was a pitch deeper. Very spooky.
‘Right, I’m making a connection . . . my angel is hovering just above your head. I see his benign face smiling at me, telling me he sees your destiny, what’s inside your heart. I can see that you are troubled about something, Maddy. A man . . . your mind is clouded by indecision . . . You want this man to give you answers.’
I nodded my head eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Hmm . . . My angel is showing me a name. What’s that? Daniel, Darren . . . no David. Yes, that’s it – David.’
‘Yes, yes! Oh my gosh, that’s right. What else do you see?’
He rambled on for a while about other issues in my life: how I hated my job, my low self-esteem and my recent failure to secure the management position. Everything was spot on. But what I really wanted to hear more about was David.
‘Wow Gerry, you’re so amazing. You’re so in tune with me it’s scary. But, getting back to the guy you mentioned – this David. What do the angels tell you about him?’
Gerry paused, narrowed his eyes like he was looking into the abyss. There was a look of absolute concentration on his face. Slowly, he started rocking from side to side, snapped his fingers and let out a high-pitched ‘ooh!’ Then he started undulating his hips as if in the grip of James Brown’s spirit.
Suddenly he shot his eyes wide open. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead.
‘I have just seen something so unbelievable, so ridiculous, I think my angel is having me on. No! This simply can’t be true.’
‘What is it? What do you see? Tell me!’ I was now frantic, on the edge of my seat.
Gerry gripped my hands tightly. ‘Maddy, this man, this David . . . he has many surprises in store for you. At the moment that’s all I am allowed to tell you, but just hang on in there, okay? I know he blows hot and cold sometimes and you’re probably wondering if he’s worth the hassle. Believe me - he is.’
‘Can’t you elaborate? Please Gerry, I need to know exactly what you’re talking about. What sort of surprises does David have in store for me?’
The medium shook his head, slumped back in his chair. The connection to the astral plane was apparently broken.
‘I’m sorry Maddy, my angel has told me not to tell you. If I do, he says that it could affect the outcome, and he doesn’t want that. Remember, I only predict the future - I can’t change it.’
‘Please!’
‘Sorry, I can’t. And that’s final.’
I pulled a sour face, admitting defeat. I picked up my bag, pulled on my coat. My fingers were trembling as I did up the buttons.
‘Try not to worry too much. It’ll work out all right in the end, I promise.’
I made for the door.
‘Oh, by the way, aren’t we forgetting something?’
‘What?’
A mischievous smile spread across Gerry’s patchy face. ‘Cross my palm with silver, Madame.’
‘Oh sorry, of course. Your money.’ I fished out thirty quid from my wallet and paid him.
Later that night, eating dinner alone in the kitchen, I reflected on everything. I put down my fork, gazed at the speckles of rain on the window. There was a rumble of thunder, a flash of lightening. A storm was brewing. I stood up, went to the fridge and took out a carton of fresh orange juice. Poured myself a glass.
Then, as I closed the fridge door, my eyes fell on David’s postcard. I picked it up, turned it over and studied it. I must have read it a hundred times over, scrutinised the picture of the Eiffel Tower, but today something stood out at me. Something that hadn’t occurred to me before. David’s handwriting – there was a something very familiar about it which gave me an odd sense of déjà-vu. Not so much the heavily sloped lettering. No, it was the signature itself. A heart entwined with a smiley face underscored ‘Love David’. I squinted at it. Now, where had I seen something like that before?
Suddenly, it hit me.
Taking the card into my bedroom, I frantically rummaged through my drawers, looking for my Bret Vincent memorabilia. Over the years, I had built up quite a collection of autographs, the most recent being a signed photo he had given to a fan in Cannes, which
I’d bought on eBay.
In no time at all I found what I was looking for – a sealed off plastic folder. Hastily, I tore it open and lay out all the scraps of paper on the carpet. At first glance, there were no striking resemblances between Bret’s handwriting and David’s. But on the autograph from Cannes, Bret had drawn a smiley face at the bottom of his signature in almost exactly the same way as on David’s postcard.
