Chapter 27
Lunch. Matthew had ordered roast chicken but when the plate is put in front of him it’s a leg, the bone protruding from the drumstick, the flesh dark pink as he cuts into it.
Something catches in his throat and he pushes the plate away from him.
No one else at the table seems to have much appetite either.
‘She really believes it, doesn’t she?’ Aisha says. She’s looking bemused. ‘Kids these days . . .’
‘I don’t like it,’ Neil says. ‘I always find this stuff too creepy. Never watch films about witchcraft or anything like that.’
Russell shakes his head. ‘Don’t get sucked into it. They’re young, they wind each other up. Social contagion, isn’t it, where they all start fainting or whatever? We’re all old enough to know better.’
Matthew nods. He’s uncomfortable, though.
The witness’s sincerity is having an effect, however much he’s trying to resist it.
His experience at the Witches’ Well keeps playing on a loop in the back of his mind.
He wishes the blonde woman had been in court this morning – he’d have seen at a glance whether she was buying into it or not.
Not that he should be putting so much credence in the facial expressions of a stranger, but something about her shouts ally, however fanciful that might seem.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ he says. ‘Get some air.’
No one says that they want to join him, but as he leaves the court building, he finds that Emma has attached herself to him.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Matthew looks her up and down. There’s nothing in him that wants to further a connection with her. But on the other hand, he should try and be friendly. He might be missing something about her.
‘I thought I might go to Greyfriars Kirk and say a little prayer,’ she says. ‘This is all a bit sacrilegious for me.’
He looks at her, waiting for her to crack a smile. She doesn’t though.
‘It’s kids playing around,’ he says.
Emma shakes her head. ‘Someone died, Matthew. They desecrated a consecrated space. You think it’s nonsense, but there’s real evil at work here.’
‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ Matthew says, moving briskly away, any friendly intentions withered in the face of her last words.
He turns left down the Royal Mile, not wanting to go anywhere near Greyfriars Kirk while Emma is in it.
He’s planning on getting as far as Holyrood Palace, maybe heading up round Salisbury Crags if he has time, but as it starts to rain and the cold wind bites through his jumper, he turns into a close instead, hoping for some shelter.
A group of tourists are already in there, loud in their multi-coloured cagoules.
Matthew fights his way through them, hoping there might be a café on the other side.
He turns to find himself facing a large black sign, a bubbling cauldron with MAGIC emblazoned on it straight at his eye level.
He’s found a museum. The Museum of Witchcraft, Fortune-Telling and Magic.
He blinks at the coincidence, but instead of dismissing it as more fodder for the tourists as he might normally, he goes in.
It’s quiet, warm, a dog leaping up to greet him from the other side of the reception desk.
He pays his entry fee and wanders through, looking at the displays of amulets and voodoo charms. There’s a Ouija board on the wall and he goes over to look at it, remembering Sasha’s story about it.
DIE DIE DIE, that’s what it had said. DIE DIE DIE CHRIST. He picks out the letters on the board, looking at the planchette with curiosity.
His hand is itching to reach out and touch it, see if he can divine some actual power from it, but there’s a notice saying DON’T TOUCH on the wall and he doesn’t want to upset anyone, especially not someone who works here.
Over on the other side is a display case full of images of the Devil.
He approaches with some caution, mindful of the experience he had looking at the Witches’ Well, but reassures himself with the thought that he’s not hung-over this time.
He’s well rested and his blood sugar is normal, even though he didn’t eat lunch.
Casting his eye over the pentagrams, the brass lamp in the shape of the Devil’s head that used to belong to a warlock, he’s relieved that none of them comes to life before him.
‘Would you like to have your tarot cards read?’ a man says from behind him. Thinking the question is addressed to someone else, Matthew doesn’t respond, but when the man says it again, he turns.
‘We have a resident tarot reader,’ the man says.
