by Cassie Hamer
Lisa handed over the contact paper.
‘That’ll be $4.95 thanks.’ The cashier put the roll of contact into a plastic bag.
‘Oh, don’t worry about a bag, I’m happy to carry it.’
The cashier handed it back and Lisa gave her a ten-dollar note. The younger police officer was back and talking quietly to the older officer, who’d finally moved away from Lisa’s side.
‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ said Lisa as the cashier rang through the sale.
‘Yes.’
‘A lovely day for the park, actually. I might take my daughters there after school. What about you? Do you have children?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, just as well … sensible really when you consider how much work they are,’ chirped Lisa.
The woman’s face reddened. ‘I … can’t … have …’ She choked over the words and a sob entered her voice.
‘Oh, gosh. I didn’t realise. Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Lisa clapped a hand over her mouth, as the older officer returned to her side and gave her a look that said Look at what you’ve done.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ said Lisa, patting the lady’s arm. ‘I didn’t mean to … You know there are lots of treatments … I had a friend who … oh, never mind …’ When Lisa saw the officer’s raised eyebrows, she stopped babbling. She was only making things worse. The policewoman took a step back. Your mess, you deal with it, said her frown.
‘I think it might be best if I just leave now,’ said Lisa meekly, turning for the exit.
‘Your change,’ croaked the cashier as Lisa hurried for the door, with the officer striding alongside her.
Outside, the officers gave Lisa a final talking to. ‘Mrs Wheeldon, please go home and get some sleep. And it might be best to stay away from here for a while. The staff think you’re a bit strange.’
‘I’m really not. I’m actually quite normal, I promise.’
The officers gave her a disbelieving look.
‘But that’s fine. I’ll steer clear.’ Lisa scurried down the street, head down. At the car, she stopped and checked over her shoulder. The policewomen were still there, waiting for her to leave. Lisa cursed herself. Not only had she failed to get any closer to finding Missy Jones, she’d also earned herself what sounded like temporary expulsion from her daughters’ most beloved source of stationery supplies.
The school mothers were right, this Missy Jones was already affecting her family, making her into someone she wasn’t, and depriving her children of cheap textas and pencils. There had to be another way to find her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At 3 pm, when swathes of purple silk started going up in the glass conference room, Jamie had an inkling that something special was about to happen and it was exactly what she needed. All day she’d been unable to concentrate on work, and the confirmation was in her browser history. She’d done web searches on everything from wedding cakes, to the current state of the Dubai economy and the name ‘Missy Jones’—a search that returned nearly twelve million results. While she’d been able to narrow it down to three million by adding a few extra search terms, she felt no closer to finding out the truth about Ellie.
At 6 pm, Angel came to her desk and ordered her to shut down her laptop. When Jamie said she needed one more minute, Angel shut it for her, and sat on it—actually causing it to creak. Only when she was sure Jamie wouldn’t try to reopen the computer did Angel frog-march her down the hallway. ‘Happy engagement,’ she trilled theatrically as she stepped aside the door to the meeting room.
Jamie stopped and gasped. It was extraordinary, like opening a treasure chest. Gone was the sterile conference table and chairs and in their place were oversized jewelcoloured cushions, scattered across luxurious Persian rugs and around low wooden tables. The room glowed with the flickering of hundreds and hundreds of tea lights (electric—Angel didn’t mind paying for the party but drew the line at forking out for fire damage) and the ceiling was draped in purple silk and strings of fairy-lights. This was exactly what she needed to take her mind off Ellie and get it focused on her engagement.
‘Do you like it?’ said one of the junior girls excitedly. ‘It’s straight off Gwyneth Paltrow’s blog. She did the gypsy theme for her kid’s eighth birthday and I thought it just looked ah-mazing! Ah-mazing!’ To put more emphasis on the point, she clapped her hands together.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Jamie replied honestly. ‘I love it.’
Then the food started coming, platters and platters of dolmades, dips and warm flatbreads, mini pastries oozing with cheese and to finish, sweet, syrupy mouthfuls of baklava, topped with melt-in-the-mouth Persian fairy floss.
