‘What do you think? It’s only in beta at the moment, but give me a few hours and we will have the psychic world at our feet.’
What do I think? Bloody amazing! That’s what I think. In the matter of fifteen cyber minutes, Matt has managed to create a website. International Psychic Mystic Crystal Ball – as seen on TV. Here to answer all your questions and to guide you to inner peace and happiness. It must be the time of the month or something because my eyes start to well up with tears. Against a cobalt blue background, with silver stars flashing intermittingly around it, the white text looks amazing. Matt has managed to place a beautiful crystal ball slap bang in the centre of the screen, upon which reads ‘enter’. I can’t believe what he has done in a matter of minutes.
‘Matt, that’s brilliant…but…’ I hesitate as he looks expectedly at me. ‘I’m not an international psychic.’
‘Not yet, you’re not, but you just wait and see.’ Matt says with a huge grin on his face. ‘You see this box down here?’ Matt points with his cursor. I nod. He clicks the mouse again and up pops another box with a list of hundreds of names and questions in it.
‘Who are all these people?’ I stare in amazement as the list goes on and on and … well you get the idea.
‘Contacts of mine, from all over the world. You’re not working tonight are you?’ Matt asks.
‘No, I took the night off to be with you.’ I mutter as I try to read all the names that are going way too fast for my poor little eyes to take in.
‘Good, because you’re going to be busy answering one question from every one of these contacts. In return they are all going to give you credibility for your website, which in turn will give you more credibility as a renowned psychic,’ Matt says, ‘did you know psychic sites are the second most popular sites searched worldwide? And did you also know that there are four times as many psychics in France as there are Catholic priests?’
‘Blimey. What are the most popular searched sites then? And how the hell am I going to answer a question from all these people? There must be thousands of them! And how do you know all these people anyway?’ My eyes are going funny as I try to read the questions that keep on flying off the page.
‘Porn.’ Matt says.
‘What?’
‘Porn. It’s the most popular searched for subject on the Internet. So if you want to get rich quick, you need to have a porn site. Otherwise become a psychic.’ Matt laughs.
Might have known.
‘And, if you want to gain a reputation and prove to the world that you’re not just some charlatan trying to make a fast buck, you are going to have to put a bit of time into this, Sis.’ Matt adds. Time? Time? What is this thing he talks about? I don’t have much free time on my hands as it is. If I’m not answering people’s questions at some unGodly hour in the morning, I’m answering them on live radio. I don’t get enough sleep as it is!
‘Once you’re on the TV people will automatically Google you to see what other people think of you.’ Matt adds as he types.
‘Ah, well, I haven’t decided whether I want to be on TV or not.’ I say, and I haven’t. I mean this was never in my grand life plan. Not in a million years did I think my career would involve talking to dead people. My original dreams were along the lines of listening to folk who actually had a pulse, lying on a couch telling me why they would run a mile if they saw a broccoli floret, not listening to dead people and passing on messages, which quite frankly, the living don’t bloody well adhere to anyway!
‘What? Are you barking mad?’ Matt looks at me as if I surely must be. ‘Don’t you see what an opportunity this is for you, Sam? They are asking you to appear on national TV and you haven’t decided whether you want to be on there or not?’ Matt shakes his head – evidently I must be mad.
‘Yes, but….’ I stutter. It’s OK for Matt; he’s taken risks ever since he could type with two fingers. The problem with Matt is, he sees an opening for an opportunity and there’s no stopping him. I say it’s a problem; it’s not a problem for Matt. It’s a problem for me. I’m more of a ‘hmmm, let me sleep on it’ kind of a girl and find people who take the bull by the wotsits without thinking things through very worrying. I mean, what if it all goes wrong? What if this Anya doesn’t think I’m suitable for TV? What if I’m too ugly to be on the telly and am better suited to being the unseen voice of radio?
‘But what?’ Matt says challengingly. ‘What’s the worse that can happen, Sam? You’ve been given this great opportunity by basically blagging your way through it and you’re thinking about turning it down?’
