Oh Great, Now I Can Hear Dead People: What Would You Do if You Could Suddenly Hear Real Dead People?

by Deborah Durbin

  ‘Oh you know, painful,’ she laughs, ‘I will heed your warnings next time. I promise.’

  ‘She’s doing too much and needs to take a break.’

  The same voice I heard before whispers in my ear. Oh bum!

  ‘Maybe you should take a holiday?’ I offer.

  ‘Yeah right, like that’s going to happen,’ Annette laughs, ‘with Sharon on maternity leave and Simon with his bad back, I’m the only one left to run this ship at the moment,’ she says and then looks at me. ‘Oh is that another piece of advice I must listen to?’ I nod and smile.

  ‘You’ve been doing too much lately and you need a break. Jeff can always cover for you. He was very good the other week.’

  ‘Well maybe I might just do that then. Thanks, Hun,’ Annette smiles. ‘Right back to business.’ She flicks a few more switches and pops her headphones on.

  ‘OK, so now we are refreshed, let’s have our next caller. Hello, what’s your name and how can Crystal help you?’

  ‘Err, hello… my name is…Stu...Stewart,’ a man’s voice says nervously and then he coughs. ‘I would like a reading from Mystic Crystal, please.’

  Oh my God! I know this voice. It’s Jack! I feel as though I’m going to faint and suddenly go all cold. I cannot believe he is phoning up pretending to be someone else! I mean this is my job, it wouldn’t occur to me to try and screw things up for him at his place of work.

  ‘Well Stewart, is there anything in particular you would like Crystal to focus on?’ Annette asks, completely oblivious to the fact that this is my so-called best friend playing a prank.

  ‘Errr, no, not really.’ ‘Stewart’ says.

  ‘OK Crystal, it’s over to you.’

  ‘OK, Stewart,’ I say, not sure where I’m going to go with this. ‘I’ll draw some cards for you and I’ll see what comes up.’ I add. I’m not sure whether I should be doing this. I mean, what if something comes up that I’m not expecting? Am I too close to Jack to be able to do a proper reading for him? I take a deep breath and draw three cards.

  ‘Well… we have quite a turbulent time going on here for you, Stewart.’ I begin. ‘You’re not where you are supposed to be in love or in life and have recently let down a few people who love you.’ I keep picturing Jack with his naughty nurse and can’t seem to shake the image from my head. If he wants to mess around then he’s going to get what’s coming to him. ‘You will move on soon, both in your career and love life. What you thought you wanted is not what you want now. But just remember who helped you along the way.’ I pause for a moment to collect my thoughts.

  ‘You’re on the right track. You’re doing just fine,’ A voice comes into my head. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t be with her for long, she’s a right bimbo. Tell him he’s going to be a star!’ The voice urges. ‘And then he will realise just where his love lies.’

  ‘Ok, I’m getting a message for you here Ja… Stewart.’ I correct myself. I wonder if I should refer to his girlfriend as a bimbo – maybe not. ‘I’m being told that things are going to change and soon and that you will soon be a star.’

  ‘Cool! Anything else?’ Jack aka Stewart asks.

  ‘Yes, I’m being told that you should remember your old friends on the way up, because you might just meet them on the way down again.’ Well you can’t blame me for getting just one dig in, can you?

  ‘Uh, OK,’ Jack mutters. He knows that I know it’s him and not someone called Stewart – and where he got that name from God only knows!

  After Jack, I have one more caller to deal with called Beryl, who wants to know when she is going to win the lottery and is pissed off that despite buying a Daily Play every day, plus tickets for the Lotto, the Thunderball and the other one I can’t remember the name of, she still hasn’t won a penny. I try to advise her that I can’t predict a lottery win and that she might be better off using her money in more productive ways, but she just rants at me about not winning anything.

  ‘Tell her to be careful what she wishes for because she will get the money she wants, but not in the way she expects.’ A man’s voice tells me.

  ‘You will get the money you want.’ I say, ‘But…’

  ‘Oh brilliant! When?’ The woman demands.

  ‘I don’t know, but please try to focus on other things besides money, because this money might just come to you in a way you don’t want.’ I try to advise.

