by Dawn Harris
The questions took exactly five minutes, as the charming young man had promised, and I went on my way smiling, thinking how my husband would laugh when I told him about the encounter. Jon says a young-looking wife is good for his morale and he finds it very amusing that most people assume he’s a good deal older than me. He’s currently on a business trip to Japan. But, thankfully, such trips end for good in six months, when his company will merge with another. Jon, like some other employees in their late fifties, is taking early retirement. He’s lucky to be able to do so, we know, and fortunately, we’ll have enough to live on. Frankly, we can hardly wait. No more awful partings, no more being tied down. At last we’ll be free to do whatever we like. We haven’t made any firm plans yet, but one thing we are certain of is that we’re going to have a ball.
Pippa was already seated at a table in the restaurant when I arrived, and after we’d ordered, I asked, ‘So, what’s this important news?’
Her eyes gleamed. ‘I meant to wait until Dad came home so that I could tell you together, but it’s no good. I can’t keep it to myself any longer.’ There was no mistaking the joy in her voice. ‘Can’t you guess? I’m going to have a baby.’
I’d just taken a sip of my drink and I choked badly. Pippa leapt up and slapped my back. ‘Are you all right?’
When I managed to croak a yes, she looked at me anxiously. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you?’
I stood up and hugged her. ‘Of course I am, darling. It’s simply wonderful news. I’m surprised, that’s all.’ Pippa had known Peter for two years, and been married for just a few months. ‘I thought you’d want to concentrate on your career for a few more years yet.’ She had wanted to be a vet since she was five, and she’d worked hard to achieve it. Passing her finals had been a day worth remembering. Jon and I were immensely proud of her.
‘We reckon we’ve timed the baby perfectly, Mum.’ Chuckling, she cut into her salmon steak. ‘Besides, on my next birthday I’ll be th-----‘
‘Sssh,’ I broke in hurriedly. ‘Someone might hear you.’ The restaurant was packed.
Pippa laughed. ‘I don’t mind people knowing how old I am.’
‘Well, I mind,’ I hissed, leaning across the table. Pippa, having inherited my youthful looks, was often taken for a teenager but, as I quickly pointed out, there was an obvious knock-on effect in revealing her true age. ‘Just think how old that must make me.’
That made her giggle. ‘You’re not old, Mum. You’re only----‘
‘Yes, yes,’ I cut in hastily, glaring at her. ‘There’s no need to say it out loud.’
‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ Pippa grinned. ‘Anyway, all my friends think you look young enough to be my sister.’
‘Really?’ I purred. Now that was more like it.
My daughter’s eyes danced with mischief. ‘Do I detect a touch of vanity there, Mother? Don’t worry, you’re certain to be the most glamorous grandmother in town.’
‘Grandmother!’ I stared at her dumbfounded, and held on to the table for support.
‘Well,’ she giggled. ‘You will be one quite soon, you know.’
That fact had somehow managed to escape me up until then and I staggered out of the restaurant in a state of shock. Jon would be thrilled about the baby and I knew I ought to be too. But I wasn’t ready for this. I hadn’t planned on becoming a grandmother for years yet.
I tried explaining how I felt to my sister, Marissa, during our weekly game of golf that afternoon. Marissa tends to speak her mind. ‘What’s your problem?’ she asked in her forceful way.
I grimaced. ‘It’s just that I’m not ready to do --- well, you know, whatever it is grandmothers are supposed to do.’
Marissa sank a twenty foot putt. ‘What?’ she tittered. ‘Like sitting in a rocking chair with your knitting?’
‘Knitting?’ I echoed in horror. ‘I can’t knit.’
‘All grandmothers can knit,’ Marissa smirked. ‘It’s expected.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ I muttered enviously. ‘Your kids are still at school.’ She’d left motherhood late. ‘You won’t be a grandmother for ages yet.’
Grinning smugly, she murmured, ‘I know.’
I burst out, ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Don’t you see, it will make me sound so....so.....’ Cringing, I forced myself to say it. ‘......so old.’