Put like that I do sound a bit pathetic, don’t I?
‘You have to do this, Sam. I mean think of the big picture here!’ Matt adds. That look of excitement on his face reminds me of when he was just 14 and realised the potential of creating affordable websites for small businesses. I remember clearly the day he suddenly decided he was going to take the small business world by storm. He was sitting with his head bent over his Amstrad computer when he suddenly looked up and shouted, ‘I’ve got it!’ Me and Paul looked up from Top of The Pops, looked at each other and shrugged. Little did we know that what he had ‘got’ was going to turn into his first business, which now employs fifteen staff to keep up with the new business which comes in daily.
‘I know, but…’ I can’t think of another valid reason as to why I shouldn’t pick up the phone right now and ring Anya and yet this is way outside of my comfort zone. I mean, I was quite happy taking calls from people like Valerie at three o’clock in the morning. I’ve already registered myself as self-employed with the Inland Revenue and I was quite happy to listen to people to my heart’s content until at such a time a high-profile celebrity confessed that they were terrified of veg and the subject of lachanophobia would be thrown into the spotlight and I could become the world’s leading authority at curing lachanophobics.
‘No more buts. Now get me another sandwich while I get on with this website of yours.’ Matt instructs. Blimey, anyone would think he was the older one here!
‘How’s Jack by the way?’ Matt asks as he types and clicks at the same time. Why does everyone in my family always want to know how Jack is?
‘Fine, I think.’ I say, trying to sound as if I don’t care less.
‘I thought you and him usually got together on a weekend?’
Yeah, me too.
‘He’s got a girlfriend – a nurse.’ I say, as if somehow the fact that her chosen career has any relevance on the matter.
‘A nurse, eh?’ Matt smirks.
Great. What is it with men and nurses?
‘So, you’re peeved because he’s made other arrangements for his weekends now.’ Matt says.
‘No!’ I say a little too defensively. ‘What Jack gets up to is his business. In fact I have a new boyfriend myself.’ I add for effect.
‘What, an actual boyfriend?’ Matt looks at me in surprise.
‘Why does everyone do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘That! Look so surprised when I announce that I have a boyfriend. I’m not an ugly, wrinkled old prune you know!’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I’m just surprised that’s all,’ Matt says a little sheepishly.
‘Well, maybe, just maybe, for once I want to keep my business my business,’ I add all huffily.
‘Right. What’s his name then?’ Matt asks.
‘Whose?’
‘The new boyfriend,’ Matt gives me that look – you know the one when someone doesn’t believe a word that is coming out of your mouth.
‘Oh… um…it’s Liam.’
‘Liam, hey? And you met this Liam where?’
‘I told you, he’s the sound tech at the radio station. It was Liam who put me in touch with the TV producer, remember? And if you must know, we just had a fabulous time at the cinema.’ I add, just a little bit smugly.
‘Cool.’ Matt says. ‘He’s not married then?’
‘Oh hardy ha, ha! No, he’s not married.’ Well
I don’t think he is.
By the following morning Matt has a) managed to convince me that appearing on national TV is a jolly good idea and b) has created the most amazing website known to man – or woman, seeing as we have to be so politically correct these days.
On my all singing and all dancing website is a forum where members can get together and chat about the meaning of life; a free three card computer generated reading; lots of twinkling stars and even an exclusive members’ only bit, where for the subscription fee of £25 a year, a member can have a free in-depth reading and access to the forum, where they can chat with other like-minded members about, well about whatever they want to really. Where Matt thinks I will get the time to keep this thing going I do not know.
I phone Anya and leave a message on her mobile. Within minutes she has called me back and arranged a meeting for me in London for Monday morning. Matt is going to cat-sit for me while I take the coach up there on Sunday, after my afternoon slot on the radio.