  ‘The important thing is that I’m gong to be rich! That’s all I wanted to know, thanks!’ The woman says and hangs up on me. Oh well, I did try. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can only try to forewarn people. It’s up to them whether they take my advice or not, and more often than not they seem to take no notice of me anyway.

  ‘Great show, once again, Hun!’ Annette says. ‘And I will take your advice about having a holiday. Promise.’

  ‘Good. Make sure you do,’ I say as I tip out the contents of my bag on the desk in order to retrieve my Strawberry Crush lip-gloss. ‘Right, I’m just going to speak to Liam and then reclaim my mother from carrot loving Colin and then I’m off. I’ll see you same time next week.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Having searched the entire Town FM building, I finally track my mother down in the local supermarket of all places, where she is busy analysing just how fresh the carrots really are, with Colin in tow. The pair of them have their heads buried in the vegetable section, sniffing bunches of carrots. Sniffing for what exactly I’m not sure, but they have already gained the attention of a member of staff and a security guard who are looking at them as if they have just been released in to the community.

  ‘Um, Mum?’ I say, tapping her on the back, ‘I’m ready to go, and what on earth are you doing sniffing the veg?’

  ‘Oh, hello darling!’ my mother enthuses as she fondles another root vegetable. ‘Be with you in a mo, just doing a bit of research with Colin for our book.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s all very well Mum, but people are beginning to think you’re a pair of nutters and that I’m your carer, so come on.’ I guide the pair of them from the fruit and veg section of the shop. ‘And what book? I thought you were half way through one?’ See, I do listen to my mother sometimes.

  My mother dramatically waves her arm in the air – it’s no wonder people think she’s out of her tree half the time.

  ‘Oh yes, darling, but the food mile one is almost finished. Colin and I are going to be working on a book all about…guess what?

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Carrots!’ My mother is obviously excited at this prospect – but hang on one cotton-picking minute, what’s all this about Colin writing a book with my mum? They’ve only just met.

  ‘What? You’re writing a book with Colin?’ I ask the obvious.

  ‘Oh yes, Colin’s a mine of information on carrots. You didn’t tell me just how clever he was, Sammy,’ my mother announces, a little too loud for my liking. OK then, let’s just make our way quietly to the exit, I think to myself as I escort the pair of them out the store.

  My mother is on cloud ninety nine that she has at last met someone who is as passionate about vegetables as she is, and has arranged to meet up with Colin next week to discuss the dynamics of other coloured vegetables, including the beetroot and of course the 40 odd varieties of cabbage. Oh dear, I don’t like the sound of all this, but then again she is a grown woman and who am I to question who she spends her time with?

  ‘Samantha, I told my cousin Clive about you and he said he would give you a call. You never know, you might be just the one to cure him,’ Colin says.

  ‘Okay Colin, that’s great.’ I say as I try to usher my mother into the car. However, before I can get round to the other side of the car, she has spotted a dried fruit stall on the other side of the road.

  ‘Colin, look!’ she says as she scurries across to it, dragging Colin with her.

  ‘We could do a follow up on how beneficial dried fruit really is,’ I hear her enthuse as the pair of them proceeds to sample half a dozen varieties
of dried fruits.

  ‘What do you think of the cranberries?’ My mother asks as she pops one into Colin’s open mouth. I think his mouth probably dropped open because he couldn’t quite believe his luck in meeting my mum – who, it has to be said, is still a darn’ good-looking woman – and what’s more she is passionate not only about fruit and veg, but equally about life too.

  I know she can come across as, well… how can I put it…a very British Eccentric, but beneath that ditzy exterior lies a survivor. My mother hides it well, but throw anything at her and she will handle it in her own way, bless her. I decide it’s better all round if I just quietly drive off and leave them to their food testing.

  For once I have the evening off. I am very tempted to unplug the phone, but before I can, it rings. It’s Amy in a bit of a state.

  ‘I don’t know what else I can do!’ she wails down the phone.

  ‘Look, Hun, it’s not the end of the world. You’ve got loads more options. I mean, it isn’t the only place that needs area managers, you know.’