‘Yes, I suppose it will,’ she cackled. ‘Still, you can hardly keep it secret, can you? You mustn’t get so touchy, not now you have important decisions to make. For instance, do you want this child to call you Grandma or Granny?’ she goaded, speaking slowly and savouring each word, as she lined up her next putt. ‘Or Nana is quite popular, I believe.’ I closed my eyes and shuddered. Did I really have to choose one of those? ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘there are worse things to worry about.’
‘Like what?’ I was still reeling at the prospect of being called Granny in public.
‘Will Pippa continue to work?’
‘Of course. She loves her job.’ Not that Pippa had mentioned it over lunch, but I had no doubts. I prepared to drive the ball off the seventh tee. ‘Frankly, I don’t see how that affects me.’
So Marissa told me how – choosing the precise moment I started to swing the club. ‘Guess who she intends leaving the baby with ----Grandma.’
Stopping a drive in mid-swing is difficult, but I tried. The ball rocketed straight up into the treetops above me and I overbalanced, crash landing on my bottom. ‘She wouldn’t,’ I said in a failing voice.
‘Why not? Grandmas are much cheaper than childminders.’ I recalled two of Pippa’s friends saying those exact words and suddenly I felt rather faint. ‘And you loved being a full-time mother.’ It was true, I’d adored it, but I didn’t want to do it again. Or be tied down, just when Jon and I would soon be free to do our own thing.
‘When’s the baby due?’ Marissa asked.
‘Soon after Jon stops work.’
‘She’s timed it perfectly then, hasn’t she?’
I stared at her and gasped, ‘That’s exactly what she said over lunch.’ And I hadn’t guessed why. Stunned, I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe she expects it of us, Marissa. Not without consulting us first.’
‘Can’t you? Ask her then. Go on, ring her.’
I took out my mobile and glanced at my watch. Evening surgery started at four-thirty, and Pippa was always early. But as I waited for her to answer, I got to thinking. Pippa was my only child and I loved her dearly. How could I let her down if she really needed my help? Guilt made me hesitate. Maybe that’s why the words came out wrong when she answered.
‘Pippa, when you return to work after the birth, you’ll need someone to look after the baby---‘
‘Mum, you’re a Trojan!’
I gasped, floundering. ‘I didn’t mean----’ But my voice was drowned out by the sudden sound of a seriously distressed animal.
Pippa said, ‘Looks like an emergency, Mum. Talk to you later. I’ll pop in after work.’ I leaned back against the tree and closed my eyes.
Marissa sniffed. ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’
I nodded and explained what had happened to cut the call short. ‘She thought I was offering.’ I groaned. ‘How can I tell her I wasn’t?’
‘Honestly, you are so chicken-hearted. It’s simple enough, surely. Just tell her the truth.’
Back at my house, Marissa took pity on me at last and made the coffee. I picked up my favourite baby photograph of my daughter. ‘When Pippa was born she had soft silken hair and Jon’s eyes.’
‘If you’re going to get all slushy and sentimental, I’m off.’
‘I only meant that no mother ever forgets the moment she held her baby for the first time.’
A breathtaking experience Pippa would soon enjoy. A day she would always remember. I hadn’t thought of that until now. In fact, I hadn’t thought of anything except how Pippa’s baby would affect me. And in doing so, I’d lost sight of everything that really mattered.
Including the baby itself. A new life. A child I would love and cherish. My grandchild. I felt a great surge of joy.
‘Marissa,’ I murmured in awe, ‘do you realise that this baby will inherit some of my genes?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she chuckled. ‘Everyone has some cross to bear.’
I laughed, but I was beginning to see what this child was going to mean to me. In that moment, I saw my concern over how old I appeared to other people for what it was. A triviality. At least, in comparison to what I would gain. And it was time, I admitted to myself ruefully, to get my priorities right. I could even compromise about looking after the baby. After all, we’d always encouraged Pippa in her career, supporting her in every possible way. As I said to Marissa, ‘I could do some childminding, if Jon agrees. Provided it’s not full time. I mean, Pippa is used to us helping her.’
My sister gave a snort. ‘Used to you making sacrifices, you mean.’ Picking up her car keys, she stalked to the door. ‘Put your foot down for once. That’s my advice to you.’
