Suddenly Psychic

by Melanie Baxter

  Satisfied, I rolled over, pulled up the duvet, and slept like a baby until the mobile phone's peal of phonic bells woke me again. I blinked up at the clock radio. It was after 9 A.M. already.

  "Amber speaking, what would you like to know?” My tongue felt like flannel and my mouth had a sour, metallic taste. Tanya's fault. She'd made me drink too much wine last night.

  "Hello, erm, is this the psychic line?” a soft male voice asked.

  "Yes, my love, you'll have to speak up though, dear.” I couldn't resist having a bit of fun. “The spirits talk to me in my left ear and its quite distracting, so I need to hear you clearly in my right ear or I can't tell who I'm talking to, you see.” I tried not to let the smile show in my voice.

  "Right, well, eh hem.” The voice rose a little, “It's a bit embarrassing really, but I was wondering if you could help me with a rather personal problem I have?"

  "Ah.” I was beginning to find ‘ah’ was a very useful word. “Ah,” I said again. “I can see immediately that you're a very sensitive man and the spirits are telling me that this problem has been going on for a while.” I suspected the voice belonged to a teenager. Perhaps he needed advice on some kind of sexual thing.

  "That's exactly right. I guess I don't need to tell you what the problem is if you're psychic."

  Damn, I was obviously going to have to wing this one. “No, and I can see why you would be embarrassed about it, but there's no need. It's perfectly normal, my love.” I felt more like an agony aunt than a psychic. But still...

  "What, fifty times a day? Even when I'm just watching TV?"

  I realized this juvenile was banging his bishop fifty times a day. God save us all. I explained the deep breathing routine and told him to use this method to cut down on the number of times it happened and he seemed pleased.

  "Will my tennis elbow get better once I cut down?"

  "Yes, my love, and the blister will improve too. Goodbye, dear.” I needed to ring off before I laughed into my pillow. Ker-ching. Another twenty quid's worth of calls and it wasn't even quarter past nine. I was starting to have fun.

  I enjoyed the day just pottering about the flat, slipping my brain into neutral as I watched mindless daytime TV and read up on astrology in between psychic phone calls. Outside, it was another miserable day with squalls of rain gusting against the window so I cranked up the gas heater and was pretty glad to be inside.

  By half past four that afternoon, I reckoned I'd made about two hundred quid easy. I'd enjoyed it too, despite the odd weirdo on the line wanting me to talk dirty. Basically it was a case of making people feel better about their lives, and it seemed I had a talent for it. The callers were so pleased with the advice I gave them that I started feeling perhaps I really could make a difference. Imagine that, me making a difference.

  I tapped a finger to my lips as I thought about how Mum and my older sister Sophie would react if they knew about my new job. They would be so against it. Sophie would undoubtedly make a dismissive comment before trying to steer the conversation back to herself. Meanwhile Mum would prop up her glasses and blast me with an icy lecture, pointing out all the mistakes I was making. Dad, trying to keep the peace, would offer a few jumbled up clichés then sink behind his newspaper again. A familiar and predictable pattern rooted deep in our family.

  I sighed, reminding myself it wasn't my fault. I had just got off to a bad start when Mum was pregnant with me and the doctors had told her it was a boy. So, naturally, I had disappointed her dreadfully when I was born and, it appeared, had continued to do so ever since. Though I had resigned myself to the unbridgeable gap long ago, acceptance didn't mean I'd been left undamaged. The scraps of confidence I'd gained from my Father's fond grunts of encouragement had not given me a healthy self-esteem and I still felt a longing to make Mum proud.

  But my family didn't know about my new career and I wasn't going to tell them, at least not yet. Perhaps once I'd made a success of myself and they couldn't deny the value I was adding to client's lives, then perhaps I would.

  I watched two raindrops chasing each other down the window, and my thoughts turned to Harvey. What would he think about my psychic advice? I was sure he would have been impressed if he'd heard me on the phone. The callers certainly seemed to be. I had been surprised by the amount of callers my advert had pulled in too. If it kept up, I would soon be earning more than I had ever done at Blobby's Cleaning.

