Suddenly Psychic

by Melanie Baxter

  "Hello, ith thith Mith Thomath?” a soft male voice lisped.

  "Amber Thomas you mean?” I demanded, not in the mood for games.

  "Yeth, Mith Thomath, good. I'm just phoning from the Ideal Garden Magazine to inform you that you've won a garden makeover,” the male voice crooned.

  "Look, I live three floors up and I the only plant I own is a cactus on my kitchen windowsill. I think you've got the wrong number.” I pressed ‘end call', shaking my head a little and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  Two minutes later the land line rang again, this time a silky female voice sang dulcet tones at me. “Hello, is this Miss A Thomas of 23 Belle Vue Terrace?"

  "Yes?” My eyes narrowed as I tried to recognize the unfamiliar voice.

  "I'm phoning from the Cat Protection League, and I was wondering if you might be interested in joining our pussy galore club?"

  "Is this some kind of joke?” I snorted in disbelief.

  "Not at all, Miss Thomas, we've been informed that you are a very avid cat woman and might be interested in helping us to claw in some money."

  "Informed by who, how did you get my number?” But the phone had gone dead.

  I scratched my head. Either there were some very strange call centers springing up in London or I was being targeted for prank calls. I dialed the call back number to see if I could get the number that had rung.

  "You were called today at ten o three, the caller withheld their number,” the automated voice taunted.

  Damn. Still, not much else I could do so I finished my cup of tea before getting ready to head off for the body language lecture.

  As I slipped on my new ankle boots, I realized I was quite looking forward to the talk. It was all about psychology and helping people in distress. If I could add that to my armory of psychic skills, I'd be ready to do personal readings and I wouldn't have to keep the psychic line any more. Oh, don't get me wrong, I also thought it would be good for the clients too. If I could make them feel better, not only would they keep coming back for more, but I wouldn't feel so bad about deceiving them of my psychic ability, especially when the calls were from grief stricken people like Evie's owner.

  I put on a bit of pearly lipstick and ran a brush through my dark auburn hair, which was getting quite thick and hung past my shoulders. My Harvey said he loved it long, but I reckoned it needed a chop. As I tied it back with a stretchy green velvet band, I toyed with the idea of having it cut while he was away in Edinburgh. I felt another pang of craving for him. This pining would have to stop.

  An hour and a half later, I was perched on a plastic chair, one of the first in the queue at the library to pay my ten pounds to learn from ‘Mr. Body Language’ himself. I'd got a good seat at the front as the hall filled up. There was a smelly old man sitting next to me in stained tracksuit pants, laceless trainers, and a faded fleece jacket. I looked at him sideways and wished it was Harvey sitting next to me instead. We could have snuggled up and listened to Mr. Body Language together, but now he was on a plane to Edinburgh and I had a tramp for company.

  "Sneaked in through the exit, luv. I'm only ‘ere for the coffee and biscuits after.” His bloodshot eyes crinkled as he nudged me and gave a raucous chuckle.

  The rancid whiskey on his breath, missing teeth, and the white hair sprouting from each ear stirred a flicker of sympathy in me. Being in love was making me soft.

  "Mint?” I offered him one from my packet of extra-strongs.

  "Oh, no, luv, never touch ‘em, they can make you sterile they can."

  The murmur of voices in the hall dropped as a small, mousy lady with glasses walked up the aisle. She was followed by a stocky, middle-aged man wearing a beige trousers and a navy blazer buttoned tight over the swell of a small pot belly. He smiled over his half moon glasses and nodded to strangers in the audience on each side of the aisle.

  "Ladies and gentlemen,” chirped the librarian, drawing herself up to peep above the lectern at the front of the hall. “Today we are delighted to welcome Professor Rochdale who will explain some basics about how our bodies do the talking."

  I glanced at Professor Rochdale. He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and surveyed the audience with a smile.

  "Mr. Body Language, revered for his book Noise Of The Limbs, has traveled the world holding conferences on the science of nonverbal communication..."

