Suddenly Psychic

by Melanie Baxter

  I had redirected my psychic mobile to a message bank that explained I would be doing personal readings at The Rowan Tree from now on so the last thing I was expecting was a phone call. The shrill ring of my landline phone jerked me awake and I fumbled with the light.

  "Who's ringing at this time?” It was past midnight on my clock radio. I wondered if something bad had happened to someone in the family.

  "Hello?"

  "Is that Lady Amber Thomas of 23 Belle Vue terrace?” A voice sounding exactly like the Queen came across the phone and I held the receiver away from my ear for a moment, looking at it in disbelief.

  The queen? Why would she be calling me? Perhaps she was ringing about my Aunt June, she was almost 100 so it could have to do with a telegram. For a moment I felt a rush of excitement, then my eyes narrowed. It was another of the prank calls. My cheeks warmed as I tightened my grip on the phone.

  "Look who is this?” Silence. “Forget about the Lady bit, if you don't stop these prank calls, I'm going to report you to the police."

  "One is not amused?” Asked the voice.

  "Look, why don't you go and take the plums out of your mouth and stuff ‘em where the sun don't shine, you royal bastard!” I slammed the phone down, trembling a bit. I dialed the call back number.

  "You were called today at 12.03, the caller withheld their number,” the automated voice said without emotion.

  Damn. I was more mad than scared, even though it was pretty freaky. Then I had an idea. I padded into the kitchen and scrambled through my junk draw until I found what I was looking for. I brought out the shiny silver whistle I had been given by the netball teacher years ago at school for being team captain and kissed the cold, metallic surface in glee.

  "I knew you'd come in useful.” I placed it by the phone. “Now try ringing, you bastard,” I muttered and went back to bed.

  Pudding had curled into the little valley in my pillow where my head had been.

  "You great lump,” I whispered, gently placing him at the bottom of my bed and pulling the duvet over my head.

  For a while I listened for my phone but there were no more calls and eventually I drifted off into a restless sleep.

  I dreamt I was five years old again. I'd cut my knee and was trying to find my mother. I was running down dark and unfamiliar corridors, calling for her, running towards the sound of distant voices. Then I ran into the kitchen and saw them. My mother was silhouetted in the far kitchen doorway kneeling down and holding my older sister, Sophie. My knee stung as I watched them laughing and hugging, Sophie's blond curls catching the sun's rays like a halo as she threw back her head and giggled.

  "Mummy, I cut myself!” my child's voice cried.

  Sophie stopped laughing and gave me a smug smile.

  Mum didn't even turn her face in my direction, she just continued to look fondly at Sophie. “Come along, darling, let's go into the garden."

  The colour drained out of my dream. I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Pudding was bumping my forehead with his and purring. I swallowed and winced as my throat stung. What a start to the day. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't got up to the Cotswold's to visit Mum, Dad, and Sophie since Christmas, even if nothing had changed. I made a mental note to ring my Mum that night. At least then they couldn't accuse me of not making the effort.

  I looked at my clock and groaned. It was already past half eight. I had to get to The Rowan Tree by half past nine. I had Evie's owner coming at 10 A.M. and Trish wanted to give me a quick tour of her mystic realm and show me the way things worked at the shop. After my shower, I dabbed on plenty of foundation to cover my rebellious skin, swallowed a couple of paracetamol for my throat, and dressed in a long, velour skirt and green top to match. Brushing out my dark auburn hair, I glared critically in the mirror. My pale face and light grey eyes certainly gave me a sort of witch-like quality.

  When I called Pudding for his milk, my voice was husky from my sore throat too which would help. Yep. I just hoped I could convince Evie's Mum. Perhaps if she thought I really was psychic, I could help her somehow.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  A Fateful First Day

  "Now, the last thing I need to know is if you're in the PISH.” Trish's glasses had slipped forward on her nose and she smiled at me from behind the counter where she had placed two mugs of steaming herbal tea.

  "Did you say Pish?” I picked up the zodiac mug and let the heat warm my cold fingers.