The Sixth Sense show goes relatively well, despite Jeff having a fit of the giggles when an elderly woman phones in and asks me to contact her dead pussy – her words not mine, I hasten to add – to the point where he has to put another track on before he can compose himself again to introduce the next caller. Unfortunately the next track just happens to be the Pussycat Dolls with Don’t Cha, which sets him off again. Oh dear.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Thankfully I didn’t hear any meowing in my head – otherwise I would be worried. Instead, I reassure the lovely old dear that her cat is fine and playing happily with all the other cats in feline heaven. The show is more popular than I first thought and I didn’t realise that it is broadcast to all the other local radio stations within the South West, so the phones are ringing like mad with people trying to get through.
My next call is one that, if I’m honest, I would rather not have taken, but as Liam only has a vague idea of who the next caller is going to be and what they are going to ask, there is nothing to stop a caller changing his or her mind once they have been put through to me.
‘OK, and our next caller is from Tanya. Are you there Tanya?’ Jeff asks into the microphone.
‘Yeah, I am.’ The female voice answers. No sooner do I hear her voice, I get a stabbing feeling in the top of my back, followed by a numb sensation in my left arm.
‘OK, Tanya and you want to know if Mystic Crystal can contact a dear friend of yours, is that right?’ Jeff says with all the professionalism of a radio presenter.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Tanya says.
‘Okay, over to you Crystal.’
The pain in my left shoulder is more intense as I listen to the caller, to the point where I’m in agony and wince with pain.
Liam looks concerned and mouths ‘are you all right?’ I nod and try to concentrate on what Tanya is saying.
‘Baz was me best mate,’ Tanya says, ‘we always did everything together. I just wanna know he’s OK.’ She adds.
‘Yeah, no thanks to her, stupid bitch!’
A man’s voice comes into my head, along with another sharp pain in my shoulder. Who are you? Are you Baz? I mentally ask.
‘Yeah, and that bitch killed me.’
The man’s voice says. My mouth drops open. Oh my God! Ouch!
‘Crystal?’ Jeff asks.
‘What? Oh yes, sorry…um…right. Um…Tanya, do you happen to know how your friend Baz died?’ I ask.
‘No. Why would I know that? I mean I wasn’t with him or nothing like that.’ The young woman answers.
‘No, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that. I just wondered if you knew how he died because I keep getting a stabbing pain in my back. Was your friend Baz stabbed, do you know?’ I ask. I’m not enjoying this call one bit and I could well do without the empathic pain too right now, thanks very much, Baz.
‘Yeah, well I don’t know… I think so. I hadn’t seen him for a while and someone at the centre said they thought he got stabbed. ’ The woman mutters. ‘I just wanna know he’s, you know, OK.’
‘Oh, she knows all right. It was her who stabbed me in the back – literally. She’s a druggy you see. I couldn’t get her any gear, we got into a fight and she stabbed me.’
Holy cow! I do not like this at all. What do I do now? I’ve just been told that the woman who is on the phone is a murderer. This is all very Most Haunted, isn’t it?
‘Um… Tanya, I do have Baz here and he’s very worried about you.’ I venture.
‘Like fuck am I. She’s gonna end up dead like me anyway if she carries on like she is doing.’
‘He wants you to get help. He says you will know what he means.’ I say.
‘Tell her you know she’s a murderer. Tell her you know she knifed me up.’
I can’t say that. Oh help. I really don’t want to be taking this call.
‘Well, I’m fine, I am getting help, but tell him…tell him… I did love him.’ Tanya says quietly.
‘Ha, now she tells me!’ Baz laughs. ‘Why couldn’t she have told me that before? I would have married the silly cow and we could have got off the drugs together. Silly cow. I know she didn’t mean it.’ Baz says light-heartedly.
‘Baz is saying he wished you had told him before. He says he would have married you and you could have both got…better together.’ I add. This is all very rock and roll. I’ve got a woman on the phone who stabbed her boyfriend over some drugs and the boyfriend in my ear is forgiving her. I wonder how Miracle would handle this if she had such a call. I mean do I call the police and say they should arrest this woman? But then who am I to sit in judgement? I’m just the messenger surely?