The girls, and Benny, had outdone themselves. While Angel was tight with the everyday office essentials (no-name tea bags, powdered instant coffee and scratchy toilet paper, thank you very much) she knew how and when to loosen the purse strings. She was like a see-saw, tipping the balance to and fro, but this party had certainly tipped the balance in favour of staff spending.
Jamie’s champagne glass was never empty, receiving refill after refill from the hot, young waiter, who was dressed in harem pants, a turban and nothing else. After the third top-up, Jamie had discovered that his name was Dean and that any sense of objectification he may have felt at being topless was being easily diminished by the $60 an hour that Angel was paying him to be there, half-naked. With that assurance, Jamie started to eat and drink guilt-free. Hell, you only got engaged once! (Or four times, in Angel’s case.)
For the first time at an office party, Jamie let her hair down. She resolved to break her usual office rule of one-drink-per-function and really cut loose. What did it matter? There was a strong chance she’d be leaving in six weeks. Even though she’d promised to consider Angel’s offer of taking over Spin, she was still leaning towards Dubai. So what if she was sacrificing her career for Jared? She was running out of time. All her friends were having babies and if there was one thing Jamie really hated, it was being left behind.
But as she looked around the room at her co-workers cackling and chewing and sipping, she felt a pang of sadness. These girls really knew how to have fun. They were like sisters in a way. They worked hard and played hard. They had each other’s backs. When people discovered she worked in a nearly all-female work environment, they always asked about the bitchiness. But the assumption of cattiness rankled Jamie. These girls had her back. She’d go to war with them, though the idea of them clattering their way to the front lines in Jimmy Choos and pencil skirts made her giggle. The point was—it was a genuinely great place to work. The camaraderie was palpable. At some stage, all their menstrual cycles would sync up, Jamie was sure. The idea of leaving them was hard to stomach.
She felt a tap on her back. ‘Consulted the cards yet, my dear?’ Angel slung a caftan-sleeved arm around Jamie’s shoulders. Her silver turban had slipped to a rakish angle, giving her the appearance of a tipsy gypsy. Angel never missed an opportunity to rig up in fancy dress, though her bird-of-paradise caftan was actually a piece from her everyday wardrobe. The turban was a new development, just for the party Jamie supposed.
‘You know I don’t believe in that rubbish,’ said Jamie airily.
Angel inhaled loudly and closed her eyes. ‘I will not let the tarot gods hear such blasphemy.’ Jamie went to speak but Angel held up her finger and stabbed the air. ‘No! I will not hear another word. Get thee to the corner. And get thee in touch with thine own spiritual self!’ With a flounce of her caftan, Angel whirled off towards the topless male waiter with her champagne glass outstretched.
Jamie glanced at the corner of the room where the tarot reader was sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching her. Most of the girls had already had their reading and most had come away satisfied. Money, love, success—apparently it was all just around the corner waiting for them.
The woman’s glance hadn’t deviated and Jamie felt herself being reeled towards her like a freshly hooked fish.
The tarot reader nodded
as Jamie tried to sink gracefully into the red-velvet cushion, but instead half-collapsed into it with a little champagne spilling onto the rug.
The psychic remained serene. ‘Lady of the moment.’ She bowed her head.
‘That’s me!’ Jamie held up her champagne glass.
‘My name is Seraphina, which comes from the Latin word for Angel.’
‘Of course it does.’
Typical Angel, hiring a psychic named after herself.
‘I see you are a sceptic.’ Seraphina delivered the sentence in a neutral tone. Her voice was low and resonant and reminded Jamie of a viola, the instrument she’d played throughout her schooling because it was a little bit different but not too different. Not like the French horn, which is what Lisa learnt, honking away morning after morning until Dad begged her to stop.
Jamie cleared her throat. ‘I’m happy to be proved wrong.’
‘Do you have a question, my lady, that you would like the cards to answer?’
She tried to think quickly, but her brain felt as jellied as the Turkish delight now being handed around. ‘Umm … nope.’
