Page 8 of Will You Stay Another Day?
‘It… it’s been a struggle.’ Tommo’s voice sounded full for a few seconds. ‘But I guess I got to say goodbye… I reckon that’s the main reason. We said the things we needed to before it was too late, a silver lining of the bastard cancer. Whereas you didn’t get that chance, gal.’
Lili’s eyes prickled.
‘But it will get easier. Around Joe’s first anniversary, the summer before last, jeez, the loss felt as raw as a newly skinned mackerel.’ The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled, his usual humour returning. ‘Doesn’t help that us soppy British sods are as keen to talk about death as much as a diet or how much booze they knock back each week.’
‘How is the cholesterol?’ asked Lili sweetly.
‘I thought we agreed not to mention the c word.’ A serious look crossed his face. ‘Always happy to talk – if you need to. Even though your Em would have called us a couple of wusses.’
Lili’s breathing hitched. Her Em.
She locked up and headed upwards, towards Church Street. The hall was a functional building about ten minutes away, available for hire within the local community. She pulled open the blue door. Deep breath. It smelt like a school gymnasium. She scoured the room. There in the corner sat a man behind a table. A simple purple cloth covered it. A pile of business cards lay next to a water bottle. Across the front was a sign saying Psychic Reading. She walked past a candle stall, the air around it welcomingly fragrant, then past a local author who looked at her hopefully. A table stacked with homemade Christmas cards was next. Em and her both believed the festive season could never come too early. The two of them ate mince pies when they came into the shops in September and watched Christmas movies as soon as they landed on Hallmark.
She approached the table. The psychic was around her age and dressed smartly, with ruffled boy-next-door short hair, a work shirt and bow tie – definitely not her type, although she’d said that once before, after first moving into the cottage. A city type lived next door – suit, briefcase, smart mac. Turned out he was funny, confident and keen on Lili. They dated for several months but then it became… comfortable, and she couldn’t be doing with that. Comfortable made for resentments and taking a partner for granted; comfortable made it easy to lie. Her mum and dad had proved that and Lili had sworn, at a young age, amidst the sobs that racked her chest in bed night after night as they argued, that she’d never fall into the same trap as her parents.
The single life was safer.
‘I’m not here for a reading!’ she blurted out. Spiritual readings were a load of gobbledygook. Lili had watched a programme about them once. How fraudulent fortune tellers, mediums, seers, whatever, studied clients for giveaway reactions, analysed body language, used broad statements and asked leading questions. Em had been less cynical and Lili was doing her best to keep an open mind and work her way through her list.
The man’s face broke into a smile. ‘Please sit down,’ he said with a warm London accent. ‘My name’s Greg.’
‘Oh… um, I’m Lili.’ She perched on the chair.
He tilted his head. ‘Why are you here, Lili?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to already know?’ she countered, unable to stop herself. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude… I’ve never done anything like this before.’
He gave an infectious laugh. ‘Believe me, people have said much worse.’
Her shoulders eased. ‘It’s my best friend. Em. It was the anniversary of her death on Saturday, and…’ Oh God. This sounded stupid, but she explained about the texts and how she was investigating them. ‘I’m trying to eliminate all possibilities. I went on the internet and have drawn up a list of?—’
‘Ah, the internet. The great all-knowing that has the answer to everything.’
‘Now and then it does. You learn to spot the BS, right?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t criticising you, we all do it. I tried to lose weight last year. Read some advice about detoxing with lemon water every morning. My dentist was horrified. The acid corrodes enamel.’
Lili relaxed. ‘So… I read a case of a woman getting texts from her dead boyfriend. Eventually a psychic texted and said the boyfriend’s spirit was passing the words on to her and she was merely acting as a conductor; said she needed paying for any further time. Is this likely do you think? His death had been in the papers as he was a B-list celebrity. Do you think it was more likely the girlfriend was being scammed? No offence to your profession…’
‘Every profession has charlatans.’ He took a minute. ‘Technically, someone acting as conductor in that way is possible, but I don’t think it would happen out of the blue like that. For a start, us psychics do indeed have to eat. I think they’d have contacted you first, as themselves, before you got these texts, and charged you a fee upfront. I mean, it’s not like they get paid by the dead.’
A smile flickered across her face. ‘Fair enough.’
‘More importantly, they’d have found out first if you wanted to hear from your loved one. Not everyone does. It’s too upsetting. Nah. It doesn’t add up. I’m sorry, Lili, but I’d be very surprised if these texts were from Em’s spirit.’
She took out her purse. ‘Thanks for your time. How much do I owe you?’ She looked around for a notice with a price.
He stood up. ‘Nothing.’
She got to her feet. ‘But…’
‘I’ve not earned any money by contacting a spirit, with the help of a photo of the deceased one usually. This hasn’t been that kind of consultation. All we’ve done is chat, and I’d be a rich man if I charged people for every time I did that. Mum always said I had more to say than a bird during the dawn chorus.’
‘Why do you need the photo?’ asked Lili. ‘Don’t you just ask the room “who’s there?” Or have I watched too many movies?’
‘The face is everything about a person. It holds their true identity. Expressions give a clue as to how their energy flows, as do the eyes, which many believe are portals to the soul. I can pick up a lot from a shot – as long as it isn’t a robotic passport one.’ He smiled, shook her hand and Lili left. In a blur.
Oh. My. God.