  "Or CACA then?"

  I shook my head slowly, wondering if Trish was inferring that I was in trouble of some kind. “I'm not quite sure what you mean."

  "Membership, silly. Are you in the Psychic Institute of Spiritual Healing, you know, PISH, or the Chanellers And Clairvoyants Association."

  "Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “No, I'm afraid I'm not in anything like that, just work individually. I don't like to dilute my energies with lots of other psychics, you know."

  "Shame.” Trish tutted and frowned as she took a sip of her peppermint tea. “I was hoping we could put up a certificate of membership. You know, give the clients more confidence after Norman."

  I put my mug down next to Buddha on the counter. “Oh, don't worry, Trish, it'll be fine. You can tell clients how I've assisted the police in the past and that should be enough.” I smiled reassuringly, remembering the body language lecture had emphasized the power of self-confidence and the principal of how to ‘fake it and make it'.

  "You're right, of course,” said Trish. “Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed this morning, you know. With Rupert and Irene away on retreat for the next month, they've just dumped loads of stuff for me to deal with and I've got my niece coming to stay tomorrow for a week."

  "Maybe I can help?"

  "Oh, no, dearie, you've got enough on with your first day. Now, I know you've arranged personally for Mrs. Morgan to come in at 10, but usually I will do your bookings for you if that's alright."

  "Fine.” I nodded. “I've transferred my message bank on my mobile to the shop number already."

  "Perfect. Now today you've got Anthony at 11:30 then old Mrs. Norris at 1 P.M., they're regulars you know. Then you've nothing yet until 4 when I've got a mother and daughter booked in."

  I picked up my mug again and sipped at the chamomile tea, hoping it would soothe the mixture of nerves and excitement jangling in my stomach.

  "Looking forward to it,” I said with a lightness I didn't feel.

  I wasn't so worried about the bookings that Trish had made, it was the thought of meeting Evie's mother for the first time that scared me. I glanced at the mounted dragon clock on the wall with its claw ticking round the numerals towards ten and my hands grew clammy. Weird that I'd somehow known her name was Mrs. Morgan. She must have mentioned it without me realizing.

  "Are you alright, dear? You still look a bit off.” Trish put her hand on my arm.

  "It's nothing, really, I think I'm just coming down with a cold or something. My skin's been dreadful the last few days and I've still got this headache on and off."

  "Still taking the Num Mar? And the tea tree? Good, well, it's probably a healing crisis I expect."

  "Healing crisis?"

  "Yes, they're terribly common. It's because you're cleansing the toxins that your skin may develop a few spots. You should count yourself lucky if that's all you get. Irene's sister had a most awful healing crisis when she trained for her first Reiki level and was attuned you know.” Her voice hushed to confidential tones.

  "Reiki? Is that the laying on of hands healing thing?"

  Trish nodded.

  "What happened?"

  "Once she'd been attuned, she told her husband he wasn't on her spiritual level anymore and ran off with their gardener for two weeks."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, but then the healing crisis passed when she found out the gardener was tending to more than one bush in the area, if you know what I mean."

  "Trish!"
>
  A naughty schoolgirl smile curled the corners of her mouth.

  "So what happened to her in the end?"

  "It was dreadful. Irene and Rupert had to put her up for about a month but eventually,” she shook her head as if in disbelief, “she went back to her hubby and explained about the toxins and having to experience her ‘base self’ and now she's a Reiki master and they couldn't be happier."

  Trish shrugged at me and rummaged in a drawer for some matches to light an incense cone on the counter.

  The angel chimes made me turn to the door, and somehow I just knew it was going to be Mrs. Morgan. She was dressed in a navy suit with a trim that matched her cream blouse. She obviously hadn't let herself go despite her suffering, but even from the counter I could see the dark circles under her eyes. She clasped and unclasped her gloved hands. I took a deep breath and swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. This was going to be the ultimate test.

  "Mrs. Morgan?” I held out my hand and met her eyes with a smile.

  She didn't smile back. “I know I'm early, but I just..."