  The patter of rain against the window finally stopped, so I decided to stretch my legs and get some air. I diverted my psychic mobile on to my answer machine for the day, rugged up in my scarf and coat, and I walked the five minutes to the local newsagent. I bought a paper so I could look at some of the other psychic phone adverts and decided to get a bar of chocolate too.

  When I got home, I pulled off my boots and plopped back on the couch with a cup of tea. I was about to thumb through the paper when I saw the front page. The heading screamed ‘Driven to Murder!’ A man had been murdered in his home near Kings Cross and his long suffering wife, Bridget Thornton, had been arrested for it. Apparently, she been abused by her partner for years. It was the quote in the article that made it so unnerving. Bridget had made one comment to the press before she was taken into custody.

  "It took all of my strength, but it was the right decision."

  I swallowed a mouthful of tea slowly and reread the article. The time of the murder certainly tied in with last night's phone call, but I told myself that I was being ridiculous. Coincidence? That's what I put it down to at the time, but that was before things got really weird.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  Frantic Tantric

  By the end of the week, I was delivering psychic sermons as if I was an occult high priestess, and I have to admit, it was a hell of a buzz. Strangers lapping up my advice gave me a sense of worth I'd been missing all these years, and when the peal of bells sounded, I could hardly answer fast enough. These people really needed me, and my self-esteem craved their calls. It was symbiotic, or, as Mum had put it on the day I left home to go to University, mutually beneficial.

  There was, of course, the constant danger that I would be exposed as a fake. I didn't want that to happen. I knew it wasn't exactly morally sound, but I kept telling myself I was doing it for the sake of the callers.

  I used Madame Pungenti as a model and, remembering her spiel about the significance of a letter ‘c’ in my life, I decided to try out the odd letter on the callers and got great results. Whatever letter I chose, it seemed I couldn't put a foot wrong, even when wandered out of my safety zone. With one male caller, I tried two letters as an experiment.

  "Alan, I can see the significance of the letter M, can you relate to that?"

  "Well, yeah, I just bought a motorbike the other day, could it be that?"

  "Definitely, now the cards are telling me you need to watch out for the letter ‘P’ too."

  "Cor, that's amazing! I got a parking ticket the other day. I was just on the wrong side of the blue ‘P’ signpost."

  "Alan, I sense there's a lot of drama in your life at the moment."

  "Hey, you really know your stuff! I've just joined improvisation classes at the local college, what about my acting career, will it flourish?"

  Flattery was always a winner. “Yes Alan, your performances are going to be famous, but don't give up your day job just yet—the cards tell me it could be useful.” I didn't want him to risk his career on my account, especially after the Bridget fiasco.

  "But advertising sales is so boring."

  "Yes, but destiny works in mysterious ways."

  You see how easy it was? Most of the callers that week were one-offs. I never heard from them again, so I never knew what impact my prophecies had on their lives. When Alan called back at the end of the week, it did make me wonder. He rang in great excitement, gushing with thanks.

  "You were so right, Amber, if I'd given up the advertising, my acting career would never have taken off."


  Turned out one of Alan's clients was a condom manufacturer and had asked Alan to star in a TV ad for the product. His ‘performances’ were going to be famous after all. I couldn't believe it. Still, I didn't have time to sit there for long, pondering on whether my predictions were really changing the course of people's lives; I had to get ready for my the next part of my plan, the dreaded Tantric sex class.

  The Tantric sex class had become quite crucial to my success, especially after receiving the print out from the phone company. By the time they'd taken their percentage of the callers’ phone charges, I'd only made half of the money I was expecting. Major let down. I needed to boost my hourly rate and my market research told me the best way to do that was to offer one-on-ones. Besides, it would be even more of a buzz meeting people face to face, and what better place to do it than The Rowan Tree?

  When I arrived at the shop, there were four people there. Trish had done quite well, considering. I stood next to the old lady who was wearing navy jogging bottoms, trainers, and tan tights. There was a gothic looking couple in matching bovver boots, blue-black hair, and grunge clothes, and a tall, Danish looking, blond guy who was hanging up his fleece.

