Out of Control

Chapter 17

Meeko was already in the hotel restaurant when Fiona arrived the next morning. The temperature in the room felt too hot after the fresh outdoor winter air. Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead and trickle into her eyes, the salty sting making her blink vigorously. He was surrounded by empty dishes and a plate which showed signs of grease and baked beans. She pointed at it as she sat down. “I thought the cooked stuff was a heart attack on a plate and only for greedy fools?”

He shrugged. “Needs must. The more I fill up here, the less I need to put in my supermarket trolley.”

“They’ve cut another class?”

He nodded. “The ten a.m. class is now only three times a week instead of every weekday. At least on the days when it isn’t, I can really pig out — I don’t need to worry about trying to do a forward fold on a tight stomach.”

“Every cloud . . .”

Meeko piled up all the used crockery, leaving a plate of three croissants and some slices of cheese, which he wrapped in serviettes and placed in his holdall. “Tonight’s supper.”

For a few seconds Fiona’s problems shrank as she imagined the anguish of not being able to afford enough food. She offered him the blueberries and yoghurt in her bowl. He shook his head and patted his stomach. Then he added the croissant plate to the pile on his right, leaving a rectangle of empty table in front of him.

“What about the Father Christmas job? Isn’t that helping the finances?”

“The living wage for only a few hours on a few days a week for three weeks in the lead-up to Christmas doesn’t go very far. It’s temporarily helping towards the electricity bill but that’s it.”

The Father Christmas gig at Adele’s baby shower wouldn’t go far towards improving Meeko’s income but it was better than nothing. Before Fiona could tell him about it, he spoke again.

“However,” he said, “I am not one for sitting around and letting fate march in and steal my life. I am being proactive and learning a new skill that will earn me money.” He produced a box of playing cards from his bag and a library book: Easy Ways to Read the Cards .

Fiona was momentarily silenced. This didn’t fit with the calm, grounded, ‘in the moment’ personality of Meeko. He couldn’t be serious. “Do you really believe that rectangles of thin cardboard can predict our futures?”

“This might not fit with the way your brain works, but it helps some people focus on their goals, personal or professional. Using playing cards in this way is called cartomancy and it’s seen as a simpler form of Tarot. It’s been around since the fourteenth century — there must be something in it or it wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

Fiona held her hands up in mock surrender; things must be really bad for Meeko to have stooped this low. She should keep an open mind and be there for him. “OK. How does it work?”

“You ask the cards a question, take a card and allow the subconscious to guide you. It won’t tell you about tall, dark, handsome strangers or the likelihood of you walking under a bus tomorrow.”

“And how do you intend to monetise this?” She was trying hard to be open to the positive possibilities of cartomancy.

“On the internet using video meeting apps. Loads of people are already doing it. Are you on board with me?”

“What?” For a second, she had a vision of herself as a glamorous magician’s assistant in a sparkly leotard assisting with card tricks. It wasn’t a good look.

“The expression on your face!” Meeko’s eyes lit up with the mischievous sparkle she loved him for; she realised now that spark had been absent for some time. “I need somebody to practise on and you’d be ideal, given all the upheaval and decision-making going on in your life right now.”

She hesitated. Airy-fairy mumbo jumbo wasn’t her thing. Even her own gut instinct was hard to follow without logic backing it up. If there wasn’t a project plan embedded in a spreadsheet or, at least, a typed list of pros and cons, then she couldn’t make a significant decision. “Even if I don’t believe?”

“It’s not a religion but it might make you think differently.”

The decision to let Joe and Adele stay felt as though it had been forced upon her, and look how that was teetering with no pre-planned ground rules. How was the random turning over of cards going to help? But Meeko was a friend in need and she could disregard whatever the cards said. “OK, but I probably won’t act on the outcome. Do you want to do it now?”

Meeko glanced around. The guests in the hotel restaurant had thinned out and there was a thick red, white and blue rope across the doorway, indicating breakfast hours had finished. The staff were collecting empty plates, wiping tables and resetting them with napkins, wine glasses, cutlery and lunch menus.

“They won’t appreciate us taking up table space any longer. Come to mine for breakfast tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring the food.” Fiona emphasised her words and made a mental note to bring far too much — buying food was obviously a big issue for Meeko.