  I sat back in my chair as she read out a long list of accolades from a paper in her trembling hand and then thought better of it. I didn't want Professor Rochdale to catch me slumping in the front—he might use me as an example in his lecture. I uncrossed my legs too, not wanting to look defensive either. I rolled my shoulders a couple of times to release the tension, uncricked my neck, and leaned forward in my chair.

  "You got ‘em too, luv?” The old bloke next to me hissed.

  "What?"

  "Lice. Make you all fidgety, don't they."

  The flicker of sympathy I'd felt for the one man ecosystem next to me winked out. I tried not to think of the possibility of infestation as I squirmed to the right of my chair and clapped with the rest of the crowd to welcome Professor Rochdale. He dismissed the librarian with a firm handshake and a confident wink.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Ten

  Out of Body

  "And the most wonderful gift we can give another person is...” Professor Rochdale peeped over his half-moon glasses with a smile, “our understanding."

  "That's true that is,” sniffed the old bloke next to me, wiping his nose on an old rag.

  Plastic chairs screeched on the floor as the audience rose to give the grey-haired professor a standing ovation. I joined, not just because I respected his knowledge, but it was also an opportunity to shift my numb behind from the hard surface. There was a wet patch on the old bloke's chair next to me, and I tried to breath through my mouth to avoid smelling it.

  Eventually the clapping stopped and I sat back down, rubbing my temples in an attempt to shake the headache that had settled in a tight band across my forehead. My mind was abuzz with the new tips I had learnt that morning and I couldn't wait to try them out. The ‘Imago dialogue’ where you mirrored everything back to the person who was upset sounded quite intriguing. I'd picked up so many secret body language codes, I could easily have a philosophical conversation with my big toe. Come to think of it, my big toe may be able to explain why my feet had grown and even have some useful pointers on keeping my feet on the ground, something Mum always said I should do.

  The memory of Harvey biting my big toe jabbed at my consciousness, and I sighed as I allowed my daydream to linger on his muscular physic. Yes, the lecture had definitely been worth it. I had a lot of new tricks to impress Harvey with. But as my neighbor sat down heavily and reached inside his moth-eaten trench coat for a swig of something in a brown bag, I wondered what price I'd paid. I was starting to feel distinctly itchy.

  "Now for the best bit.” The old bloke nudged me. “I ‘ope they've got ‘ob knobs. Them's me fave."

  "Hob-Knobs are your favorite biscuit and you've been looking forward to them all morning?” I asked, practicing my Imago dialogue and sincere smile.

  He squinted at me with a slightly puzzled expression. “S'wot I said, yeah, so if you'll scuse me, I'm off to ‘ob-nob with the canteen staff now.” He tapped his bulbous nose with a snort and heaved himself up, dropping his sopping hanky on the ground.

  I scratched my head and gave an involuntary shiver as I watched him go.

  "By the way,” he muttered, retrieving the grey square and waving it at me, “Tea tree's the best."

  "Tea tree?” I frowned at him, trying to ignore the glances of the two ladies in the row behind.

  "For lice, course,” he boomed.

  "Of course.” I scratched my head again before I could stop myself.

  The ladies behind were now staring at me with distaste.

  "No, it's not me, I don't have ... I'm not infested...” I began to explain, scra
tching my head again as their sour expressions became set in judgment.

  Before I had a chance to plead my case further, my psychic phone rang. I shrugged and quickly made my way to a quiet corner of the library.

  Before I'd even had a chance to say more than “hello", a clipped voice said, “How did you know she drowned? Did she tell you from the spirit world? Can dogs talk in the spirit world?"

  I recognized the voice of Evie's ‘mother’ and a tidal wave of dizziness washed over me. I held my hand against the wall for support. A horrible metallic taste filled my mouth and the edges of my vision darkened as the mobile dropped out of my hand in slow motion and hit the polished floorboards. A loud fizzing sound was the last thing I heard in my ears before everything went black.

  I was hovering above my body. I could see myself lying on the ground with my hair fanned out on the floor and my pale face turned to one side. I studied myself with fascination, it is the weirdest thing seeing yourself with your eyes closed. My hair looked so long, I wondered again whether Harvey would like it short and wished he was there to scoop me up in his arms.