  "Good morning, everyone, and thank you for coming.” We all turned as Irene waddled in. She was wearing a bright green Lycra suit, her frizzy, black hair was tied back tight in a bun, and her ruddy cheeks were flushed with excitement.

  "It's super sprout,” I thought.

  "Rupert's just getting everything ready. Now if you'd like to follow me, we'll introduce everyone upstairs."

  "This is the exercise class isn't it? I'm really hoping it will help ease my back,” old Mrs. Appleton whispered to me as we followed Irene's huge green bottom up the threadbare stairs.

  An idea struck me. “I'm not sure, but whatever it is I think it'll loosen you up alright.” I needed the old lady in the class if my plan was to work.

  We filed into a studio room on the second floor where the smell of overripe strawberries wafted over us from an incense stick placed on a radiator. Some kind of twanging music played softly in the background. One side of the wall was covered in mirrors, and I nearly walked straight back out when I saw Rupert in a matching sprout suit bending over a CD player, except Rupert looked more like a bearded grasshopper in his.

  "Cooee, I've bought them up.” Irene beamed warmly at us, her thighs rubbing together as she waddled over to Rupert to pat him on the shoulder. “Now would everyone like to take a mat and find their own personal space."

  I decided now would be a good time to make my move. I sauntered over to Irene and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering before we start, could you ask if someone here has a bad back and a friend who's died recently?"

  Irene spun around, blinking rapidly at me. “I beg your pardon?"

  "Well, I'm psychic you see, and I get very affected by people's feelings. Someone's feeling hurt and confused, and it's going to be hard for me to concentrate if—"

  "Of course. You must be Amber. Trish has told me all about you. It's so lovely to meet you.” She squeezed my hand, then nudged Rupert. “Wriggles, this is the girl Trish was telling us about."

  Rupert's craggy face broke into a broad smile under his beard, revealing veneered white teeth. “Och aye, pleased to meet ye, erm..."

  "Amber. Delighted to meet you too Rupert.” I tried to avoid staring at his dazzling teeth. “Irene, I wonder, could you ask the class, I'm getting a terrible headache."

  "Oh, of course.” She clapped her podgy hands together. “Attention, attention everyone!"

  The group stopped dragging their mats across the polished floorboards.

  "Has anyone got a bad back?"

  There was a second or two of silence before Mrs. Appleton raised a shaky hand. “Em, I've got arthritis in my back."

  "Aha. Good. Could you come here a minute, dear?” Mrs. Appleton glanced around nervously and approached.

  "Sorry, I'm a little confused...” the old lady began.

  Irene gave me a knowing wink and whispered, “Hurt and confused, just like you said.” She turned back to Mrs. Appleton, placing a chubby hand on her shoulder. “Have you lost a friend recently, my dear?"

  "Well yes, actually I have. But what has that got to do with..."

  "Mrs. Appleton, I wonder if you'd mind sitting at the opposite end of the studio to Amber here, she's psychic and is picking up your vibrations."

  Mrs. Appleton shook her head. “Good gracious, I'm terribly sorry. I'm not sure I've come to the right place actually. Is this the Tantric class for arthritis?"

  "Amongst other things, pet.” Rupert's too perfect smile appeared again. “Now, let's put ye over here.” He led her back to her mat.

  "Thanks Irene.” I smiled gratefully and returned to grab a mat from the remaining pile.

  It was a calculated gamble that someone Mrs. Appleton's age would have lost a friend recently, and of course I knew about the arthritis, so now I'd convinced Rupert and Irene I was psychic. I shouldn't have any trouble getting them to hire out a room to me.

  "Now everyone.” Irene clapped her hands again. “First of all, I would like to say thank you for coming to experience a ‘Taste of the Tantric'.” She flexed her fingers in the air to express the quote marks. “Now before we get to know each of you, more,” she gave Rupert a look, “intimately, I'd like to tell you a little about what Tantra means for us. For Rupert and me, well, it seemed a natural progression for our incredible love life."

  I looked around the class and was amazed to see people's expressions were quite serious. Even Mrs. Appleton had her head on one side and an eyebrow cocked, reminding me somewhat of Miss Marple on one of her fact-finding missions.

