"It's my professional name," explains Lizzy. "I do it for money."
"Really? Gosh!" Bella gazes at her with undisguised admiration. In addition to her wonderful green hair, which is interwoven with dozens of green wooden beads, she has on green eye shadow, darker green eyeliner and shiny green lipstick. A delicate tattoo of a small green bird adorns one venous, milk-swollen breast and little green rings pierce her ears, nose, navel and eyebrows.
Lizzy settles herself at the small dining table, sliding along to make room for her guest. "Come and sit down. Don't worry about the mud; I've given up. Here, let me have all that baby stuff. They take the place over, don't they? Shove this lot behind you, will you dearheart? This is Rupert."
Rupert, who is stretched out watching the football on a very small television, grins amiably. "Ah, the famous Bella: divines banknotes, starts engines by force of will alone, mows down cats."
"It wasn't quite like that," says Bella, aware of how the myth is spreading. "As for the cat, the stupid thing hurled itself under my wheels, so I'm hardly to blame."
"Would you mind making the coffee, love?" says Lizzy, glancing down at the contentedly suckling baby, "only I don't want to disturb him." She raises her voice an octave or so. "Yes, I know; you're still hungry, aren't you, my little sausage-body? Is he having his pudding den? Yes he is!"
"Sorry, am I in your way?" says Bella, finding herself having to stand up again.
"If I can just get to the kettle," says Rupert. "Musical chairs in here I'm afraid. Not like Roz."
"Roz is bad enough. They've billeted me on Shangri-La because there's more room."
"Oh yuk! Not Sandy and Crystal!" cries Lizzy. "I hope you've got all your jabs."
"It is a bit gru'," agrees Bella, "but I only sleep there. I haven't actually been bitten by anything yet. It's rather embarrassing really because I've got Jason's bed. I don't know where he's sleeping."
"Depends what night it is, probably," chuckles Rupert." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "The word is, he sleeps with both of them. Doesn't bear thinking about, does it? One of them doesn't bear thinking about."
"But they're mother and daughter, aren't they?"
"Yup. And the thing is, they both know. Do they do it as a threesome, I wonder? Or does he have them alternately, on a rota? I was hoping you could tell me."
Lizzy laughs delightedly. "Honestly, Rupert! He doesn't care what he says, this one; you'd think he was some old woman the way he gossips. I can't, of course; I have to respect client confidentiality."
At this point she is distracted by the baby who has become unplugged and is flailing ineffectually about. "Hello, have you finished then, Piggy? I should think so too. Oh dear, we've got ourselves in a bit of a mess, haven't we? Rupert, pass me those tissues, will you?"
"What's his name?" says Bella.
Lizzy sits the baby on her knee while she blots at herself with a tissue. "His name is Oliver, isn't it Olly? Oliver Randolf Swift."
"Gosh, Randolf, that's very grand," says Bella.
"That's my old man," says Rupert. "Soften him up."
"He's a Name at Lloyds," says Lizzy apologetically. Reaching across the table she picks up a well thumbed pack of tarot cards, one of several, and begins skilfully to lay them out with her free hand. "You don't mind, do you? Only I've never done a psychic before. I won't charge you anything. It's on the house."
Bella shrugs. She doesn't need anyone to tell her fortune, more's the pity, but doesn't want to disappoint her exotic new friend. "If you like. How did you know I was psychic, anyway? Did Pat tell you?"
Lizzy smiles. "Everyone's talking about the dowsing, but I'd have known anyway. I knew as soon as I saw you." Bella looks sceptical, causing her to add, perhaps a little reproachfully: "Your aura is sort of violet, like your eyes."
"Yes it is!" agrees Bella, surprised. She almost never tells anyone about her aura, and violet is a very rare colour. "And yours is apple green," she adds. "Like your hair. I think I could even smell apples, if I thought about it."
"Really? That's interesting. I never thought of auras as having smells. Did you hear that, dear heart? I smell of apples. Nice fresh apples. He says I stink of milk."
"So you do," says Rupert, spooning out the coffee. "Talking of which?" He holds up a mug.
"Er, black please," says Bella. "Two sugars."
"Just as well. We seem to be nearly out of the cow's variety."
