* * *
It’s the afternoon, and Rosie Flint’s book signing is in full swing. Miranda has kept me busy, so I haven’t been able to flick through Rosie’s book. I’m lingering near her table, listening to her explain to an eager reader about the healing powers of crushed lavender.
Rosie Flint looks like she’s spent too long in Cynthia’s garage. Her mass of brown hair has been sprayed with a glittery hairspray; her ears are struggling to hold her huge moon-shaped earrings and her cheeks are covered in stick-on hearts. I’m not judging her appearance. This woman could be my heroine. I can’t stop staring at her book’s sparkly purple cover. Inside that book could be a set of instructions on how to lift my curse. By tonight, I could be free from its shackles.
Once the signing queue dies down, I step forward to greet Rosie. I’m not going to admit to having a curse. Instead, I am going to pretend to be helping a troubled friend.
‘I have a friend,’ I say as Rosie looks at me and smiles. ‘She thinks she might be cursed.’
Rosie’s face lights up. ‘I love a good curse story – especially ones involving family mirrors. Has your friend seen unimaginable things in her family’s antique mirror?’
I wish my curse were as simple as gazing into an old mirror. My life would be a lot easier if all I had to worry about were what I saw in a mirror.
‘This friend’s curse is different,’ I explain. ‘She touches someone, and she sees how love ends.’
My eyes are glued to her face. I am waiting for some sign of recognition. I want her to tell me that she has researched this type of curse and has extensive knowledge about it.
Rosie blinks and tilts her head to one side. ‘This sounds fascinating.’
Is that all she has to say? My curse is not fascinating. Irritation simmers inside of me.
‘Tell me more,’ says Rosie.
‘My friend sees cheating love rats, lying scoundrels, fatal accidents, and tragic deaths of childhood sweethearts.’
Rosie takes out a hankie and dabs at her sweaty brow. ‘That sounds intense.’
I nod. ‘This friend struggles to find love as she always sees how everything ends.’
With a nervous laugh, Rosie shakes her head. ‘Not all curses are real. Sometimes, they’re tied to past traumas. It sounds like your friend could do with some therapy, to be honest.’
Therapy? Trust me – I have trawled Google for therapists who specialise in offering support for curse sufferers.
‘My friend’s life is so sad because of her curse.’
Rosie shifts uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Does your friend want a free signed copy of my book?’
‘Will your book tell my friend how she can remove this curse? It disappeared last week for twelve hours, but then it came back.’
Rosie casts me an uncomfortable look. She picks up a copy of her book. ‘I do touch on curses, but I don’t talk about how to lift them.’
My heart sinks.
Miranda appears at my side. She smiles at Rosie. ‘Is Nelly asking you about your love pouches? I told her about what I made for my other half, Frank, and she was keen to know more.’
I shake my head, but Miranda ignores me. ‘Nelly has a new handsome flatmate, and your love pouches will come in handy.’
My boss is a nightmare, and Rosie Flint’s book will not offer me any help or guidance. I go behind the counter and sulk.
Before Rosie Flint leaves, she comes to the counter and, with a trembling hand, passes me a signed copy of her book. ‘This is for your friend. I would also advise that she sticks some bay leaves under her mattress.’
Ripples of hope pass over me. ‘Bay leaves?’
Are bay leaves the answer to all my troubles? I have always thought they were used to flavour sauces. I didn’t realise they have potential curse-lifting properties.
Rosie nods. ‘Bay leaves can be used for emotional protection and help guard the mind and spirit from those who may wish you harm or ill will. They can also banish negative energies.’
‘Bay leaves – really?’ I question.