Matthew hesitates. It doesn’t seem wise, given his earlier experience. On the other hand, he can’t help but be curious. That juror Neil had seemed so convinced by it.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t have much time, but I’ll give it a go.’
The man leads him behind a black curtain into an alcove at the back of the museum. A woman is sitting in there at a small table, a pack of tarot cards in front of her. Matthew is surprised to see that she’s wearing a fleece and jeans, technical trainers on her feet.
‘Did you think I’d be in shawls and hooped earrings?’ the woman says. She must have seen his surprise. ‘I’m not some fairground attraction, you know.’
‘Of course not,’ Matthew says. ‘Sorry. I just thought . . .’
‘I’m teasing you,’ she says. ‘I do wear ceremonial dress on occasion. Though not today. Anyway, what is the question to which you are seeking an answer, querent?’
Straight to the point. Matthew blinks. He hasn’t got that far. But all the same, words leap unbidden to his tongue.
‘Will I be happy again?’
The woman starts shuffling the cards. Matthew leans back on his chair, trying to catch his breath.
He doesn’t know where this has come from.
He is happy, perfectly happy, thank you very much.
OK, his relationship with Rosalind might be going through a bit of a bad patch, Daisy might not have spoken to him for the last few days, but all this is perfectly normal.
Families go through ups and downs, everyone knows that.
‘I heard you say that you’re short of time,’ she says. ‘So I’ll make this fast. But I want to do a seven-card horseshoe spread. I don’t feel that a three-card spread is going to be quite enough for you, sensing your energy.’
Matthew opens his mouth to argue, closes it again.
He’s the one who came up with the happy question, after all.
He watches her shuffle the pack, dextrous as any card shark, trying to maintain the level of scepticism he knows he should keep in mind.
But the space is warm, her face comforting – the temptation to sink into the embrace of it and accept whatever fate is handed to him is almost overwhelming.
‘Hold your question in your mind and draw your cards. Place them down on the table where I point,’ she says, holding the pack spread out in front of her like a fan.
Matthew does as he is told, drawing seven cards and putting them face down one after the other in the shape of a horseshoe.
He doesn’t linger over the choices that he makes, but he’s struck by the pull that he feels towards the cards that he draws out of the pack.
There must be more of his hangover lingering from the day before than he realised, his defences still lower than he would like.
‘Let’s begin,’ she says. She turns over the first card, her expression sombre.
‘This card represents the past, events that are impacting your current situation. It’s the Five of Pentacles.
This points to a time of financial strife, indicating that you’ve suffered a significant financial loss or failure. ’
Matthew swallows. He doesn’t accept it’s true, but it’s unpleasant nonetheless. His palms are itching, sweat prickling under his arms.
‘I’m not saying this is definitely the case, but often what has caused these financial problems is to do with your emotions – greed can lead to loss, or anxiety to error.’
‘I’m not greedy . . .’ he says, though the words die on his tongue. What’s Olivia, if not greed?
She ignores him, turns over the next card. ‘This card represents the present, the current events which are circling you. It’s the Hermit card, but it’s reversed. What this means is enforced isolation. Your refusal to listen to others may result in withdrawal from others in anger or resentment.’
The pile of microwave meals, sleeping alone in his bachelor bed.
‘This card shows someone who over-analyses with a tendency to intellectualise rather than allowing feelings to surface.’
She wants feelings? Matthew can give her feelings all right. Any minute now he’ll sweep the cards on to the floor, that’s what he feels about this. A load of old shit. She’s clutching at straws.
The woman pauses, takes a breath before turning over the next card.
A lifetime passes in a second. Dead meat in the air, rot. Flames dancing round amber eyes. Matthew knows the image she’s now revealed. Only too well.
‘You think you know what this represents,’ she says.
‘But don’t assume the worst. This card shows the hidden influences on you.
The unseen. Obviously you recognise the image – the Devil.
It doesn’t mean that you’re going to hell, though, or that you’ve done something evil.
