Chapter 3
‘Can you help me contact my late parents, as I want to ask them what they know about my curse,’ I say, and instantly regret it.
I’m sure Psychic Medium Cynthia was not expecting to hear that today.
She’s been staring at me for a while; I can’t recall the last time she blinked.
My question is unusual and must represent a dramatic shift from her usual requests, such as finding out how loved ones in the afterlife are doing or when that life-changing lottery win will happen.
She even looks the part with her silk headscarf, constellations of tiny silver stars on each cheek, large gold hoop earrings, and long silver nails.
Her garage has been transformed into a magical gateway to the other side, with candles, crystals, posters of enchanted forests, sticks of burning incense, and a round table creaking with tarot cards and glittery clutter.
A trickle of saliva runs down the side of her mouth. I don’t know whether to worry or offer her a tissue.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, waving my hand in front of her eyes.
Her face flickers back to life. She smiles and dabs at her mouth with a tissue. ‘Can you repeat your question?’
‘I need you to get in contact with my mum and dad. They died when I was nine years old. I am cursed, and I want to ask them some questions.’ With a trembling hand, I take out a little notebook, flick to the first page and start to read.
‘Question One. Did they know I was cursed? Question Two. Do they know of any family relation who—’
She waves her hand, and I stop. Her beady dark eyes are narrowing. ‘A curse? Can you give me more details?’
‘It’s romantic and tragic…’ Words hover on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite release them. She leans in closer, and I wonder why I’m sitting in a stranger’s garage, filled with cheap stars and overpowering incense, about to reveal my deepest secret.
‘This sounds interesting. Tell me about this romantic curse.’ She reaches for a glittery lip balm beside her and smears it onto her plump lips.
Last night, I lay awake for hours in bed, imagining how Cynthia would react when I told her about my curse.
My brain always starts with the worst-case scenario, so I visualised her giving me a terrified look while I talked about it.
This would undoubtedly be followed by her calling the police, and me spending the rest of my life imprisoned in a science lab with wires connected to my head and being studied by scientists.
Once my heart had stopped trying to burst out of my chest and I had calmed my breathing, I thought about a different scenario in which Cynthia helped me by casting an ancient spell.
The lights overhead would flicker, and we would hear a thunderclap in the sky.
The spell would succeed and free me from my suffering. I fell asleep imagining my new life.
I take a deep breath before crossing my fingers in my lap. ‘When I touch people, I see a vision inside my head.’
Cynthia frowns. ‘A vision?’
I nod. ‘It shows how their love story will end.’
‘What do you mean? Can you see if they are going to get dumped?’
‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘I see the ghosting, the awkward let-downs in coffee shops and the accidents – which always happen to the nice ones on their way to work.’
She fiddles with one of her hoop earrings. ‘Do they come true? Your visions?’
‘Always for the things I see about others. However, with my own life, I have the option to change my fate. If I decide not to pursue love with a person who, in the future, will hurt me, the vision doesn’t come true.’
‘But if you choose to ignore what your curse is showing you—’
Raising my hand, I interrupt her. ‘It comes true.’
‘What about if the person isn’t in love with anyone?’ Cynthia is stroking her chin. I can see she’s giving my curse some serious thought.
‘I see how they spend their time alone.’ I think about the older man in the football shirt, who had sat next to me on the bus.
He’d been wearing shorts, and his bare knee had touched my hand when the bus came to a juddering halt.
His vision showed him sitting alone in a tiny studio flat, watching the world go by outside his window.
His face was etched with sadness as he watched the loved-up couples walk hand in hand past his house.
On his lap was a framed football-themed wedding photo, and on the coffee table in front of him was a book titled How to Mend a Broken Heart Post Divorce.
Cynthia arches an eyebrow. ‘Are they enjoying being single in your visions?’
I shrug. ‘Some fully embrace not having anyone special in their life, whereas some struggle with loneliness and a broken heart.’
She applies a new layer of lip balm. ‘My best mate is married but is also having an affair with her driving instructor. She’s failed her test six times, but that’s another story. If you touched her hand, what would you see – the saucy driving instructor or her poor husband?’
‘In that situation, it would depend on who has captured her heart.’
Cynthia nods. ‘You would see how things end with the driving instructor and his lessons, which are conducted from his back seat.’ She sighs. ‘And you want to get rid of this wonderful gift?’
I nod and correct her. ‘It’s a curse. Not a gift.’
‘Does this curse work on demand?’
‘Yes.’
She lights a silver candle beside us. ‘Do you have to touch a specific part of someone for it to work?’