Pippa breezed in after work, as promised, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and before she could speak, I began, ‘About the baby----‘
‘Mum,’ she interrupted, ‘there’s something I didn’t say on the phone. Peter’s sister has just become a registered childminder. And that’s why we’re starting a family now.’
I gaped at her, as the full meaning of her words sank in. ‘You mean---- Peter’s sister will look after your baby?’
‘Yes.’ Smiling, she put her hand on my arm. ‘I knew you’d offer, but you’ve done enough for me. This is your time now, Mum. Yours and Dad’s. Enjoy it.’
‘Oh, we will,’ I promised, hiding my relief.
When Jon rang later, I told him the wonderful news and he was every bit as thrilled as I’d expected. ‘Life’s full of new experiences, isn’t it?’ And he teased, ‘Mind you, I never thought the day would come when I’d want to sleep with a grandmother.’
His familiar chuckle came down the line and my whole world righted itself. I laughed out loud. And I do believe I might have said something about it being a day to remember.
Psychic Serena
My friend Serena is a clairvoyant – a real, live professional fortune teller, with all the right clobber, from a crystal ball down to the mystic earrings. She’s no fake, for even in her own life she never makes an important decision without consulting the crystal ball.
But if Serena’s lifestyle is extraordinary, mine couldn’t be more conventional. I’m a happy wife and mother, who does nothing more wacky than write the occasional poem. And I have no desire to know the future in advance. So how do I cope with Serena’s psychic abilities? Easy. We have an agreement. Serena doesn’t predict my future and I don’t bore her with my poems. An arrangement that worked perfectly well for years, until the morning I received three postcards, all from different friends. Three fabulous pictures of exotic, faraway places.
When I called on Serena later that day, I showed her the postcards, grumbling, ‘I never go anywhere exciting.’ Outside, the fog which had engulfed us all week remained unrelentingly murky. Never had a holiday in the sun seemed more enticing. But, as my husband Jack and I have to watch our pennies, we holiday in Britain. Not that there’s anything wrong in that. Britain is full of beautiful places, and we avoid those long queues at airports.
Serena said, ‘You might go abroad next year, Keri------’
‘Huh!’ Pointing out of the window, I mocked, ‘Did you see that pig flying past?’
She laughed. ‘Poor Keri, you really are fed up, aren’t you?’ I was about to admit it was only the weather, that fog always gives me the blues, when her eyes began to dance. ‘Wait here,’ she ordered. And soon came back bearing her crystal ball.
‘Oh no,’ I protested, backing away. ‘What about our agreement?’
‘Just this once,’ Serena coaxed with a winning smile. ‘My sixth sense tells me your next holiday will be one you’ll never forget.’
I grimaced. ‘Look, Serena, the last time I let you predict my future, you swore blind I was about to meet a blond hunk currently making a killing in the money market. So what happened? On the way home I was accosted by a thief who nicked my purse.’
‘Well, he was blond, wasn’t he?’ she retorted in injured tones. ‘Anyway, I was only seventeen, and still learning how to interpret what I saw.’ She placed the crystal ball on the table and appealed, ‘Go on, you need cheering up. You can read me one of your poems to even things up.’ Adding under her breath, ‘As long as it’s a short one.’
I had the feeling I was getting the rough end of the deal, but I capitulated. Anyway, I was itching to try out my latest poem on someone. It soon became clear, however, that Serena intended making the most of my moment of weakness. Having composed herself, she cackled outrageously, ‘Cross my palm with silver then, dearie.’
I laughed, but her palm remained outstretched. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am. I can’t do it without.’ As I well knew that was a downright lie, but I fished in my purse and thrust a five pence piece into her hand. She stared at it in disgust. ‘Is that all you think I’m worth?’
‘It’s the only silver I possess.’ And I peered closely into the crystal ball. ‘Anyway, I can’t see anything......’
‘No, well you don’t have the gift, do you?’ she pointed out in supercilious tones. ‘Now, be quiet. I need to concentrate.’ I waited, but when she said, ‘Ah, it’s clearing,’ I began to giggle.