"Do you use these at all?" Asks Lizzy, straightening up the cards.
"No, I don't actually tell fortunes very often," admits Bella. "If I do, I use tea leaves. An old Romany woman taught me. They used to camp on our land."
"Gosh, how wonderful!" cries Lizzy. "I'd love to see that. Will you do me? I'll do you with the cards and you can do me with the tea leaves. That'll make it fair, won't it?"
"Only snag is, we don't drink tea," says Rupert, handing out the coffee and sitting down.
"We'll have to cadge some off Kiss," says Lizzy. "The ordinary stuff, I mean, not the other sort. It's so frustrating, not being able to do yourself. I've tried, but it just won't work. You get something different every time. Do you really not tell fortunes? I should think you'd be brilliant. People are so interesting, aren't they? This way you can be as nosey as you like and no-one minds. Me, I'd rather do my tarot than just about anything. I'm obsessed, aren't I, love? It's my job and my hobby. I suppose I'm lucky really."
She turns a few cards. "Hmm, Death. That's not a very good start, is it? And the Queen of Pentangles." Suddenly she claps a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, your mother! Oh goodness, I'm dreadfully sorry. This is probably the last thing you want to do."
Bella shakes her head. "No, no, it's all right, honestly. I'm coping quite well really. I went a bit wobbly when I was in town yesterday, but apart from that . . ." She smiles wryly. "As a matter of fact, you're the first person to mention her. The others haven't said anything at all since I told them. I expect they're embarrassed. People are, aren't they?"
"Pat would be," say Rupert. "She's horribly uptight. And she's a prude."
Observing him obliquely over the rim of her tarot mug – which bears an illustration of The Lovers – Bella decides Rupert is really rather pretty. Strongly built and jutting of jaw he nevertheless has a slightly feminine aura, suggesting a certain degree of empathy and intuition. She is, however, a little discomfitted by the way said aura is pressing so eagerly against her, moulding itself inquisitively to her shape. She wonders if Lizzy has noticed.
"Rupert says she's the last Victorian, don't you, dear?" says Lizzy. "Of course, I know why she's like that, poor thing, but I can't say because it's confidential."
"You don't mean you've done Pat, the great unbeliever?"
"Oh yes, Pat too. They all come to Lizzy eventually, don't they Olly Wolly?"
"It's the children I feel sorry for," says Rupert, "especially Bluebell. All that blue gingham! I've never seen her in anything else. And they haven't even got a telly. It's like they live in a time warp."
"I expect she got the material cheap," says Lizzy. "She's really hard up; she's only got her Giro." She gestures at the cards. "Are you really sure you don't mind doing this? I feel awful now."
"No, go on, I'd like you to. I'm afraid you may not be able to tell me anything new, though. I seem to know most of it already. I always have."
"Well that's a challenge," says Lizzy, gathering up the cards and re-laying them. "Now let's see. This is you now, okay? You're single and you've never been married, but you've had several lovers. Yes?"
"Yes," says Bella.
"You've travelled a bit and you work in . . . entertainment?"
"Sort of," agrees Bella noncommittally, mindful that Pat could well have told her all this. "Except I've just packed it in."
"Really? Oh yes, here it is, very recent. I can't quite make out what you do now though." She tries various combinations of cards. "Hmm, that's unusual. It should be easy. Jobs are usually fairly easy. Is it something really strange? I
feel it's somehow tied up with the . . . with your mother, and it's more than just a job, more of a vocation. It's definitely going to dominate your life for a while. That comes across very strongly."
"Pretty good so far," says Bella.
"Really? Great! You know, I wasn't sure if I could do this, not with another psychic." She lowers her head a little and looks up at Bella teasingly. "Now, is there a Significant Other, I wonder? Hmm, yes. I do believe there is."
It is clear she has done this many times before. Probably always says the same thing, thinks Bella. "His name's Simon," she says, hoping it won't reduce the covert attention she is getting from Rupert.
Lizzy frowns. "You shouldn't have told me that really; I might have got it. Sometimes I can. And you've been together for quite a while. A year? Two?"
"A couple of years, yes."
"Yes. And that runs through into your future, you'll be glad to hear. Oops, hang on a minute. You need three arms when you're a mummy, don't you chicken?"