Slowly the pain in my back eases as I feel as though Baz is smiling.
‘Well…um…you know…thanks…for, you know getting hold of him for me.’ Tanya mutters quietly.
Oh no problem. Any time. That’s what I’m here for – to contact people you’ve murdered. I want to say. It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable I feel about all this, at the end of the day I guess I’m just the one who passes these bizarre messages on to folk. Oh why, oh why did I take this job on in the first place?
Once I’ve managed to get Tanya off the line and Baz out of my head, I tell Jeff to wind the calls up. Tanya’s call has taken the sails out of me and I don’t think I want to take anymore today.
‘Can you just take one more?’ Jeff asks, ‘Liam says the next caller, Annie, is distraught and desperate to talk to you.’
Liam looks pleadingly through the smoked glass window.
‘Oh go on then. Just this one and that is it for today.’
Liam smiles and winks at me.
‘Hello, I’m Mystic Crystal, how may I help you, Annie?’ I ask as soon as Liam connects the call through.
‘Oh hello…I…um…’ A woman says quietly.
‘That’s my mummy.’ A little girl’s voice comes into my head. ‘She’s really sad. It was my birthday today.’ The little girl says.
What’s your name, I ask to myself.
‘I’m Emma. I was eight when I went to heaven.’ My little spirit girl says confidently.
‘Um… Annie, I think I have your daughter, Emma with me.’ I add, praying that she does indeed have a daughter called Emma.
‘Oh my God!’ Is all Annie stutters.
‘She’s telling me she was eight years old when she passed over, is this right?’
‘Yes, yes she was.’ Annie says quickly. ‘Is she OK?’
A little chuckle of laughter rings through my head.
‘Tell Mummy I’m fine here. It’s a bit strange not being able to be there with her anymore, but Granma Dee looks after me here, and I have made lots of friends my own age here. They’re all dead too.’ Emma says with another giggle.
I pass on the message to Annie from her daughter. Tears sting my eyes as I listen to the most angelic voice in my head.
‘Oh, and can you tell my mummy that there is nothing wrong with baby Freddie. He’s just looking at me, that’s all.’ Emma
says matter-of-factly.
As I relay Emma’s words, her mother Annie gasps.
‘We thought he might have some problems hearing us. I miss my little girl so much.’ Annie sniffs.
‘I miss you too, Mummy, but don’t worry, I am always around you and will wait for you until we are together again. It wasn’t the man’s fault. I shouldn’t have run out into the road after the ball. I do know my Road Safety, I just forgot.’ Emma says. For an eight year old she sure is a bright kid.
Trying to stop myself from bursting into tears, I look ahead of me to see both Liam and Jeff welling up.
‘Oh, and can you tell my mummy to let Freddie have all my toys, and tell her to give my Polly Pockets to Victoria – she was my best friend and she’s been sad too because she doesn’t have as many Polly Pocket’s as me.’ Emma adds.
I pass on the final message to Annie who chuckles.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Crystal.’ Emma’s mum says between tears.
‘Anytime.’ I say before I switch my mic off and burst into tears.
When I finish my stint I’m pleased to find Colin the Carrot Man in the canteen having a glass of tomato juice and a slice of organic flap-jack. I sit opposite him with my latte and smile. Colin doesn’t return the smile and just looks down at his cake.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
Colin, who ironically looks a bit like the comedian Jasper Carrot, replies with a shrug. Colin is small in frame and is of that generation when men always wear a shirt and tie regardless of whether they are pottering about in the garden or telling people how to grow mammoth carrots. Like my dad, Colin probably doesn’t own a t-shirt, let alone one with a humorous slogan on it.
‘Anything I can help you with?’– I know, but I just can’t help myself sometimes.
‘I doubt it,’ he mumbles.
Oh Great, Now I Can Hear Dead People: What Would You Do if You Could Suddenly Hear Real Dead People? Page 11