Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Stella woke early, pulled the bed-clothes up to her chin and closed her eyes to shut out the morning for a while longer. Despite her best efforts, she was wide awake with her mind whirling, and hiding in bed would change nothing, so she pushed back the covers and got out of bed.
‘No more,’ she told herself in the bathroom mirror. ‘Benedict Redman – sorry, Professor Benedict Redman – is a pompous, insecure bigot, and I want nothing more to do with him.’
Perhaps unfair, but she wanted to clear this man from her mind, so she wasn’t going to permit any pleasant thoughts about him, and she would not allow herself to think of little Daniel at all. It was idiotic getting so attached to people she hardly knew. She had no client appointments until early evening, so to help blot the bigot from her mind, she’d have a day out, and she’d do her very best to do something astrology-related, something that would honour her beliefs and her mother’s legacy – ideally something that would stick it to Professor Redman.
She showered and dressed in her favourite jeans and a white linen shirt. After slipping a wide silver bangle onto her arm, she brushed her hair until it shone. She looked pale and drawn, but she’d live. While she breakfasted on toast and coffee, she checked her phone for ideas. In Covent Garden, there was a quaint emporium selling mystical paraphernalia, so she decided to treat herself and maybe spend some time around people who didn’t think she was a half-wit.
During the Tube journey, she tried hard not to think of Benedict. If only she wasn’t contracted to flat-sit in London for a while yet, she could take herself to the other end of the country, or to another country, come to that. Anywhere far away from Oxford. She considered contacting the flat-sitting agency to see if she could break the contract but soon rejected that idea. Breaking her current contract half-way through would cost a serious number of reputation points, which would put the Canada assignment at risk, and she’d also have to go back to getting bookings for grungy flats in out-of-the-way locations with only one or two nights at a go. That was where she’d started out all those years ago, and she had no desire to return to that insecure lifestyle. Canada was not too far off, so she’d just have to wait it out.
When she got off the train, the station was busy, so she ignored the crowded tin-can lifts and ran up the spiral stairs – all one-hundred-and-ninety-three of them. She swiped her phone at the barrier, and it opened to let her out into the winding streets and quirky shops of Covent Garden. Perhaps in a nod to its flower market origins, everywhere was decorated with barrows, barrels, baskets and buckets of flowers – even the walls were planted in places – so the streets were bright and fragrant.
While she’d been underground, it must have rained, but the sun had come back out and the wet cobbled streets shone in the summer sunshine. She breathed in the sights and sounds of London hurrying past – serious types in sharp suits, tattooed kids with gravity-defying haircuts, and a jumble of colourful street entertainers. A mime artist, painted to look as though he was made of iron, proffered a bunch of metal flowers and she dropped a pound coin into his hat, remembering the magician at Daniel’s birthday party. She had to stop seeing these reminders in everything she saw, because that was no way to move on with her life. Filled with renewed purpose, she set off again, pausing only to window-shop in the pretty pastel-coloured boutiques to either side of her.
It didn’t take too long to find the purveyor of mystical supplies, with its lilac shopfront and heavenly incense wafting from the door. The soul-calming effects drew her inside where the air was suffused with a tinkling blend that was part harp and part waterfall. Not an inch of space was wasted and the shop was brim-full of glass cabinets and racks holding crystals, essential oils, tarot cards, crystal balls, candles, scarves and altar accessories. Even the ceiling space wasn’t wasted and from high hooks dangled dream-catchers and wind-chimes galore. In short, this little shop contained all the trappings needed for anyone leaning towards a spiritual life and it was the perfect antidote to all the intolerance she’d experienced over the weekend.
The day was young, and she settled in for a good browse, deciding to begin with the bookshelves. After a good look around, she settled on a new book about the Saturn return, which she was excited to read. Really, it would make more sense to buy an e-book so she didn’t have to lug it around with her, but she preferred her reference books to be on paper so she could pore over diagrams, highlight them and add in charts and calculations of her own.
On her way to the cashier to pay, a huge amethyst geode caught her eye and she bent down to place her good hand on it. The impulse to buy the purple crystal was strong, but it was over a foot high and she soon talked herself out of it. Apart from the cost, it would be ridiculous to encumber herself with something so big and heavy, even assuming she could lug it home. Her life consisted of living out of a couple of bags and there was no room for baggage of any sort.
Sensing a presence at her elbow, she withdrew her hand from the amethyst, remembering the many times she and the other kids from the home had been told by local shopkeepers to look with their eyes and not with their fingers. An elderly lady stood next to her. Frail-looking and barely reaching Stella’s shoulder, she had shining white hair feathered around an elfin face. Her sparkling eyes looked almost violet and she twinkled up at Stella. It was as if an amethyst sprite had materialised at her side.
‘Oh, that one’s not for sale, my love. She is a beauty, though.’ The woman pointed at Stella’s sprained wrist. ‘Do you mind?’
