Chapter 32
32
ELENA
Elena sat at her desk, lost in the romance of Jane Austen’s Persuasion . She couldn’t help picturing Rory in a cravat and tailored Regency jacket and trousers, floral of course, further enhanced by his unique charisma. Gary and Rory stood opposite her, arguing over which was more impressive – to have been scouted to model in Paris or have a Spanish boyfriend who’d once cooked for Taylor Swift.
She sipped coffee and her phone beeped. An email from Jimmy Fletcher! It’d been several days, and she’d almost given up on getting a reply to her short message saying she was trying to track down a fortune teller from 2004. There was no reason why he should help. As Gary and Rory continued to argue their cases, Elena put down her book and read it.
Hello Elena. The fortune teller was called Morag. I remember her well! She was Scottish. But I gave up the fair when my arthritis got bad about seven years ago, and didn’t keep in touch with everyone. I never did like computers – my wife makes me have this email and, back in the day, I hired a company to set up my old, basic website. I didn’t have the enthusiasm to edit it myself, therefore details showcasing the stallholders, for example, were never put online. I used to work out the figures for my tax return manually and send them to my accountant. I have kept the paperwork. You’re welcome to drop by and look through the boxes yourself – there’s a stack of them in the outhouse. Sorry, I’m not up to it. There should be copies of the invoices I sent the stallholders, for their pitches. Your email sounded as if it’s important. I live a few miles outside Liverpool. Best, Jimmy
Singing ‘Shake It Off’ out of tune, Gary went back to his desk. Elena held up her phone. Rory read it and gave the thumbs up. He insisted on going with her. She wholeheartedly thanked him. If only Elena could show her gratitude with a long, lingering kiss that wouldn’t be out of place in any Regency romance. With a little over a week to her birthday, she’d emailed back and asked Jimmy if there was any way she could make the journey from Manchester today.
Relieved he’d said yes, she drove whilst Rory told her he’d called in on Tahoor last night and that he seemed to be doing better and had even started sorting through Isha’s clothes. Rory didn’t seem as fired up as normal though while talking about his latest sport activity. Yes, the whitewater kayaking was tiring. No, he’d hadn’t swallowed too much water when his kayak upturned. The last time he’d been, Rory had come into the office, full of excited bluster, explaining how the river rapids were graded like ski runs and that he was still on a high from the exhilaration. Instead he talked about their visit to Gayle.
‘So, as a child you were super-sensible? Like you are now? Checking windows and the hob… They were the last things on my mind as a little boy. In fact, I haven’t changed much. I left the he ating on once, twenty-four seven, when I was away on a week’s trip. It cost a small fortune.’
‘It’s just the way I am. Gran was very particular about things. She’d say, “It costs you nothing to double-check.” She’d been burgled twice and suffered a chip pan fire once. Perhaps that was why.’
Rory stared at her intently. In so many ways the two of them really were so different.
They pulled up outside a small bungalow and Elena got out, a very fine layer of snow crisp under her feet. It had only fallen lightly again today, and hadn’t settled until the temperature went below freezing, when the sun disappeared. Having double-checked she’d locked the car. Elena surveyed Jimmy’s lawn that was perfectly square with neat borders, filled with lines of shrubs. A lit-up reindeer stood in the middle of the lawn. The full moon revealed that the tiled roof was free from moss and the plastic, white front door was spotless, with a Christmas wreath tied to the knocker. Across the front of the bungalow hung twinkling fairy lights. Elena couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She’d imagined that the owner of a touring fair lived a ramshackle, bohemian life that every person, trapped in suburbia, secretly envied. She knocked and waited several minutes before the door finally opened. A man smiled at them, bald with a face deep with wrinkles and tanned, giving away the number of years he’d spent outside. His body leaned to the right and his misshapen fingers displayed the damage done by his arthritis.
‘Jimmy? Thanks so much for seeing me so quickly,’ said Elena. ‘I do hope my visit isn’t too much of an inconvenience.’