  ‘I know, but I haven’t any real qualifications. At least if I’d stayed on at college and qualified, like you, I’d have something on paper.’

  ‘Ah, but as I have proved there are no jobs out there for qualified therapists – which is why I’m talking to dead people for a living,’ I joke. ‘Look, in all seriousness, why don’t you come round and we’ll crack open a bottle of wine and embellish the truth on your CV. And you don’t even know if you are going to be one of the area managers who has to go yet,’ I add. Amy has heard on the Big Mac grapevine that Amy’s bosses are having a reshuffle and they might have to lose some of their area managers.

  Amy sighs, ‘No, you’re all right. I know it’s your only night off. I’ll be fine. I’m going to call Kenzie and get an early night.’

  ‘All right then, but you know I’m here if you need me.’

  ‘You too, Hun,’ says Amy.

  My next caller is Miracle who calls to ask if I might consider swapping my evening off in favour of filling in for her so that she can have dinner with Max – er, let me think… no. I haven’t had a night off in ages and, as much as I love Miracle, I am not trading in my precious night off in favour of love’s middle-aged dream – especially when I am still young and kind of single!

  Liam calls me to tell me that he’s got VIP tickets to see Band of Gold next week. This man is so sweet, it’s untrue. When we were out earlier, I’d mentioned that my favourite band was Band of Gold and hours later he’s managed to get tickets to see them! I have promised myself that I will make more of an effort with Liam and make a point of telling him how grateful I am.

  The one person I expected to hear from and haven’t yet is Jack. Well, I say I expected him to call, deep down I didn’t really since I sent him a bit of a snotty text, telling him that I knew that he and Stewart were as one and that he could sod off and I never wanted to see him again. I am so mad at him! It was a really crappy joke to play on me, especially live on air. Besides, I expect he’s too busy entertaining Miss Naughty Knickers to phone up and apologise.

  Just as I’m about to settle down to watch Mrs Doutbfire, the phone rings again. I hesitate as to whether I should answer it. I wish I had Caller Display on my phone, then I could screen all my calls beforehand and only speak to the people I want to speak to, instead of trying to guess who they might be. Funny how psychic powers don’t come into play when you really need them, isn’t it?

  ‘Hello?’ I answer with trepidation.

  ‘Hello, is that Samantha?’ a man’s voice enquires.

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘Hello, Samantha, you don’t know me but I’m Colin’s cousin Clive. He said you wouldn’t mind me calling you,’ the man says.

  ‘Oh right, no not at all Clive.’ I’m not sure whether I really want to hear anymore about vegetables today to be honest. ‘How can I help?’ I say instead.

  ‘Well I expect Colin has already told you that I suffer from Lachnophobia?’

  ‘Yes, he did Clive, and please don’t be embarrassed about it. It happens to a lot of people.’ I lie, ‘How serious is your condition?’ I ask. I lift Missy off my lap and grab a pen and notebook. Missy gives me one of her looks and huffs out of the lounge.

  ‘Well it’s, pretty serious. The mere thought of …veg…vegetables makes my stomach churn. I can’t even look at a picture of them in a magazine without feeling sick.’

  ‘Humm… OK. Look Clive, I think I might be able to help you. If you’d like to come round to my place on Friday I’ll see what I can do. It won’t be something that will happen overnight, but with a few sessions I think we might just be able to cure you of this,’ I say brightly.

  ‘Really? That’s brilliant!’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t make it any sooner, but I’ve got a really busy week ahead.’

  ‘Yes, Colin told me that you’re going to be on TV.’ Clive says. ‘I hope it all goes well for you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, me too.’

  I make arrangements for Clive to visit and tell him my rates and put the phone down.

  Wow! My first real client! You never know, once one comes out of the cupboard more might follow suit!

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I’m nervously standing outside the BBC TV studios waiting to go into the building, doing a double check that I have everything I need. I’ve had to stick artificial nails over my own nibbled stumps, because I spent most of yesterday chewing them down to nothing. I can’t believe I can get so nervous over appearing on a TV programme – but I am.

  A car picked me up at six o’clock this morning to take me to the studio. To be honest I would have preferred to take the train, but they insisted on sending a chauffer-driven limousine to pick me up and drive me up to London. The driver drops me right outside the main entrance and I sit there for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts.