Stella nodded in mute agreement, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to. The woman grasped her injured wrist between both hands and Stella braced herself for pain, but it never came. The woman closed her eyes and began to breathe sharply, deeply and rapidly, until Stella feared she might hyperventilate. The elfin woman nodded with every breath taken, and it appeared she was counting. Warmth surged up Stella’s arm, radiating to her chest and filling her with a deep joy that made her forget that she was standing in a shop in central London, holding hands with a complete stranger. When the woman stopped counting, she gently released Stella’s wrist and opened her eyes. Stella was puzzled to see that the woman’s eyes had lost their purple hue and were just a watery-looking blue, after all. Must have been a trick of the light or something to do with the sun reflecting off the wet pavements and the shop’s colourful fa?ade.
‘You’ll find that will help to mend your arm more quickly,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve also started the healing of the real pain that is in your heart, but it can only truly mend if you learn to accept and let go of those you’ve lost. Love them by all means, but let them go. It’s long past time. Expose yourself to new love, even if it hurts, because you need to learn to trust in life and open your heart again.’
The woman touched her gently on the shoulder and left the shop before Stella could reply. Her arm and chest were still warm and there was also a patch of warmth on her shoulder where the woman had touched her before leaving. Seeing her dazed expression, the shopkeeper looked up from the till.
‘You’ve just been Meredithed!’
‘I’ve been what-ithed?’
‘Meredithed. That lady just now was Meredith. She’s been coming here since forever. Never ever buys anything; just comes in, finds someone in pain and heals them. You’re very lucky. She has a high hit-rate according to those who’ve been on the receiving end. Bit of a legend around here. Some people say she’s psychic and that it’s not the outer pain she’s healing, but something deeper that can’t be seen.’
‘My arm, well it does feel warm, much warmer than before she touched it at any rate.’ And inside her chest, too, but that was harder to explain. ‘Anyhow, I’m going to take this book, please. And a much smaller version of that amethyst geode, if you have one.’
Beside the till were arrays of baskets filled with crystals and gemstones. The shopkeeper soon found a suitable pocket-sized crystal cluster and helped Stella to get the amethyst and the book on Saturn into her backpack.
‘Will there be anything else? We’ve got tarot readings upstairs, if you’re interested?’
‘Ah, no thanks. Not just now. But there is something that you might be able to help me with.’
Stella had enjoyed her shopping trip greatly but still craved the company of her fellow astrologers, so she asked the woman if she was aware of any groups due to meet in the area. The woman pulled a well-used notebook from behind the till.
‘Now, I can’t guarantee they’ll be there, what with it being the summer hols and all, but the Constellations meet on the second Thursday night of the month if memory serves.’
The Constellations? It sounded like some kind of retro eighties band. The shopkeeper flicked through the book until she reached a page with dozens of crossings out and additions. ‘They come and go, these groups, but here we are. Yes, second Thursday, which is this week by my count.’ She tapped the page with a silver-ringed index finger. ‘There, that’s the pub in Chelsea where they meet. Seven onwards…’
‘And you’re certain they’re astrologers and not astronomers?’
‘Astronomers? Don’t make me laugh. No astronomer would dare darken the door for fear of being slung out on their ear.’ She shook her head, smiling. ‘Astronomers. What are you like, girl?’
That Thursday night, Stella found herself in a cosy pub in Chelsea, just off the King’s Road, chatting with a group of astrologers. They were a close-knit group that had been running for decades, but they welcomed occasional visitors. It was a relief being in the company of like-minded individuals and able to talk about the meaning of various planetary transits without anyone raising an eyebrow or snorting in contempt.
Stella opted for a Belgian beer that had been brewed in a Trappist monastery for almost two centuries as she rather liked its romantic history. Liquid bread they called it, and those monks certainly knew a thing or two about brewing as she was now well into her second pint. Malty, with a floral tang, it didn’t taste especially strong, but her face felt hot and she was getting a bit giddy, so it must be stronger than it looked. She peered at the beer board, which stated that her liquid bread was just shy of ten percent ABV – whatever ABV was – so it was about the same as prosecco. But when had she ever drank fizz by the pint? Time to slow down. Her nearest neighbour was a man called Jim, who was very good looking, with green eyes that were almost hypnotic. He was holding the floor with his views on the meaning of the current challenging angle between Saturn and Pluto.
‘This aspect is affecting everyone in some way. It’s all about loss and fear of loss, of feeling constrained and held back in some way,’ he said, sweeping his long, dark hair back from his face with his left hand. ‘If we all looked deeply into our lives, we’d see the truth of that motif. Stella, as our honoured guest, have you anything to say on the topic of Cronus?’
By using the Greek name for Saturn, this Jim was testing her and his eyes glittered as he looked at her. Finding his gaze too intense, she hid behind her beer glass, but he didn’t waver and was clearly waiting for an answer, so she was forced to respond.
‘Emm, I’m very interested in Shaturn and its vanishing rings,’ she said, mortified at slurring her words. Hopefully no one else had noticed, but to avoid a repeat performance, she put down her glass and pushed it away from her.