I caught my breath. Gazed up at the ceiling. What the hell did this all mean? Then eventually it hit me, clear as crystal. This was life’s way of telling me that David was the one. It was preordained in the stars. We were destined to be together. No matter what it took; no matter what struggles I faced, I would have David Powell.
Chapter Thirteen
When I walked into William’s office I could immediately sense his hostility. He wasn’t smiling, and the sight of my personnel file on his desk filled me with dread.
‘Please take a seat, Maddy,’ he said quietly.
Hesitantly, I sat down in front of him. I didn’t know what this meeting was about but I could tell from his tone that it wasn’t something good. A customer complaint perhaps? If that was the case, then I had a couple of hunches about where they might have hailed from. It hadn’t been a good week at the call centre.
There were certain times of year when being issued with a parking ticket seemed to grate with the public more than others. November was one of them. In the lead up to Christmas, people started counting the pennies, trying to save up for presents and the last thing they needed was a fifty quid parking ticket. That week alone, I had had a total of five customers hang up on me because that didn’t like the answers I was giving them. Couldn’t I just cancel the ticket over the phone? Couldn’t I offer them a reduced fee? I’d heard it all before.
‘Right,’ William continued, ‘I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called this meeting today?’
‘Yes, I am.’
He paused, flicked through a couple of pages of my personnel file, and then locked eyes with me. His face was grim, mirthless. In his youth, William must have been quite dashing, but now that he was crowding fifty, he had the sodden expression and wide girth of man who had seen too many late nights and drunk too many bottles of whisky.
‘Before I get to the crux of it, I’d like to start by asking about your well-being. How is your health these days?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘It’s just that you’ve had an awful lot of sick leave recently, and I wondered if perhaps this was an on-going problem. You used to have an impeccable attendance record, Maddy. But recently, that’s all gone down the drain. Is there something going on outside of work?’
I stared at him blankly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve seemed so distracted lately. You’re not as punctual as you used to be, and your stats have dropped drastically. This isn’t the Maddy I know.’
I shrugged. ‘Everything’s fine, William.’
He looked at me shrewdly. Then he took a report out of my personnel file and slid it across the desk to me. ‘Does that customer’s name ring a bell?’
I glanced briefly at the name and shook my head. ‘No. I don’t recall speaking to Abigail White.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Positive.’
William let out an exasperated sigh and walked over to his office window. He opened the blinds to let some light into the dingy room. ‘Well Maddy, I can tell you that you did speak to Miss White. We’ve got a tape recording of the conversation you had with her two weeks ago.’
‘Right. Okay, let’s say I did. What’s the problem?’
He turned and looked at me, an expression of disappointment on his craggy features. ‘You went against the procedure and cancelled Miss White’s parking ticket without her submitting a formal appeal. You know you’re not supposed to do that, Maddy.’
I bit down on my lip. Oh shit. Now I remembered who he was talking about. Miss White – the single mother of three from Tottenham who was having trouble making ends meet. We’d issued her with a parking ticket while she’d gone into a chemist to get cough mixture for her sick child. She’d been on the phone to me for over an hour crying about the amount of debt she was in and how she couldn’t possibly afford to pay the fifty-pound fine. Normally, this kind of a ploy didn’t wash, but for some reason, something about Miss White’s plight had struck a cord with me. Perhaps it was the shared grief of having to live with a mountain of debt that I sympathised with. Or perhaps it was her complaints of loneliness, being stuck at home with no man and three children. Who knows? Either way, she had persuaded me to do something very foolish. She had persuaded me to write off her parking ticket without her submitting the necessary legal documents – something that was unheard of in the call centre.
‘Oh gosh, I’m sorry William. I really am. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.’
He rubbed his temples and sat back down at his desk. ‘Maddy, Maddy, what am I going to do with you? You know what you did was a sackable offence?’
I nodded solemnly. ‘Yes I know. I messed up big time. What are you going to do?’
