If Wishes Were Horses 15

Today’s word count 1946                   total word count   26,636

Weeks passed and life continued much the same way. I spent my days very tired: keeping watch over every word and every thought is wearying, and my nights’ sleep failed to keep pace with the effort I expended. Although Dee didn’t pull any more stunts like his trick with Paul, he took delight in misinterpreting as often as possible, particularly when I used slang or idiom to express myself. For example, when I warned one colleague that he might ‘catch a cold’ over a deal he’d undertaken, that’s precisely what happened. And the poor lad ended up with a chest infection that kept him off work for a fortnight.  Another suffered a deep paper cut after I said an email she’d handled could ‘come back and bite’. She printed the message to have a copy on file for safe keeping and it took a slice out of her hand. Needless to say she sported a huge bandage and took antibiotics for a couple of weeks after it went septic. That was the kind of humour Dee had, and in spite of my efforts not to put anyone around me at risk, people still found themselves caught in the cross fire. Minty seemed relatively unscathed, although Dee would use threats against her to keep me in line if he thought I was ‘impolite’ to him.  But as far as I know he stayed away from her in reality. She continued to be her usual, crazy self. Her hair had its good days and its outrageous days and she remained a friendly face among the chaos that surrounded me.

Paul never called. I could have phoned him, but given my permanent state of mind I figured I would give him a break and stay out of his life. He had done nothing to deserve the appalling treatment Dee subjected him to, and to be honest I felt more than a little embarrassed about his similarity to Ami. Clearly Dee had seen an image of him while he rummaged around in my memories, and it was strange that he had no idea how Ami had arrived in my life. Ami stayed away too, in spite of my hoping that he would turn up on the end of my bed the way Dee often did. I’d read the books all the way through and started on them for a second time but found no help in the pages. I needed Ami, but he simply wasn’t there. After a while I thought I’d try a different approach. If I had to deal with a magical being, perhaps I could find help from a supernatural source. I felt a magician would be best – the kind that can cast proper spells with sparks and a wand, like Merlin or Harry Potter – but hadn’t the faintest idea where to start looking. The closest I could think of was a clairvoyant, but I didn’t know how to find one of those either. I’m not sure why, but I consulted Minty.

“What on earth do you want one of them for?” she asked, quite reasonably, when I told her my plan one day at work. I had to think of a quick excuse.

“Oh my life’s been a bit of a mess just lately and I kind of thought I might try something different to sort it out.

“Who are you trying to contact, then? You know clairvoyants talk to dead people?”

Stating it quite so bluntly made me think hard. I wondered who might be around on ‘the other side’ who could help me. That’s when I remembered old Auntie Lizzie.

“I used to have an old Auntie who offered good advice. Maybe she’d be around, if I went looking.”

“OK then. Let’s go see who you can reach!”

“But I don’t know how to go about it, Minty.” I genuinely had no idea. I’d seen adverts in the back of the local newspaper for tarot reading and psychic phone calls, but I wanted to go and visit someone. Talk to them face to face, and ask them about being hassled by a mystic being.

“Oh silly. They all have websites and stuff now. Just do a search online and you’re bound to find somebody.  Shove over and I’ll do it for you,” and she bent over my keyboard and started typing. Hundreds of names appeared on screen, and from the way Minty scrolled rapidly through the selection, instantly dismissing some, hovering the mouse over others, I got the distinct impression it was not the first time she’d carried out such a search. Eventually she gave a little whoop and highlighted a link. “This one looks good. Let’s see what she has to say for herself.” And she clicked through to a site belonging to one Rosa Black, ‘genuine Romany – let me help you with your problems’.  The woman’s face appeared on screen and she had all the trappings you’d expect: hoop earrings, head scarf, wrinkled face, frilly neckline on her blouse, and a missing front tooth. She presented almost a caricature of the classic gypsy. All she needed was a clay pipe and a camp fire.

The site had an option to book a consultation online and before I could stop her, Minty was half way through arranging a date for me a few days later. “I’ll just tell her there’ll be two of us. I assume you want me to come with you?” And that’s how I found myself that weekend knocking on the door of a perfectly ordinary council house down a little back street on the edge of town.  Minty stood beside me, very excited, and with her hair miraculously wound into lots of loops that looked for all the world like she was wearing 1960s rollers, except the plastic bits were missing. She was beside herself.