‘Shut up, Keri. How do you expect me to.....?’ Then a triumphant smile crossed her face. ‘I knew it. I can see an aeroplane!’ She frowned. ‘It’s awfully fuzzy, I admit, but it is there. And yes.......there you are, on a beach, with waves rippling in the hot sun.’ She grinned at me. ‘Well, that settles it. Next year you’re obviously going abroad.’
‘Next year,’ I scoffed, ‘we’ll be in Britain, as usual.’
She glared at me icily. ‘Keri, everything I see in the crystal ball comes true. Honestly, it really does.’ I didn’t believe her, but it brightened up a dull, miserable day.
Most people are intrigued that I have a clairvoyant for a friend but, having known Serena since we were both at Green Lane Primary, it doesn’t seem strange to me. Serena was psychic even at school, but after she correctly predicted my first boyfriend was about to dump me, I called a halt to her crystal gazing on my behalf. I didn’t want to know in advance what was going to happen. Besides which, she occasionally misinterpreted what she saw. As my nicked purse proved.
Whenever I’ve asked her how she predicts the future, she shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I just see things.’ Being a clairvoyant has drawbacks, however. For Serena, it’s her love life that suffers. It takes a very special kind of man to cope with the insights that come with her profession.
‘You’ll meet the right fella one day,’ I said, confidently making my own prediction. I was certain that some discerning man would look beyond the trappings of her profession and discover the warm-hearted Serena I knew, and of course, in time someone did. Mind you, even I didn’t expect him to appear at the Christmas Fayre.
The Fayre was run in aid of local charities and, naturally, Serena gave her services free. I was her assistant, ushering people in and out, and putting the money in a safe place. Her last customer was a tall, dark stranger. Not handsome but, as Serena often says, you can’t have everything.
What he did have was brown hair, hugely expressive eyes, and an enormous grin. Crossing her palm with a tenner to help the charities, he asked in cheery unconcern, ‘Now, my lovely, what does your crystal ball tell you about Gus Greenwood?’
Serena shot him a surprised look. Customers were usually nervous or curious, and often both. No-one bounced in without a care in the world and introduced themselves. ‘Let’s see,’ she said, studying the crystal ball. Almost instantly she jumped back, gasping, ‘Oh!’ and put her hands over her cheeks, which had flushed a deep, deep crimson.
Gus leaned forward, his eyes glea
ming eagerly. ‘Tell me what you saw.’ I stood there, agog with curiosity, for Serena never blushes. Her reaction could mean only one thing. She had seen not only Gus Greenwood’s future, but her own, too.
She looked up into his eyes for what seemed an eternity, and when she finally dragged her gaze away, she was breathless. ‘Er.....Keri ....why don’t you......er......count the money or something.’ She jerked her head towards the exit. ‘I’ll see to this gentleman.’
So I left. But with the greatest reluctance. Well, wouldn’t you? I was dying to find out what Serena had seen in the crystal ball, but she sneakily left the Christmas Fayre without saying goodbye. And every time I rang her, the answer phone was on. In the end I pushed a note through her door, in the form of a poem.
Oh Serena, Serena! Wherefore art thou, Serena?
Where hast thou gone?
Verily, I believe thou hast forgotten thy oldest friend,
Whom thou left, high and dry, at the Fayre.
So, switch off thy wretched answer phone,
Call in for coffee, or else ring,
Unless thou wanteth another very bad poem.
Okay, so it doesn’t rhyme or scan. When did I ever say my poems were any good? Anyway, tough measures were called for if I was to find out what was going on. And it did the trick too. The following day, Serena turned up at my house looking sheepish, yet with a glow about her I’d never seen before. ‘I’m in love,’ she burst out. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ She sank back against the sofa cushions with a blissful sigh. ‘It’s Gus.’
I arched an eyebrow at her. ‘You don’t say.’
She laughed. ‘Do you know, Keri, he only came to the Christmas Fayre to bring his mother. But then he saw me....’
‘And he fell in love.’
She nodded and I demanded curiously, ‘So, what did you see in that crystal ball that made you blush?’
She began to giggle. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’
Well, yes, frankly I would, but I could see she wasn’t going to tell me. Instead, she talked about Gus non-stop for the best part of an hour, telling me why he was the most wonderful guy on earth.