‘An open reading then.’ Seraphina kissed the large purple crystal hanging around her neck and started shuffling a deck of cards. Jamie felt herself becoming mesmerised by the ease and fluidity with which Seraphina’s hands moved. The way in which she whipped and snapped the cards was positively hypnotic. As she laid out three of them, Jamie’s eyes narrowed on the images and the rest of the party seemed to fall away, the sounds of the drinking and carousing fading into a gentle backing track.
‘Past, present and future,’ said Seraphina, gently placing a finger on each card as she spoke.
Jamie swallowed hard as she read the word on her ‘future’ card.
Death.
Seeing Jamie’s troubled look, Seraphina patted her knee. ‘This tarot does not predict but seeks to explain.’ She pointed to the Death card. ‘This is not the one you fear.’
Jamie sipped her champagne to get rid of the lump in her throat.
‘To the past.’ Seraphina tapped the first card, a picture of a moon, frowning down upon a yelping dog and a howling wolf. ‘The tame and the wild both cry to the moon but what do they cry for? It is only light. A trick of the eye, controlling little more than the tide.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jamie whispered.
‘It means—all is not what it seems. Perhaps you are deceiving yourself. Perhaps you have been deceived. You must look within yourself. Be open. Overcome any sense of denial that may be preventing your heart from opening to the truth.’
An image popped into Jamie’s mind. Ellie. Her face as pale and large and frowning as the moon on the card. Why had she thought of the little girl? Ellie had nothing to do with her past. Or did she? When Ellie had fallen asleep on the bed at Lisa’s, Jamie had studied her face. There was something in the little girl she felt she recognised, but simply couldn’t put a finger on.
‘The present.’ Seraphina placed her finger on the second card. The Lovers.
Jamie gave a wry smile. ‘I think I understand this one.’
‘The lovers are naked, yes. But their nudity stems not from sexual desire but from a desire for vulnerability. To know the other fully. They stand, palms open to the sky, to the winged figure of Raphael, clothed in robes and therefore unknowable. Raphael is a figure of healing. But healing for what? Is this love truly your heart’s desire?’
Jamie burped and felt the burning ferment of stale alcohol in her mouth. Did she love Jared? They enjoyed each other’s company, certainly. They had fun together. Laughed at the same things, mostly. Took great holidays. Never made demands of each other. Only fought over silly things, like Jared’s domestic slackness. But did she really know him? Did she really love him? How could she even be asking the question? Of course she loved him; she must love him if she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him!
‘I think I’ve got the love bit covered,’ she said. ‘This is my engagement party, after all.’
‘Of course,’ Seraphina nodded. ‘And now the Death card.’ She tapped the ominous third card. A picture of a skeletal knight, riding a white horse into battle. Jamie couldn’t wait for Seraphina to spin it into something positive. If she could do that, she could spin anything and Jamie would recommend Angel hire her straight away. After all, PR was the art of transforming negatives into positives, which was a kind of alchemy in its own way.
‘Note the flowers, here,’ Seraphina pointed, ‘being offered by the child as Death rides by, on his way to battle. Death is not an end but an intense change and we must embrace it as the child does, putting aside our deepest-held fears and offering ourselves joyfully and with open hearts.’
Was Seraphina talking about her move to Dubai? Certainly that would be an intense change, though it wasn’t one Jamie was particularly frightened of. If anything, she was excited. So was that the change the cards were referring to? Or was it something else entirely? Something Jamie hadn’t even considered? Why couldn’t the cards be more obvious!
‘I can see you were seeking more concrete guidance.’
Goodness, maybe she really is a mind reader?
‘But this is not the way of the tarot cards.’ As Seraphina placed her hand on Jamie’s knee, she felt the palm burning through to her bone. ‘You must search your heart.’ The woman leant in. ‘Search deeply, my lady.’
‘I will,’ said Jamie in a low tone, placing her hand over Seraphina’s.
‘Fancy a top-up?’ The topless waiter broke into Jamie’s reverie by putting a champagne bottle under her nose.