  Just as I was imagining Harvey's soft generous lips pressing mine in a kiss of life, I heard a yell from somewhere in the room. I looked towards the long coffee table at the side of the hall and panicked. The old tramp I'd been sitting next to had set down his steaming mug and was hurrying towards me. I felt helpless as he crouched by my body and put his filthy hand on my forehead.

  "Good job I knows the kiss of life, eh, Missy?” He propped up my limp body.

  An older couple had also spotted me and were coming over from the coffee table, but they wouldn't be in time.

  No! I screamed silently as the back of the old mans matted head lean closer to my face and his other hand cupped the back of my head. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to move my arms and legs. There was a rushing sensation and I felt a huge jolt like an electric shock.

  "Agggh! Get off!” I screamed, reflexively covering my mouth with my hands and rolling over into a fetal position.

  I opened my eyes but there was no one there. I blinked around as heads turned in my direction from the long coffee table, and the old bloke I'd been sat next to hurried over.

  "You alright, Missy?” He said as he retrieved my phone from the floor.

  I took the phone which was now switched off. The call must have been cut off when it hit the floor.

  I shook my head a little and my vision cleared. I struggled up to standing, my legs were a little shaky, but they'd hold. I looked at his grimy face and, for the first time, noticed his bloodshot eyes held a spark of lust as he ran a tongue over his chapped lips and his eyes dipped down to my chest.

  "Yes fine, just ... slipped.” I shuffled back against the wall.

  "Shame, I did a St. John Ambulance course last week, and learnt the kiss of life, you know. Mind, the biscuits were a bit stale.” He moved a step closer and put his hand on the wall behind me.

  "Really? Well, I'm sure it'll come in handy one of these days, but not today.” I ducked under his arm as an older couple approached.

  "You alright, dear?” A lady with a purple rinse and a waft of lavender patted my arm.

  "Is this gentleman bothering you?” Her tweed clad partner pointed his umbrella at the old bloke.

  "Oh, no, I just had a dizzy spell but I'm fine now, thanks.” I straightened my skirt and headed for the exit, leaning against the library door for a minute to clear my head, once outside.

  This was very strange, I'd never fainted in my life before. How weird that I'd felt like I was outside my body, it must have been some kind of dream. I must be coming down with something. I had a splitting headache and my throat did feel a bit sore. It had been pretty hot and stuffy in the library too. No wonder I'd fainted. As I buttoned up my coat against the gusting winds and hurried along the gum spattered pavement to the bus shelter, I looked at my phone and pressed ‘list call'. There was a number that must have been Evies's owner.

  For a few minutes before the bus pulled up, I wondered whether I should return the call. Professor Rochdale's words resounded in my head. ‘Grief is an emotion that must never be ignored.'

  Hell, I'll call her when I get home I decided. But first I better stop at The Rowan Tree and see if they have any tea tree oil. I'd read somewhere that it was good for colds too, and last thing I wanted was for my Harvey to come back and find he was not only dating me but my queen louse and her eggs in waiting.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eleven

  Potent Stuff

  "Oh hello, dearie. I was just thinking of you.” Trish beamed at me as I stepped into the musky warmth of The Rowan Tree.

  "Really? Must have been telepathy.” I smiled back, pleased to see her friendly, freckled face.

  "Yes, your powers must be increas—Ow!” Trish glared at a hefty brass model of a unicorn rearing in a pool of water on her left. “It's meant to bring good luck but I keep catching my arm on its horn. Typical stallion.

  "Oh are you alright, dear? You look very pale.” Trish studied me with concern as I stepped into the light.

  "To be honest, I feel a bit off color,” I admitted. “I was just at a lecture and I had this dizzy spell and fainted."

  Trish's eyes widened. “Perhaps you ought to sit down, dear. Do you want to have a go in the shiatsu chair?"

  I shrugged off her concern. “No, thanks, I'm fine now, no, honestly. It was a weird though, when I fainted, I felt like I was looking down on myself, outside my body."

  Trish clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh you lucky thing, I've always been desperate for an OBE—you know, Out of Body Experience. Shame only psychics get them. Did you have any visions whilst you were out?"