What it does mean is that there’s some kind of negativity in your life. Perhaps you’re snared in an addiction.’
The stench of whisky, the fists banging on the locked front door.
‘I’m not addicted, there’s no way I’m addicted. Not an alcoholic. Very high functioning,’ he says, garbling his words.
‘Of course you are,’ the tarot reader says. Her voice is neutral but it feels like she’s hiding a laugh. Like she knows something about him, has heard a rumour. He stares at her, his eyes narrowed. She smiles.
‘Or maybe you’re being self-destructive in another way. It’s all open to interpretation. You’re the only one who can fully know the truth of this. But this card should serve as a warning for you to assess your own life and make changes.’
He bows his head. There’s nothing wrong with his life. Nothing at all. It’s all totally under control. Matthew doesn’t need to argue with her about it, though. He’s got nothing to prove. Not to this freak with her shitty card set and her playground warnings.
Heedless of the turmoil in his head, the tarot reader continues, relentless.
‘And this, the fourth card. This represents you, the querent. The questioner. It’s the Eight of Swords.
’ She holds it out to him and he looks at the image, horror building inside him.
A figure stands blindfolded, surrounded by a cage of swords.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, this is not a positive image. ’
Matthew wants to laugh. Everything inside him is resisting this bullshit. But it’s a sob that comes out.
‘Bluntly, you’re in a terrible situation.
The blindfold indicates a high level of denial.
You’re refusing even to acknowledge that you’re in deep shit, let alone deal with it.
I’m sorry to be so harsh, but I can only tell you what the cards tell me.
It’s up to you to find the meaning as it personally relates. ’
He’d speak, but he can’t.
‘Now the fifth card, showing the influence of others. It’s the Star, but it’s reversed.
A creative or emotional block is arising as a partnership loses its way.
You need direction, but you also need to beware those who cultivate you for their own purposes.
You may need to step out of an illusion and search for your star elsewhere. ’
Rosalind? Dominic? Should he be more careful?
Trust them less? Relations aren’t great right now, but that’s while he’s doing the trial.
Normally it’s all fine. He sits on his hands, trying to get his breathing under control.
His anger, too. This shouldn’t be having such an effect on him – he needs to catch a grip.
‘The sixth. What should you do? Aha, something slightly more positive for you. The Seven of Wands. Perseverance. The message is that your goals are worth pursuing. You may not have an easy path to follow, but with perseverance you can get to where you need to be. Keep believing. There is a great chance that you will succeed.’
The tightness in Matthew’s chest subsides. A little. A crack of light in the dark of this spread. He watches with trepidation as she turns over the final card. Her face darkens, her eyebrows contracting.
‘This card represents the final outcome, factoring in all of the previous six cards into its answer. Your question at the beginning was will you be happy again. Looking at this, I have to say that I can’t give you a very positive answer, at least not in the short term.
’ She holds it out to him to show him the image, a figure sitting up in bed, head in hands, swords hung horizontally on the wall beside him.
More bloody swords.
‘This is the Nine of Swords. Despair, confusion, even insanity are imminent. Grief, loss, tragedy, break-ups, job loss or even death.’
It’s a litany of woe.
‘But like the Devil, it can be seen as a warning sign, a wake-up call. The nine with its dark image suggests that your mind is out of control, that you’re creating your own nightmare. You think you know what you’re doing, but you’re wrong. The universe is telling you to wake up.’
Matthew sits silent, stunned. It’s like the woman hates him, as if she’s set him deliberately to fail a test he didn’t even ask to sit.
‘Are you done?’ the man asks from behind the curtain, and the woman looks up.
‘Just about,’ she calls. She looks back at Matthew. Her expression is not unkind, though Matthew can sense that she’s putting some distance between them.
‘I understand that must have been hard to hear,’ she says. ‘It’s not a combination of cards I would choose to draw for myself. But you must see it as an opportunity. You need to go away and think about all of this, work out the changes that you should make in your life. Nothing is set in stone.’