"Shall I take him?" asks Rupert.
"Yes, you might as well put him down. He's practically asleep anyway." Handing over the baby, Lizzy buttons her shirt and stretches luxuriantly, shaking out her lovely green hair so that the dozens of little coloured beads rattle. "Now then, let's get down to the nitty gritty, eh? The future." Clearly filled with pleasure in her craft she lays out the cards again, slowly turning a few over. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that you're going to marry, in a year or two."
Bella smiles. "Oh, right."
"Do you want to know who it is?"
"Yes, please."
Lizzy shuffles the cards with the extra care that befits so important a subject. "Let me see now. Oh yes, quite clear this time. A big, tall man, taller than you, and blond, or fair anyway, with a curly blond beard, like a Viking — a huge Viking. Mmm, sounds quite yummy."
"Oh does he," says Rupert.
"You're not supposed to listen."
Not Simon then, thinks Bella. Simon is fair, but quite slightly built and only five foot ten. The mere idea makes her feel sad and obscurely guilty. She loves Simon and has always assumed she would marry him eventually. Probably all nonsense anyway, she thinks, although she presents it beautifully.
"Would you like to know his name?" asks Lizzy.
Bella considers this. Having a name would make it real. Having a name would make it happen. She doesn't want it to happen, she wants Simon. "Er, no. I don't think I do, thanks all the same. It's nice to have some surprises in life, isn't it?"
"Okay then," says Lizzy, looking disappointed. "Actually, um, I have to tell you it doesn't last, the marriage."
"No?" says Bella.
"No, because then you have this really steamy, sizzling love affair. Gosh, yes, this must be the big one; it comes up all over the place. She turns a couple more cards. "Or maybe you split up, and then you have the affair. Actually, to be honest, the whole thing's a bit weird. It's almost as if you were two people. I can't make a lot of it. Perhaps you should forget that bit."
"I expect it's to do with me being psychic," says Bella, not wanting to give her any further clues. She is beginning to feel mildly impressed, if rather disheartened. She didn't know any of this. What if her own predictions are all wrong?
"Yes I'm sure that's what it is," says Lizzy, frantically moving cards about. "Maybe you're acting as a conduit for someone else. It does happen."
"Like ghosting on the telly?" suggests Rupert.
Lizzy raises here eyes heavenwards. "Yes, Rupert. Thank you for that." She gathers up the cards "Shall we do babies now? They're easy."
"If you like," says Bella, not very enthusiastically.
"Ah, now this is rather intriguing. You're going to have one child, a boy, but not by your husband, or by your lover. My goodness, you are going to be busy."
Bella sighs heavily. "Yes, that's right, I know all about that; except it's a girl."
Lizzy frowns. "Are you sure?"
"Oh yes, definitely. It's got to be."
"Hmm, well it could be a girl, I suppose," says Lizzy, doubtfully. "You've already met the father by the way. Any ideas?"
"Er, yes, I know who it is," says Bella, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
As if on cue, Rupert rapidly downs the rest of his coffee. "I think I'd better go and get that milk. It's early closing in the village."
"Get some bread too, will you, love? And some baby-wipes."
"Yes, all right."
"And some frozen peas."
"Er, yes, right. Frozen peas."
"Is that all right?"
"I expect I'll manage," says Rupert, enumerating his purchases on his fingers.
"It's only four things."
"Yes, all right. No problem. I'm off then. See yah."
"See yah."
"See yah, Bella."
"Yes, bye."
"Aren't they funny?" says Lizzy, watching him go. She leans forward, eagerly. "Who is it then?"
"Er, I think I'd better tell you the whole thing; it's a bit complicated," says Bella. "It'll be quite a relief to tell someone who understands, actually. Shall we finish the reading first?"
"If you like. But first let me see if I can guess who it is. I'll just have a shuffle. Hmm, now then. Oh!" Her laugh has a nervous edge to it. "Well that can't be right."
"Okay," sighs Bella. "Who do you think it is?"
"No, no, it's okay. Forget that. I expect I turned the wrong card. You might as well just tell me, since you know anyway."