  She walked over stiffly, her hand trembled when we shook hands.

  "That's absolutely fine, Mrs. Morgan. Please, after you.” I gestured to the door at the back of the shop and followed her. I glanced back at Trish who was smiling madly and giving me the thumbs up sign.

  I closed the wooden door behind us as we entered the small room and asked Mrs. Morgan to sit down on a toadstool. The room was decorated like an enchanted wood as it was used for children's parties as well as psychic readings. The red and white toadstool seats crouched around a tree stump table on a green carpet. My tarot pack was in the middle of the tree stump along with a jug of water, two glasses, and a box of tissues.

  "Can you see her right now? Is she behind me? She always used to sit so patiently when I was talking to someone.” Mrs. Morgan's brow furrowed and her voice was stretched tight as she searched my eyes.

  It jabbed at my conscience again that these were real lives I was messing with.

  "Well...” The only thing I could see behind her was a cross-eyed squirrel sitting in a branch on the wall mural. Should I tell her I wasn't psychic? Would that help her? I looked at the flicker of hope in her eyes that she could reach her little dog and felt a flurry of pity and guilt wash over me. I couldn't extinguish that hope. I didn't want to be responsible for any more pain. No, I would try to make her feel better.

  "Not exactly. It doesn't work like that. I get images, flashes, a sense of knowing.” I lied smoothly. “I know your dog loves you very much and doesn't want you in this pain. As I said before, Mrs. Morgan, she wants you to release her to ease your pain."

  Mrs. Morgan sat neatly on the toadstool, with her legs crossed and arms folded, staring at me. “I've never done this before. You know, been to someone like you. But I can't make it stop. I can't let her go. Even after all these years. She's all I've got left. People say it's stupid, she was just a dog, but she was much more, so much more to me...” Her breath turned ragged and her shoulders heaved with a choking sob.

  I stood up and instinctively put my hand on her shoulder. “I understand, she's all you've got left. You can't make it stop, but you may be able to make it easier."

  She nodded with a shuddering sigh and covered my hand with her own. I snatched my hand away as raw emotion rushed over me: aching loneliness, bitter resentment, a whirlpool of anger, sadness and regret.

  I cursed my overactive imagination, took a deep breath, offered her a box of tissues, and sat back down. “Let's see what the cards say, shall we?"

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Cards On The Table

  I coughed a little and my throat stung. It hadn't exactly taken a third eye to read between the lines and become convincing. I'd already deduced that Evie had taken a deadly dive to the bottom of The Thames after her favorite ball had rolled down a walled embankment. Mrs. Morgan had been holding up little Evie to see it in bobbing about in the water, when the dog broke free and leapt into the murky water.

  "If only I hadn't taught her to fetch.” Mrs. Morgan sobbed as she remembered the fateful day.

  I told her that Evie was a sensitive and intelligent dog, bullied sometimes by the rest of her litter. She was very obedient but had the odd little stubborn streak. Mrs. Morgan nodded. All spot on, it would appear. I wondered why she didn't just get another dog, but didn't want to ask. She really had loved this dog like a daughter. The cards she picked included the Devil again, as well as a woman wrestling a lion, which meant Strength, and the winged Knight of Batons bringing change. I took my lead from the cards and told her that unexpected events would transform her life over the next year, that she was stronger than she thought and had a huge amount to give others. I also told her I could see her going to some kind of counseling ‘cos I thought it might help her.

  "You're wrong there. My psychologist said apparently I've passed the first four stages of grief with distinction and now I'm about to progress to the ‘acceptance stage'.” Mrs. Morgan gave an exaggerated sigh and the bitterness returned to her voice. “Perhaps he'll celebrate with a cigar. As if they know anything about how I'm feeling. No, I won't be seeing him or any of his lot again."

  I smiled. It was the first joke I'd heard her crack, even if it was a sarcastic one, and Professor Rochdale swore that humor was a great antidote to trauma.

  "Hmm, well there's definitely some kind of course coming up."