  "Thanks to Tantra,” Irene went on joyously, “Rupert can keep his ‘wand of light',” She flexed her fingers again, “thrusting for hours, even days sometimes."

  Rupert thrust his pelvis a couple of times as if to prove it.

  "Aye, and I honoured Irene's ‘Yongi’ multiple times las’ night, didinna, darlin’”

  "Rupert is referring to my ‘sacred space'.” Irene enunciated the words and, once more did the quote marks in the air. She was driving me nuts. She looked at Rupert adoringly. “Positions, Rupert?"

  "Aye, positions. Now today, for some truly exquisite rumpy-pumpy,” Rupert began to thrust his pelvis a couple more times, “we're gonna learn aboot the ‘pounding on the spot', ‘frog fashion', and the ‘elephant posture'."

  "Don't forget the splitting of the bamboo, Wriggles,” Irene added.

  "Ooch, aye, and the, sometimes painful for us gentlemen, splitting of the bamboo.” Rupert beamed.

  "S'cuse me but is it true that Tantra is more difficult to perform with piercings?” asked the Goth bloke, who had so many I thought he must jingle when he walked.

  "Well, it can make it more difficult for the man to prevent ‘releasing his cosmic stream'.” Irene quoted.

  "In other words, laddie, you might pop the bubbly when you're nay supposed te,” Rupert added.

  The Goth girl tittered and ran a hand through her long greasy hair while her boyfriend looked bemused.

  "Now before we get started on the history of Tantra, I have an ice breaker,” said Irene. I cringed. “I'd like to go round with everyone's names and what animal we would be and why. For example, I would be a tiger as I'm proud and strong. Rrrrrr.” Irene clawed the air and laughed. “Remember, it's all about getting in touch with your inner child, let's have fun everyone."

  I was caught in some freakish stage show and was starting to have serious doubts about my choice of location as an in-house psychic.

  "Let's start with you, dear.” Irene pointed at Mrs. Appleton. “What animal would you be and why?"

  "A ... a sheep?” Mrs. Appleton's voice quavered.

  "Good, now why would you be a sheep?"

  "Urm ... because I've got thin legs and wear a lot of wooly jumpers.” Mrs. Appleton shrugged.

 
I swallowed and pressed my fingernails into the palms of my hand.

  "Now, Amber, what would you be?"

  I blushed, but had to maintain my psychic façade. “I would definitely be a cat Irene,” I kept my voice steady, “because I'm intuitive and independent."

  "Purrrrrrfect answer, dear.” Irene clapped her hands together and looked at Rupert. “You look rather supple too-just like a feline, doesn't she, Wriggles?"

  Rupert opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it and just smiled as his eyes roamed over my black leotard. I felt sick.

  Irene clapped her hands together and turned to the tall, blond Danish bloke. “How about you, Yan?"

  "I am being called und dog.” He spoke hesitantly. His deep Nordic accent gave him a certain appeal and I admired his muscular physique encased in a tight fitting white t-shirt.

  "And why would you be a dog, Yan?” Irene spoke slowly and loudly, as if he was deaf and stupid rather than foreign.

  "My girlfriend call me und Great Dane."

  Irene's eyebrows shot up and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, woof woof, eh, Rupert?” She nudged him and he thrust his pelvis with a chuckle.

  Even though the ice breakers left me cringing, worse was to happen. Rupert asked for two volunteers from the class. I studied my blue rubber mat.

  "Och, dinna be shy, the Tantra is all aboot losing your inhibitions,” he boomed. “Right, well it looks like we'll just have to help ourselves, eh, Irene?"

  "Oo, yes, Wriggles. Now, Amber, with your cat-like intuition you'll be a natural, so come up here, and Yan, can you come to the front too please? Now, you two are going to demonstrate to the rest of the class the elephant posture."

  The heat rushed to my cheeks as I shuffled towards Irene. I glanced sideways to see Yan marching stiffly to the front. At least he was good looking, I thought. I'd just have to imagine it was Harvey rather than a stranger. I moved closer to Yan.