William hesitated, studied my file for a couple of minutes. ‘I haven’t decided yet. I want to hear your side of the story. Why did you do it?’
‘I felt sorry for her. I mean, I know that’s hardly a defence but . . . she just sounded so vulnerable. She had kids and no money.’
‘Of course she had money!’ William snapped. ‘How do you think she can afford to run a car? Let me tell you Maddy, I work my arse off forty hours a week and I can’t afford to drive. The road tax alone is a killer. Then there’s MOT, insurance . . . I’m sorry, but anyone who can afford the luxury of a car cannot claim to be too poor to pay for a fifty pound parking fine. Really, I’m surprised you fell for it, Maddy. I thought you were smarter than that.’
There was a long silence. I looked out the window.
‘So what’s going to happen? Are you dismissing me?’
William eyed me carefully. ‘As I said, what you did was a sackable offence.’ He paused. ‘But, taking into account your previous good character and the fact that I believe it was a one-off moment of madness, I’m willing to let you off this time with just a warning. Obviously, this meeting will be recorded in your personnel file, but I see no reason to take it any further as long as you promise it won’t happen again.’
I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, thank you! It won’t happen again.’
He looked at me curiously. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Maddy? You’ve seemed so downcast lately. You haven’t had a bereavement or something?’
For a second, I toyed with the idea of telling him about Bret Vincent, but somehow the words never came. ‘No, of course not. Seriously, I’m fine, William. Don’t worry about me.’
‘I know you applied for the management position. I hope this hasn’t put you off applying for other opportunities elsewhere in the council. I’ve always seen a lot of potential in you, Maddy. I’d hate to see you throw it away over some mid-life crisis.’
Mid-life crisis? Cheeky sod! What next? Cosy chats about hot flushes and HRT?
Just then, the door opened and Caroline poked her tousled head in.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Sorry to bother you William, but I’ve got a Mr Gomez on the phone again. He says you were supposed to call him back this morning.’
‘Well, I can’t talk now. I’m in a meeting.’
‘But William, he’s going crazy! He says they don’t have parking tickets where he comes from.’
‘Ask him if they have running water where he comes from.’
Caroline stared at him.
‘Just tell him I’ll call him back, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘What’s so funny, Maddy?’ William asked when she’d gone.
‘Nothing, nothing.’ I had to hold my breath to keep myself from giggling.
‘Well, okay, you can go now.’
‘Than
k you, William. And thanks for giving me another chance. I really appreciate it.’
I got up, closed the door behind me. When I was alone in the corridor I exploded with laughter.
* * *
At two o’clock the whole office was called into an emergency meeting with Angela Towner. We knew it was coming, but nobody had expected it to happen quite so soon.
Everyone filed in grim-faced to Meeting Room One with the knowledge of possible job losses hanging over us. The room wasn’t large enough the accommodate all forty of us so most people had to stand. I managed to find a space near the back sandwiched between Margery and Caroline.
‘What do you think this is about?’ someone muttered.
‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re in for the chop.’
‘I knew this would happen.’
‘I can’t believe this.’
Angela Towner smiled fixedly at everyone. There was a hint of Shere Khan behind those little beady eyes of hers.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you more notice about this meeting,’ she began, ‘but things have happened so quickly, I didn’t have much time to prepare. I will try to keep this as brief as possible. Right. I know there have been rumours circulating for some time about the direction that this service is going in. As you are all aware, the government unveiled its new manifesto in April and the current financial climate dictates that budget cuts to the public sector will be unavoidable.’
‘Oh come on, come on, get to the bloody point,’ Margery muttered.
Somebody sniggered.
Angela paused, cleared her throat. ‘When looking at which services to cut, we have to ask ourselves, “’Are we giving the public value for money? Are there areas for improvement? Are there areas where we could be more frugal in our spending while still providing an excellent service to our residents?”’
My hands tightened. I gritted my teeth. God, the woman could talk. For someone who had said she was going to be brief, Angela sure was giving Tolstoy a run for his money in the War and Peace stakes.