  I tried a different tack. I'd noticed when she took her gloves off she had an antique turquoise and gold ring and she also used an old silver compact to powder her nose after she'd dabbed away her tears. Perhaps she was into old stuff.

  "I can see an antique vase, willow pattern I think ... no, it's more of a Chinese colored, mosaic sort..."

  "My god, that's where I keep her. That's Evie's urn. Is it on a mantelpiece?"

  The hairs on my arms prickled. I had no idea they did animal cremations.

  After that, Mrs. Morgan believed every word I uttered. By the end of the session, I could see that she was a lonely lady who had driven her husband, family, and friends away in her grief. I did everything I could to encourage her to make the connections again with loads of positive uplifting stuff for good measure.

  "You'll still see her, for as long as you want to. She's only a thought away,” I said as I walked her to the door. “She walks at your side everywhere you go, you know, watching over you. She's your guardian animal spirit now."

  "Thank you so much!” She clasped my hand and this time I felt no surge of emotion except I noticed her hands were warmer and her face looked a little less drawn.

  I was glad Mrs. Morgan was feeling much better but unfortunately I was feeling much worse. I'd always skated on the surface of life and now I felt like the ice was starting to crack. The growing sense of responsibility for clients was waiting to drag me under.

  "Don't get personal, girl, remember it's a bit o’ fun.” Tanya had warned me the night before. But I couldn't let Mrs. Morgan's story wash over me without a residue of emotion and her gratitude was bittersweet.

  "I still don't agree with changing my way of marking her death, but what you say makes a lot of sense. You've picked up on things I wouldn't have thought possible.” She gave me a grateful smile as the door closed behind her.

  "Phew,” I said to Trish after she'd gone, leaning on the counter for support. “I feel like I've done a full day's work and it's not even lunchtime."

  Trish patted my arm in sympathy. “You poor love, didn't you cross your legs?"

  "Why would I do that? I didn't have that much herbal tea.” I covered a yawn.

  "No, silly, to stop your chi being drained."

  "I'll try it next time, see if it helps."

  "And have some guar gum, it's very restorative.” She rustled under the counter and bought out a wrapped sweet.

  "Thanks.” I unwrapped the piece of gum and decided that Guar was obviously short for Guano as it looked
like clotted bird plap. Still, it tasted slightly minty and soothed my throat a little so I chewed it slowly.

  The tinkling door bell startled me.

  "Oh look, here's Anthony. Hello, dearie, how are you today?"

  A rather fixed smile appeared on Trish's face as a slim man in his mid-thirties with greasy, brown hair approached the counter. He nodded to me briefly before turning to Trish with a deep sigh.

  "Not so good, I'm afraid, had irritable bowel all last night, and then this morning when I woke up, well..."

  Anthony launched into an in depth description on the state of his nasal passages, ear canals, and bowel movements, while Trish “mmed” and “ahed” in sympathy. At the end, he broke into a dreadful coughing fit.

  Still smiling, Trish's stepped back a little to avoid the spittle, but I thought he was choking so I gave him a sharp chop on the back with my hand.

  The coughing stopped immediately as he turned to me with alarm, his eyes wide with accusation. “What did you do that for?"

  I couldn't offend a client, I had to think fast. “Sorry. I just sensed there was a vertebrae out of place and was trying to remove the pressure. Best to do it when the person isn't anticipating or they can tense up and spoil it."

  "Really? You sensed a vertebrae out of place? It's funny you should say that ‘cos last time I went to the osteopath he said he was surprised I was still walking."

  He gave Trish a watery smile as I led him into my enchanted wood and up the garden path to the tree stump and toadstools.

  Listening to Anthony drivel on about his laberinthitus and confirming that there was more doom and gloom on the way seemed to be music to his wax-blocked ears. I pretended to be able to pick up the different physical ailments he described on a psychic level and kept telling him how incredibly brave he was to bear his pain so well. When the cards showed more health problems, legal wranglings, and a period of suffering and hardship, his eyes glittered with anticipation. By the end of the session he shook his head slightly in wonder.