He smiled to reveal pearly dentures. ‘Not at all. My Val is out, she goes to the Bingo on a Thursday, but she made a flask of tea for us before she went, and has left out three mince pies. My hands aren’t so good in this weather and the kettle’s heavy. ’
‘This is my friend, Rory,’ said Elena. ‘I hope you don’t mind if he helps.’
‘Good to meet you, lad. Come on in, it’s Baltic out there.’ Jimmy beckoned for them to enter and Rory shut the front door behind him. Limping, he led the way to the back of the house and the small kitchen, as tidy as the front garden. The only indication of Jimmy’s past was a framed photo of him in the hallway with his arms around two men in front of the carousel.
Jimmy rubbed his hip and then pointed out of the window. ‘See the outhouse at the bottom of the garden? Val unlocked it before she left. When you go in, there’s a light switch on the left. The cardboard boxes you need to sift through are in there. I accidentally threw one out a couple of years ago. I was sorting through, only keeping the records from the last five years of the fair running. Morag didn’t attend every one, so what with that and losing some of the paperwork, I can’t promise you’ll find what you want.’ He passed them the flask. ‘I’d suggest we have a drink together first, but you’d better crack on, as it could take a while. I always did like setting up shop on Bridgwich Common. It was a shame when property developers bought it. Morag had something to say about that.’ He grinned.
‘You said you remember her well?’ said Elena.
‘Quite a character but sound as a pound. Very no nonsense. She used to camp out at some of the locations, instead of booking a B&B if it was far from her home. Even in the middle of winter, can you believe?’
Yes, more than he’d ever imagine.
‘Morag didn’t rate technology – hadn’t got a mobile phone, let alone a laptop. It was nothing to do with saving money. She used to get cross when people accused her of being that money-pinching Scottish stereotype. It was more a case of believing in simple living. Apparently she grew her own fruit and vegetables and bought her clobber from charity shops.’ He leant against a kitchen unit. ‘One year, towards the end, I had to cancel the first week of the fair at a location on the outskirts of Sheffield, at the last minute, as one of the worst storms the area had ever seen was due to hit. The ground would have been too muddy even if the storm passed quickly. Morag was the most difficult to contact. There had been bad weather in Scotland too and her landline was down. She’d given me the email address of a neighbour who kindly agreed to Morag giving it out to a few people for emergencies, but I didn’t hear back until it was too late and Morag had already left.’
‘She must have been fuming,’ said Rory.
Jimmy beamed. ‘Not at all. She had reluctantly booked a B&B ahead that time, due to the wet conditions. It didn’t cross her mind I would actually cancel, having never done so before the times she’d taken part. She mentioned the place to her neighbour and I found the B&B’s number in the phone book. I saw her in Liverpool the following week. Her motto for life was very much that everything happened for a reason. Morag always struck me as a very content person. She’d stayed in Sheffield for the week as the owner wanted her to read her cards for guests. He’d booked evening entertainment for the whole of December, as part of a special bookings deal, but the magician had fallen ill.’ He gave Elena a curious look. ‘You must have been a child when you knew her?’
‘That’s why I want to see her again, to… clarify a… a prediction she made. Kind of.’ Elena blushed. ‘Now that I’m an adult.’
He patted Elena’s arm. ‘Her card reading was always on the mark.’
Jimmy probably thought he was being reassuring.
‘Did she have a crystal ball?’ asked Rory.
‘No. As I said, Morag was a common-sense person and I always assumed there had to be a kind of logic to reading playing cards, whereas a crystal ball? That’s a bit airy fairy if you ask me.’
‘Did she strike you as a cold-hearted type, out to fleece customers, not really caring about the outcome of her readings?’ Rory continued.
‘No, lad! Why would you ask that?’
Rory pursed his lips.