‘ Shaturn’s rings,’ said Jim. ‘As astrologers, we’re not so interested in the physical qualities of the planets. Operating as we do on a symbolic plane, I doubt their apparent fading away is of much importance, so it’s hard to say. And to be honest, they fade and come back on a regular basis so it’s just an optical illusion.’
Jeery Jim’s dismissive tone could almost give Nasty Nigel a run for his money. Stella didn’t like the way this man was glowering at her, so she was determined to stand her ground.
‘But if…’ Deep breath. ‘But if Saturn’s physical rings represent life’s boundaries, then their fading must have some symbolic meaning for our lives.’ Why, oh why had she got embroiled in this? Really deep breath. ‘And quite apart from their regular apparent vanishing and returning, the rings really are vanishing for good now, as they’re being absorbed into the planet. Only very recently, I heard an astronomer say–’
‘Well if an astronomer says anything, it must be right then.’ Jim laughed a rather harsh laugh and the others joined him.
‘But it is happening!’ Stella’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘And, it must have some symbolic meaning.’
‘You shouldn’t place too much store in astronomers. That lot will play anything up if there’s a whiff of a grant in the offing. They’d sell their grannies for the price of a new telescope.’
Stella frowned and almost went back to her beer. She knew only too well how much grants mattered to astronomers, but then they were scientists, who needed money for research and discovery, and she felt more than a little insulted on Benedict’s behalf. Hearing the snide comments tonight was enough to convince her that astrologers and astronomers were as bad as each other sometimes.
Although she couldn’t yet see the bottom of her second glass, Stella was light-headed and no longer trusted herself to keep her thoughts to herself. She thanked the group for welcoming her but said she needed an early night and left them to it. As she walked towards Sloane Square station, she heard footsteps hurrying behind her. Hugging her jacket tightly to herself, she walked faster, then whirled round as she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Jim, who’d followed her from the pub.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘You didn’t scare me,’ she lied.
‘Good. Look, I didn’t mean to upset you back there in the pub. I was having a go at astronomers, not having a dig at you.’
‘No worries, honestly. I’m just done in and need an early night, that’s all.’
‘Well, I wondered whether you’d maybe like to get together sometime for a drink or a meal. We don’t have to argue about Shaturn…’
Stella was tempted for about one second, but seeing his glittering eyes and mocking mouth, she thought instead of Benedict and his crinkled eyes and good-natured smile. Although there was no hope in that direction, she still felt a curious loyalty to him. It would feel wrong to go off with someone else, and it would feel like an even bigger betrayal to go off with someone who had such a dim view of astronomers, even if she did share that dim view. She shook her head.
‘It’s not a good time for me at the moment, but thank you. Anyway, I need to get going. Goodnight.’
Her rejected would-be suitor merely shrugged and loped back to the pub, not remotely devastated by her refusal. Easy come, easy go, she supposed and continued walking to Sloane Square. She got onto the Tube and sat down, feeling slightly the worse for wear, even though she’d left most of her second drink. Beer and men, she decided, were probably no good for her and best avoided. The rhythm of the train was too lulling and she didn’t want to nod off and miss her change at Westminster so she stood up and perched near the door.
When the train pulled into St John’s Wood, her head had cleared a little but she was taking no chances and stood on the escalator instead of running up it. On her way towards Abbey Road, she admired the crescent moon. She’d have been better off living thousands of years ago when astrologers and astronomers were one and the same, with the whole point of astronomy being to plot planetary movements to inform astrology and help the ancients to plant and sow, to reap and harvest, to heal both the body and the spirit. Perhaps the two disciplines were destined to move further and further away from their original starting point when the ancients, who were more holistic in their approach, saw the beauty and truth in both elements of their stargazing. Times had changed though, and astrology and astronomy had split apart, and would probably always be split apart. Just like her and Benedict. Outside her apartment block, she struggled to get her key in the front door and to her consternation, Ernie came to open it for her.
‘Neither of your hands working this evening, Stella?’ he asked with a wink. ‘And no wonder, when you smell like a brewery.’
‘Thank you, Ernie. Sorry for making you get up. And you’re right about the brewery.’
‘No need to apologise to me. I used to love the odd pint, but I’ve no head for beer these days. You’ll have a sore one in the morning, I expect.’
‘A well-deserved sore head, Ernie. Courtesy of an order of Trappist monks in Belgium.’
‘Oh, you don’t do things by halves, do you? Get a pint of water down you, mate. Goodnight then and God bless.’
Stella smiled and bid Ernie goodnight, trying not to weave as she walked to the lift. Best not to even attempt the stairs.
It was easier to unlock the door to her flat, and after she’d locked it behind her, she made some coffee and sat out on her balcony, watching the traffic pause at the famous zebra crossing outside her window. She tried to imagine the Beatles walking over the crossing, and wondered if the Fab Four had realised when they did it that they would spawn thousands of tourists, decades later, from all over the world, who would try to recreate the scene. Ernie was always telling anyone who’d listen that the fans were posing on the wrong zebra crossing, but he was usually ignored.