  I tried to digest what she was saying. Perhaps some of this psychic stuff was actually starting to rub off on me.

  "Only the old tramp I was sat next to trying to give me the kiss of life.’ I cringed, then chewed on my lip. “Actually, that did almost come true. If I hadn't woken up..."

  "Clearly a warning, thank God you saw it coming with your third eye."

  The reference to a ‘third eye’ made me cough. I laughed silently to myself. What was I thinking, that I was actually starting to become psychic?

  "Quite. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any tea tree oil and alternative cold remedies in your essential oils section? I think I'm coming down with something."

  "Oh we've got gallons of tea tree, it's a marvelous antiseptic, but you should try some homeopathy too if I were you. What are your symptoms?"

  "Sore throat and splitting headache."

  "No wonder you look so run down. Now follow me, and I'll get you fixed up in a jiffy."

  I smiled gratefully as she eased her way from behind the counter, and I followed her down the second aisle to the alternative health section of the shop. Trish's plump frame obviously housed plenty of maternal bones, unlike my own mother.

  The rows of colored glass bottles offered a myriad of cures ranging from bunions to bulimia crammed into the bookcases. Trish ran her pencil along them. “Hallucinations, hives ... hypochondria. No I've gone too far, ah yes here we are ... headaches.” Trish plucked out the small brown bottle and held it up to the light. “Two drops on the tongue every four hours as required."

  "What's in it?” I asked taking the glass container from her and shaking the fluid inside.

  "Well, scientifically, nothing really.” Trish tapped the pencil on her lip. “Homoeopathists claim that water has a memory, you see. It remembers the molecules of the element that they mix it with. The more diluted, the more potent it becomes."

  "Sounds like a bit of a paradox. Does the water remember the sewer work it was recycled in too or would it have to be regressed for that?” I tried to keep my expression straight so as not to offend Trish.

  She frowned momentarily but then shrugged. “Hadn't really thought about that, but basically homeopathy's all about ‘like’ curing ‘like'."

 
"Huh?"

  "Oh, don't look like that. It's simple. If you suffer from hay fever, then onion, which produces the same symptoms as hay fever, is used in making a preparation to cure it, stimulating your body to fight against the symptoms."

  "It says Num Mar on this bottle?"

  "Yes that's Latin. The real names sometimes aren't very palatable for consumers. One of the preparations I gave to a young man with an upset tummy the other day was made using a scraping of ‘merda'—in other words ‘animal excrement'."

  "Ewww."

  Trish grinned. “Not a lot of people realize some of the trace elements can be traced back to some pretty undesirable substances: spider venom, crushed up insects, bacteria, as well as lots of things you'd find in your kitchen."

  "Not my kitchen, I hope. So what will I be putting on my tongue? Exactly what is Num Mar?"

  "Oh, don't worry, Num Mar is just another name for sea salt."

  "Salt water?” I shook my head in disbelief. These homoeopathists must be laughing all the way to the bank whilst their clients glugged down their carefully prepared water mixed with a dose of bull shit and other ridiculous remedies. However, I was willing to try anything to stop the throbbing pain behind my eyes and so put two tasteless drops underneath my tongue and hoped for the best.

  "Here's your tea tree too, dear.” Trish grabbed a big bottle with 20% free label on it from the essential oil section. “It's on special. You can massage a few drops of this on your temples if the Num Mar doesn't do it. You can also gargle with a dilution of tea tree for your sore throat and burn it to kill germs in the atmosphere."

  "Sounds like a miracle potion. I heard it's good for head lice too.” I took the bottle and unscrewed the cap and sniffed. The sharp, medicinal waft certainly smelt pretty hygienic.

  "It can be used for almost anything. Irene used it on her hemorrhoids last week and apparently they're quite cleared up.” I tried not to wince at the thought as Trish explained. “She was at her wits end, you know, they were affecting her,” Trish lowered her voice, ‘Tantric delight'."

  We both giggled and Trish led me back through the angel section to the front of the shop, brushing the hanging chimes which tinkled merrily as she went.