‘It must be skin-to-skin contact. I can’t see anything through clothes.’
Her eyebrows rise. ‘Interesting. Do your visions ever change?’
This feels more like an interrogation than a psychic reading. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you see different visions every time you touch someone?’
I shake my head. ‘I see the same vision unless something has changed, like if someone has died or a new person has entered their life.’
She extends her heavily spray-tanned arm towards me and smiles. ‘Touch me. I have some suspicions about my boyfriend, so let’s see how good your curse is.’
After a deep breath, I touch her fingers. There is a flash of bright light before my eyes. It clears, and I see a burly man with a bald head sitting in a lorry cab kissing a woman with long black hair who wears a skintight pink dress.
It makes me gasp.
Cynthia smooths down her headscarf. ‘Don’t hold back. I’m ready.’
She doesn’t flinch as I tell her. When I finish describing his lorry cab in detail – including his black-and-white fluffy dice, his lorry-shaped mug, his silver roadster kettle, and his black T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘I just dropped a load’ – and his shiny head and how tight the woman’s dress was, Cynthia leans closer.
‘That’s not a curse – that’s a money-making gift.
You have a talent,’ she gushes as the world around me feels muffled.
I watch her mouth move, but I can’t hear anything.
Reaching into my back pocket, I take out my emergency packet of boiled sweets and suck on one until I can hear Cynthia again.
‘The woman you described is my boyfriend’s boss’s wife.
She’s been sniffing around my man for ages.
I knew she would make a move.’ She smears on another layer of lip balm.
‘You have confirmed what I suspected, and the details you provided were spot on. I mean, how would you even know what his favourite T-shirt says across the front? I will deal with him when he gets home. That is an amazing gift.’
‘I don’t always get a sense of timing with my visions,’ I explain. ‘He might not be cheating on you right now, but he will in the future.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘His cab smells of her cheap perfume. He claims it’s his new air freshener from Sainsbury’s.
I am not stupid. Anyway, enough about him.
I could do with an extra pair of hands.’ She lets out a heavy sigh.
‘My mother has decided to go away for a while. I have three kids to pick up from school, a cheating boyfriend, and a thriving psychic business she was helping with, and she selfishly books a three-month cruise around the world.’ I watch Cynthia place her head in her hands.
She lifts it a few seconds later. ‘If you worked here, I could sort out my kids and my relationship. Your gift of romance prophecy would have my customers queuing out the door. Come and join me.’
Shaking my head, I clasp my hands together. ‘It’s not a gift. It’s a curse. Please help me find my parents in the afterlife. They must know more about my curse, possibly even how to lift it.’
She casts me a bewildered expression. ‘This is a wonderful gift you’ve been given. It’s not a curse. I think you should consider my business offer.’
My skin prickles. Her eyes have sharpened.
They are bright, with the unmistakable glint of someone doing mental maths and seeing some eye-watering business numbers in their mind.
She views my curse as a money-making gift.
Sitting up straighter, I take a deep breath and try to sound calm.
‘I need your help, not a business offer.’
It comes out more like a low growl.
Cynthia is oblivious to my annoyance. She shakes her head. ‘You have been blessed with a fantastic gift. I don’t understand how it is ruining your life. You get free dating spoiler alerts in your head.’
This woman has no idea what I endure with my curse. My cheeks are heating up, and I am on the verge of tears. ‘Can you help me or not? It is ruining my life.’
Cynthia tries to reach out and touch my hand, but I yank it away as I don’t want to see her trucker boyfriend kissing that woman again.
‘Go away and think about my offer,’ she says.
Has she not listened to anything I have said?
‘Think about the money we could both earn from your gift.’
‘You don’t understand.’ My voice wobbles. Irritation bubbles inside me. ‘Every time I meet someone, I see how love ends.’ The face of the man from the bookshop who bought his wife a cycling book comes rushing back to me, triggering a series of aches in my chest.
She lets out an excited shriek. ‘We could be rich. I can see the advert now.’ I watch as a dreamy, faraway expression takes hold of her face. ‘Meet Mystic…’ She falters. ‘Sorry, what’s your name again?’
‘Nelly.’
To my horror, she screws up her face. ‘Nelly? We would have to give you a magical name.’ She draws an imaginary poster square in the air with her fingers. ‘The poster would read: “Meet Mystic Nelwynna, who will predict how your love will end.”’ She lets out a contented sigh.
I am wasting my time here, and I am not being called Nelwynna as it would sound like I sing to woodland creatures in my spare time.
My face feels hot and my heart is thudding.
Before she can say another word, I leave and hurry out of her garage in tears.