An old woman answered the knock and said, “You will be Miss Fry and friend,” as she opened the door. It wasn’t a question: I suppose that’s all part of the image. If they aren’t sure of who you are when you arrive, how can they be sure of anything else about you? Before I could reply she continued, “Come through. Madame Rosa will see you shortly. Please take a seat in the dining room. I’ll call you when she’s ready.”  We sat in silence for about ten minutes, shooting conspiratorial glances at each other but afraid to speak. I looked around the room where we sat. It was very cramped, with horrid floral wallpaper and curtains that looked as if they had escaped from an amateur dramatics murder mystery. We sat on two of the six mismatched chairs that surrounded a brown wooden table at the centre. Under our feet a tatty rug tried to cover even tattier lino; their patterns never meant to be seen together, for sure. Anything less like I expected would be hard to find.  Eventually the old woman came through as asked her to follow her, escorting us to another room across a dingy hallway and directing us to two more comfortable dining chairs, with plush covered seats in a rich burgundy colour.

This room was more like the gypsy parlour I thought we’d find. It was dimly lit, draped with scarves and shawls of all colours, pinned down with weird statuettes of various kinds, including an assortment of buddhas and a couple of dragons; at its heart was a small, round table behind which sat our hostess, Madame Rosa. I recognised her from her photo online, but she was even older than she’d seemed there. “Welcome ladies. And which one of you is Angela?” she asked.  I tried to stop myself thinking that she ought to know that, if she had any psychic powers at all, but she turned directly to me and pointed a bony finger. “You are.” All I could do was nod.  “Give me your hand.” I stretched my arm across the table and she took hold of my hand, turning it palm upwards, then back again, before taking it into both of her hands and resting all on the table top. “You are troubled, my dear.  I think it has to do with a man, yes?” Good guess. Most women are troubled by men or their kids, and since I’d been addressed as Miss Fry I hoped she didn’t think I had too many of those.

Just then I looked up and noticed a face looking at me from behind Madame Rosa. Dee blended well into the surroundings. He had on a randomly hippie outfit with a strong Indian influence. There were floral patterns and squirly lines on the cheesecloth smock, and his ridiculously bell-bottomed pants had bright embroidery crawling up each leg. Around his neck were several strings of tiny wooden beads, and very long, dank hair dangled from below a cloth tied around his temples. As I watched he lifted his hands beside his head, touched his thumbs to his middle fingers and uttered a very long, very loud “Om!” I looked around quickly but soon realised I was the only one in the room who could see him. Madame Rosa continued with her faux mystic talk about the difficulties in my love life, and Minty sat enraptured with every word. The old woman merely stood, stone faced behind us, staring blankly ahead of her. 

“Oh Angie,” Dee whined,” Why are you doing this? Don’t you accept yet that you’re stuck with me? This will not work. You chose me. You accepted wishes from me. Just give in and we could be happy together.”

I had to ignore him. I could hardly reply when there were witnesses who couldn’t see who I spoke to. They’d think me mad. Maybe I was. Perhaps I should really be consulting a psychiatrist, rather than a psychic. Maybe that should be my next stop. Give up on this insane situation and have myself committed to a mental asylum.  Dee continued to prance around the room, making faces around Madame Rosa, pointing at Minty’s hair and laughing, and I realised the whole charade had been a waste of time and money. Clairvoyant sittings are not cheap! When Madame eventually stopped talking generic luck stories at me I thanked her for her time and reassured her I’d take her advice – not that I’d heard a word of it, thanks to Dee’s antics.  The old woman ushered us out of the room and back towards the dining room, where I settled the payment and made to leave. Minty was ahead of me when the woman touched my arm and made to detain me.

“She can’t help you,” she said in a very quiet voice, nodding toward the other room. “You must have realised that. Smoke and mirrors, that’s all she is. Party tricks and a good yarn. She can’t stop what ails you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely surprised at her apparent disloyalty to her employer.

“Yon demon.” She nodded again. “You’re possessed, that’s your trouble. Yon creature has you in its claws and you can’t get away.” My eyes widened as I grasped what she was saying. “Oh yes, I could see him alright, even though he thought he was being very clever. Too clever for his own good, if you ask me.” And she reached out to my hand and placed a small, smooth, blue pebble in it, like a tiny egg. “Keep this on you. It’ll help. Though I see you have a Friend already. You are blessed. Without him you would be hard pressed to defeat the dark one.”  Then she pushed me towards the door, where Minty waited a little impatiently.