‘Why not! You only live once.’ Jamie held out her glass. ‘Unless you believe in reincarnation.’ She tilted it towards Seraphina.
‘Still no reason to reject champagne,’ said Seraphina brightly, putting forward a glass that must have been hiding under her robes during the reading, for Jamie had not seen it beforehand. ‘Just a mouthful, thanks, hon.’ She beamed at the waiter. ‘I’m sure Angel wouldn’t mind, would she?’
‘No, of course not,’ Jamie murmured. Who was this chirpy woman? And what had she done with the floaty mystic who’d just reached into Jamie’s heart and touched her soul?
Seraphina pulled back the jewelled sleeve of her robe to reveal a chunky, rubber, Casio watch. ‘Whoops! Time’s up. My daughter’s netball practice finished ten minutes ago.’ She downed the champagne in a single gulp and started peeling off her robes to reveal jeans and a T-shirt underneath. ‘Hope you don’t mind, hon,’ she said apologetically. ‘I usually change in the loo. But, you know—needs must!’ She scooped up her cards and crystals and shoved them quickly into a plastic bag, along with her robes. With that she was gone, scurrying through the beaded curtain and pulling at the head scarf that had kept her maroon curls in check.
Jamie followed her to the doorway and would later question whether she actually saw what she saw, or whether it was a product of the champagne. Either way, it was shocking. As Seraphina pulled off the scarf from around her head, the maroon curls came with it. It was a wig! Covering a blonde bob! What a fraud! Jamie resolved on the spot to forget everything the woman had told her.
‘Everything okay?’ It was Ben, standing behind her. ‘Who’s the soccer mum?’ he asked, following Jamie’s gaze.
‘That,’ said Jamie dramatically, ‘was the amazing, incredible, all-seeing, all-knowing, Seraphina.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Ben thoughtfully. ‘She looks a lot like Angel’s tennis partner, Susan.’
‘Well, whoever she was, she reckons I’m in for some very scary, very exciting changes in my life.’
‘I guess that’s one way of looking at marriage.’
‘Oh, it’s all just psychic mumbo-jumbo, Benny. I’ve never believed in it and I’m not about to start,’ said Jamie airily and gave him her most dazzling smile. ‘C’mon, Benny. Let’s find that topless waiter and get truly sozzled together.’
By 9 pm, everyone else had gone and it was just the two of them, Ben and Jamie, si
tting with their feet up on the conference table. All the girls had kissed Jamie wistfully on the cheek as they clattered off into the night, no doubt wondering when it would be their turn to be feted by Angel with an impromptu party. Not an engagement one, necessarily, because marriage spelt babies and children. Virtual career suicide, basically, at least at Spin Cycle where Angel expected 24/7 access to your life.
The conference room was nearly back to its normal, bland self, save for the beaded curtain still strung up around the doorway. Jamie had promised Angel she would take it down when she left. There was an 8.30 am meeting with an IT company happening in the conference room. ‘They’re far too straight for the likes of this,’ Angel had commented as she tripped through the doorway and tangled herself in the sparkly spaghetti strands.
‘Leave it, Angel. Please, you’ve done so much. Ben and I will take care of it.’ Jamie had crossed her heart. Actually crossed her heart like a five-year-old. ‘Promise.’
‘All right then, you two.’ Angel stopped at the door. ‘Don’t get up to mischief.’ She waggled her finger at them and turned off the lights, plunging the room into complete darkness. Ben and Jamie giggled.
‘Why did she turn off the lights?’ said Jamie.
‘Because she’s had twenty million glasses of champagne.’
‘I heard that,’ came a voice from down the corridor before the elevator pinged at their floor. Angel was getting into the lift. There was the hiss of the doors closing, then silence.
Ben and Jamie collapsed into raucous laughter. Jamie guffawed so hard she took her legs off the table and crossed them to save her bladder from bursting.
Eventually, their laughter slowed to giggles, and petered out into sighs and silence.
‘It’s nice in here like this,’ said Jamie.