  As I leave the luxury limo I notice someone jogging towards me. It’s Gerry the security guard. Despite looking as though he’s about to have a heart attack on the spot, Gerry has a smile on his face – or maybe it’s more of a grimace.

  I stand watching as he puffs his way towards me. He stops and bends down, placing his hands on his ample thighs.

  ‘Hello there!’ I say.

  Gerry holds a hand up in the air as he catches his breath.

  ‘Hi …again,’ he says finally, ‘I … took…. Your... Advice.’

  ‘So I see! Well done you!’ I say encouragingly. Gerry must be 19 stone in weight and the short jog to work has obviously taken it out of him, but he looks so pleased with himself.

  ‘Two miles.’ Gerry wheezes. ‘That’s how far it is from my house… to here.’

  ‘Well done! You’ll feel better a few days into it,’ says she who only has to look at a treadmill to faint.

  ‘Well, I’d better go and get changed. Martin will sign you in. Oh, and good luck with your TV thing,’ he says.

  ‘Thanks, and well done.’ I smile. I’m so pleased he took my advice.

  I get signed in by Martin, another portly security guard, and momentarily wonder whether I should offer him the same advice as I gave Gerry. If this TV stuff doesn’t work out, I could always become a fitness trainer to portly security guards. How come all security guards are generously proportioned? I wonder. Well, I guess not all security guards are like this, but the ones that I’ve come into contact with – two, to be precise – are.

  I decide not to offer Martin any advice and make my way into the Green Room to wait to be called for make-up. I was told not to wear any whatsoever because the make-up girl will only scrape it off and put fresh on anyway, so I did as I was told, despite resembling something out of the Thriller video.

  A make-up artist called Becky works her magic on me as she natters on about natural cheekbones - what are unnatural cheekbones then? Is there such a thing? – and flawless complexions. I haven’t a clue if she’s referring to me or not, she just keeps randomly throwing words like ‘exfoliation’ into the co
nversation. Apparently my choice of attire is not suitable, according to the wardrobe department. The silver thread in my black and silver top will reflect on the camera and cause the viewer’s eyes to shrivel up into dried walnuts – or something like that. Whatever the explanation for my dire wardrobe malfunction, I’m escorted to the wardrobe department for a complete new outfit which consists of a full-length black gypsy skirt, a ruffly kind of top, also in black and a black and diamond choker. Not my idea of a daytime outfit, but they obviously want me to look the part and with my black kohl and silver eyes and silver lipstick I look suitably mystical - I could just as easily be mistaken for a wench out of a Charles Dickens novel, but not to worry, if nothing else it will cheer Amy up and give her a laugh.

  Now that I look the part, I sit and wait in the Green Room to be called into the studio. The ‘Green Room’ is a misleading expression as it turns out it isn’t green at all. In fact it’s a nice shade of lilac with a huge wide-screen TV set into one wall so that guests can watch the show they are about to appear on. The not-green-room, as I will refer to it on the grounds that there is not a hint of green in it, contains three two-seater plump sofas, and a glass coffee table with a huge vase of flowers placed strategically in the middle of it. It’s comfy yet rather clinical and I daren’t look at one of the glossy magazines that have been so carefully laid out for fear of disturbing the feng shui going on in here.

  My nerves are getting the better of me as I look up to the TV screen to see the hosts, Billy and Suze, two C-list presenters, telling viewers to get busy phoning if they want to have their fortune told, because coming up soon is Mystic Crystal who will reveal all. I’m slotted in between Dr John – a doctor, in case you hadn’t guessed – who is currently talking about how an in-growing toenail grows inwards – humm, nice. After my slot is the Style Guru with what to wear if you have a fat arse – okay it’s not called that, but that’s the gist of it.

  I watch as Billy, a cross between Elton John and Ricky Martin – no, seriously – looks as though he’s really interested in foot fungus. He has one of those orange perma-tans favoured by the likes of David Dickinson. He nods enthusiastically as Dr John demonstrates how a toenail grows right into the foot. Eww! I wish I hadn’t had breakfast this morning.