It makes me gasp.
Cynthia smooths down her headscarf. ‘Don’t hold back. I’m ready.’
She doesn’t flinch as I tell her. When I finish describing his lorry cab in detail – including his black-and-white fluffy dice, his lorry-shaped mug, his silver roadster kettle, and his black T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘I just dropped a load’ – and his shiny head and how tight the woman’s dress was, Cynthia leans closer. ‘That’s not a curse – that’s a money-making gift. You have a talent,’ she gushes as the world around me feels muffled. I watch her mouth move, but I can’t hear anything. Reaching into my back pocket, I take out my emergency packet of boiled sweets and suck on one until I can hear Cynthia again.
‘The woman you described is my boyfriend’s boss’s wife. She’s been sniffing around my man for ages. I knew she would make a move.’ She smears on another layer of lip balm. ‘You have confirmed what I suspected, and the details you provided were spot on. I mean, how would you even know what his favourite T-shirt says across the front? I will deal with him when he gets home. That is an amazing gift.’
‘I don’t always get a sense of timing with my visions,’ I explain. ‘He might not be cheating on you right now, but he will in the future.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘His cab smells of her cheap perfume. He claims it’s his new air freshener from Sainsbury’s. I am not stupid. Anyway, enough about him. I could do with an extra pair of hands.’ She lets out a heavy sigh. ‘My mother has decided to go away for a while. I have three kids to pick up from school, a cheating boyfriend, and a thriving psychic business she was helping with, and she selfishly books a three-month cruise around the world.’ I watch Cynthia place her head in her hands. She lifts it a few seconds later. ‘If you worked here, I could sort out my kids and my relationship. Your gift of romance prophecy would have my customers queuing out the door. Come and join me.’
Shaking my head, I clasp my hands together. ‘It’s not a gift. It’s a curse. Please help me find my parents in the afterlife. They must know more about my curse, possibly even how to lift it.’
She casts me a bewildered expression. ‘This is a wonderful gift you’ve been given. It’s not a curse. I think you should consider my business offer.’
My skin prickles. Her eyes have sharpened. They are bright, with the unmistakable glint of someone doing mental maths and seeing some eye-watering business numbers in their mind. She views my curse as a money-making gift. Sitting up straighter, I take a deep breath and try to sound calm. ‘I need your help, not a business offer.’
It comes out more like a low growl.
Cynthia is oblivious to my annoyance. She shakes her head. ‘You have been blessed with a fantastic gift. I don’t understand how it is ruining your life. You get free dating spoiler alerts in your head.’
This woman has no idea what I endure with my curse. My cheeks are heating up, and I am on the verge of tears. ‘Can you help me or not? It is ruining my life.’
Cynthia tries to reach out and touch my hand, but I yank it away as I don’t want to see her trucker boyfriend kissing that woman again.
‘Go away and think about my offer,’ she says.
Has she not listened to anything I have said?
‘Think about the money we could both earn from your gift.’
‘You don’t understand.’ My voice wobbles. Irritation bubbles inside me. ‘Every time I meet someone, I see how love ends.’ The face of the man from the bookshop who bought his wife a cycling book comes rushing back to me, triggering a series of aches in my chest.
She lets out an excited shriek. ‘We could be rich. I can see the advert now.’ I watch as a dreamy, faraway expression takes hold of her face. ‘Meet Mystic…’ She falters. ‘Sorry, what’s your name again?’
‘Nelly.’
To my horror, she screws up her face. ‘Nelly? We would have to give you a magical name.’ She draws an imaginary poster square in the air with her fingers. ‘The poster would read: “Meet Mystic Nelwynna, who will predict how your love will end.”’ She lets out a contented sigh.
I am wasting my time here, and I am not being called Nelwynna as it would sound like I sing to woodland creatures in my spare time.
My face feels hot and my heart is thudding.
Before she can say another word, I leave and hurry out of her garage in tears.
4
I wake up frightened after a cold drop of water lands squarely on my forehead. The brown stain on my ceiling, which I reported to Gary, my landlord, a few months ago, is now leaking. I told him it had started after a bad storm and that I thought it was a roof issue. He dismissed what I said with a shrug and a grin. ‘Old buildings get stains, Penelope,’ he’d said. ‘It’s all part of their character.’
He didn’t hear me mutter under my breath, ‘Character, my arse, Gary.’
After showering and dressing, I go downstairs to his basement flat to report the leak and gloat. A small, petty part of me enjoys being right, but that joy only lasts a few seconds.
Gary comes to the door in a grubby dressing gown and old slippers that look like they’ve been half-chewed by a pack of wild dogs. His wiry black hair appears slicked back with grease. He casts me a creepy smile, revealing a row of his yellow-stained teeth, and says, ‘Calm down, Penelope.’
The familiar prickle of agitation I get when I speak with Gary makes me clench my fists. I have told him countless times that I am called Nelly. My parents named me Penelope. Becoming Nelly after the car crash made my life easier. Gary, however, continues to ignore my wishes regarding my name.
‘I’ll look at your ceiling later.’ He hands me an envelope, as if it were a birthday card. ‘You’ve saved me a trip,’ he said. ‘It’s a rent increase. Sorry.’