"Does it say how I die?" enquires Bella
"Er, yes," says Lizzy, now looking rather distracted. "You drown, I'm afraid."
"That's right," says Bella, pleased.
CHAPTER SIX
Bella is ridiculously happy. She wants to run and skip, even turn a cartwheel. She strides gaily among the last minute chaos of the camp, glorying in the admiring glances and the warm breeze on her bare skin.
She has set aside the apron, the lace cap, the uncomfortable suspender belt and stockings and is just wearing the little black dress, which as luck would have it is a size ten. If she says so herself, she looks a million dollars, the hemline showing off her forty inch legs to perfection. Also, the shoes are a dream after the wellingtons. For the first time in a week she feels properly alive.
"Come on, hurry up," cries Pat. "We thought we'd lost you."
"I was just saying goodbye to Lizzie and Rupert. Look, the French maid! Someone used it to pay for a reading and she gave it to me. She says I'm going to need it. I can't think why, can you?"
Pat looks her resignedly up and down. "I though you two would get on."
"I've been finding out about the Tarot and where it came from. Things I didn't know before."
"You'll have to tell me later. We've got to go."
Roz is already ticking over, shuddering convulsively with each slow revolution of her engine. The window boxes, the bay trees, the car seats and the front steps have all been loaded aboard, as has McNab's immense pile of plumbing and carpentry materials and several half-completed projects. On the roof, securely roped down, is the Mark IX, vacuum assisted, portable privy; also a couple of Mark IIs, several solar collectors and a windmill generator; all abandoned, much to McNab's disgust, by their ungrateful recipients.
Other vehicles, equally laden, pass by on either side to be marshalled into a fairly orderly line by grim-looking men in yellow jackets and hard hats. They are all to leave together and journey in convoy to the county border, in return for which cooperation they are not to be prosecuted for the almost universal lack of road tax, insurance or MOT, plus other infringements too numerous to mention.
At length, Mark Anthony and Cleopatra count aboard their teeming offspring for the last time; the scarecrow checks and reties a tow-rope; the St. Trinian abandons Captain Hornblower to climb defiantly into Superman's van; the pantomime horse is lured up the tailgate of its pink polka-dotted horsebox with a couple of tins of lager, and they are off; a long, winding column of reluctant deportees, bu
mping and rocking away over the uneven ground.
Roz, her long-silent mechanical parts squeaking and whining in bewildered protest, shakes herself free of the grass and weeds that have grown up around her and falls in obediently behind the lofty bulk of Shangri-la. She is the last to leave the field. Nothing is left of the little community but a great circle of rutted mud, flecked with the white of disposable nappies, like seagulls at low-tide. Even the burned-out shell of Bella's van has been taken away.
"'They made a waste and called it peace,'" sighs Bluebell, her chin on her hands.
"That's very good, Bluebell," says Pat. "Can you tell me who said it?"
"Tacitus, of course."
As soon as they have passed the newly gated entrance to the field, two police cars peel off and join them, one to lead the convoy, one to guard the rear. Most vehicles are under their own power, but a few have to be towed by friends and neighbours. Their speed is limited to the slowest of these: a battered, zebra-striped bus, drawn by an almost equally decrepit ex-fire engine. Stopping is forbidden.
"So when he moved on," says Pat, "Carol went too. Just packed up and left without a word." She drops into first gear, a skilful double-declutch as they grind slowly up a steep hill. "He was a nasty piece of work too, violent and foulmouthed and not at all good looking. I never could understand what she saw in him." She leans a little towards Bella and lowers her voice. "To be honest, I was quite glad to see the back of her. She wasn't the easiest of people."
"But what about poor McNab?" says Bella. "He must have been heartbroken."
"Oh he was dreadful; moped about, even stopped playing his fiddle. A few days later he went off too, determined to find her and win her back. He was gone for weeks."
"Gosh, how romantic!"
Pat grins wryly. "Yes it was. And the funny thing is, she's a changed girl, so quiet and ladylike. The children adore her."
"And McNab?"
"Oh, happy as a cricket. They get on much better now, no doubt about it."
"There's a lesson there somewhere," says Bella.
"I'd have been a lot better off if I'd done it, I know that," says Pat, with feeling.
Isabella: A sort of romance Page 8