‘Morag was a lovely lady. Caring in her own way. One of the younger stallholders got blind drunk one night, caused a scene in the pub he was staying in, near where her tent was pitched. He got thrown out for being rude towards the landlord. Morag had a word and got him his room back. Then she sat up with him all night, worried he’d choke in his sleep, he’d drunk that much thanks to some idiot lacing his drinks.’ He limped to the back door and opened it. ‘In fact, she told me, the last time she worked for my fair, that I should retire before my arthritis really started complaining about winter bookings. I never thought it would get this bad. Morag had a real kind of sixth sense about her. Anyway, that’s enough of me rambling on. Val put the heater on in the outhouse, to take the pinch off. You’ll still need your coats. Good luck.’
Elena poured Jimmy a mug of tea out of the flask first and carried it, with a mince pie, into the lounge for him.
Shyly, she reached into a bag she was carrying and brought out a box of chocolates. ‘A small thank you.’
‘But you haven’t found anything yet,’ he said, nevertheless keenly reaching for the box as his face lit up.
They smiled at each other and Elena and Rory made their way outside. She shivered as she headed along the narrow path, across the back lawn to the outhouse. The grass looked white due to its gossamer carpet of snowflakes. She opened the outhouse’s door and ran her hand along the wall, for the light. It wasn’t so tidy as the garden and house, with boxes stacked in a higgledy-piggledy fashion. The air smelt musty and the room was chilly, despite the plug-in electric radiator ahead.
Elena bit her lip and caught Rory’s eye. ‘She did have a crystal ball – whatever Gayle and Jimmy say. They weren’t there that night. I was and didn’t make it up.’
Rory put his hands on her shoulders. ‘There will be a rational explanation for any discrepancies. Come on, let’s get looking. An Indian takeaway, my shout, is calling. Nice and warming when we get back.’
Elena put down her bag. They pulled down the top cardboard boxes. There were four to look through, all in all. Other boxes filled with random objects, no doubt cast-offs from stalls over the years, made perfect seats. Almost an hour later they’d each gone through one box of paperwork, with no luck. They’d sifted through invoices and receipts for owners of craft ale stalls, ones selling Christmas baubles, homemade water bottle covers, chocolate tea cakes and organic toiletries, but didn’t find a single one for Morag. Other paperwork too, from local councils, granting permission for Fletcher’s Fair to take place at the various sites. Bills, too, for repairs to the carousel. The cold had almost numbed Elena’s feet. Yet, despite the circumstances, this was… nice, the two of them quietly getting on, comfortable with the silence, exchanging smiles now and again. Even though she’d rather have pulled him to his feet, torn off his clothes and created their own heat. God he was handsome. They drank the tea and ate the mince pies, then each moved on to their second box. She picked up a bundle of invoices. One fell onto the floor and Rory picked it up. She flicked through the sheaf in her hand but stopped when Rory punched the air .
‘Here we go. Morag Macbay. An address, email details and landline number.’
Elena’s eyes widened and she took the piece of paper whilst Rory tapped into his phone.
‘She lives in a place called Leith which is a northern district of Edinburgh,’ he said. ‘Are you going to email her?’
Elena stared at the sheet. ‘No. I’ve not got much time. I need to see her face to face. I’ll ring.’
‘No time like the present. Go for it.’
The prospect of speaking to Morag, after twenty years of worry, took her breath away. Feeling like a little girl again, unsure and scared, yet determined too, she took out her phone, punched in the number and pressed dial. It rang. And rang. No one picked up. No problem. She’d email instead.
Elena typed as Rory tidied up. It was difficult to know what to say, so she kept it to a minimum. This message would be going to the inbox of a neighbour of hers, after all, according to Jimmy. After fifteen minutes, the room was tidy again – or as tidy as it had been, when they walked in – and the two of them were headed to the door when her phone beeped, but a jubilant grin soon slipped from her face. The email had bounced back. It said ‘non-existent email address’. Oh no. Morag’s neighbour must have changed email provider. There was only one solution left, then. Elena slipped her phone back into her bag.
‘I’ll ring again,’ she said, ‘but either way this weekend would be my only opportunity to see her. I’ll take my chances as to whether she is there. Fancy a road trip to Scotland the day after tomorrow?’