Crystal Balls (28 page)

My chest feels a little tight and I suddenly feel lightheaded and woozy. I’ve worked so hard both in and on this business. It’s my livelihood, my baby.

Is it ever going to keep you in the life of luxury that
you crave?

I’m working at my own pace and doing very well, thank you. Our reputation is growing thick and fast and, with the second shop only months away, I really couldn’t ask for much
more.

“
You gave in too quickly . . . the self-doubt you carry
needs to be removed!”

“No, no, no!” I shout out loud. My head is beginning to throb as I try to erase the voices from it. “Leave me alone!”

“
You have great potential in this area . . .
”

“Just shut up!”

“
Put your trust in unseen events . . .
”

“Go away!”

“
You are battling with a failed past!”

“Because you won’t bloody let me forget it!”

Chantelle twists the bottle, holding the cork firmly. It hisses seductively as it separates from the neck of the bottle and mini-bubbles surface to say hello before
disappearing as quickly as they came.

“You’ve done that before, Chantelle. Good bit of wrist action there, Mrs!”

Chantelle just winks at me.

“Not a drop wasted – although wouldn’t you like to just shake it everywhere like they do on TV?” Heather snorts as she holds up her glass to join ours. “But it
would be such a waste.”

“Just keep it away from my hair,” I order. We salute each other warmly, toasting to health, wealth and happiness. Not necessarily in that order.

“I’ve loaded all the figures on to SAGE and filed the VAT returns, Tina.” Heather hands me a tape marked
Q1 2009. “
It’s all backed up on here and even
without Steen Developments we’re looking good. Damn good. The sales are up, overheads are minimal and with a pipeline of pending sales of the docklands properties in tow plus close completion
of more than two dozen here, Tina, I’d say you could consider opening two more shops.” Heather takes a rough swig of champagne, leaving her glass almost empty.

Her words are music to my ears but it’s still a little ambitious . . . although I do feel myself tingling with excitement, the same type of excitement I got when my first business loan was
approved. I guess it’s like having your first child, nothing can beat the experience. From what I hear!

“Just one will do for now, Heather,” I tell her wisely. Unless you’re actually running the business, it’s easy to forget that there are other considerations apart from
the financial. “Don’t forget that I’d have the salary overheads as well as the running costs for two more offices, and until at least one of the two new offices was paying for
itself, this one here would be carrying the cost for three Harding Homes. We’re not quite ready for that yet. Oh, that reminds me – I’m expecting the building quote in any day
now.” I feel my face redden at the thought of my last encounter with Brian and almost groan out loud as I recall his soft hands openly massaging my breasts, and my nipples harden instantly.
Thank heavens for the protection of padded bras. I had to turn down his invitation for dinner last weekend what with Sam’s wedding and all, but this weekend come hell or high water I’ll
be there by his side (though preferably underneath him), only this time I will be able to tell him that we’ve sold them all. Every last one of his amazing apartments and in a short space of
time that has impressed even me. I suddenly feel the urge to hear his dulcet tones and find out the plans for the weekend. It’s never too early to organise your wardrobe and in light of our
recent success, I might even consider treating myself to something new and totally seductive.

Excusing myself from Chantelle and Heather, I run upstairs to use the phone in complete privacy and, dialling his number, I notice my hands are shaking.
Damn! Bloody voice mail.
Still, I
did say I’d ring him and the purpose is legitimate.

“Hi, Brian, it’s Tina here,” I say professionally. “As promised I’m just ringing to confirm arrangements for this weekend. Talk soon. Bye.”

I hang up, wondering if I sounded too disinterested and a little too standoffish. Why the hell is a post mortem necessary after every conversation I have with the guy?

My phone bleeps with a new text message.
Pick u up Sat 6pm. Pak overnite bag. BS

I’m not sure whether to be excited or insulted that he’s made the decision for me to stay with him and, after our last episode, I doubt very much we’ll be in separate rooms.
God, I hope not!
I’m so tempted to text him back to ask where we’re going. What’s the harm?

Where u taking me?
I text before I can stop myself.

4 me to no’n’u 2 find out!
he replies.

I give up. He’s not going to tell me but God only knows how I’m going to get through the rest of the week. The suspense is killing me already. Flicking through the diary, I notice a
blank space where I quickly type in
No Appointments Please
. This will allow me time to go shopping for a new outfit but I’m not sure I can afford the Lejaby underwear I’ve had my
eye on . . . after spending a fortune on the last lot for it to be sampled by a middle-aged student. Tragic waste! I really ought to consider wearing that again, given neither myself nor anyone
else has had their money’s worth. I’m so excited that I want to tell someone. It’s hard keeping this under wraps but I’ve preached for so long about the
business-and-pleasure rule that I’ll appear a complete hypocrite if I even mention it to Chantelle. She did tell me ages ago that she thought he fancied me but still I think the less said the
better. I need to continue to lead by example. I could consider telling Kate, given she knows the history so far, but after her comments yesterday she seems intent on fixing me up with Simon, and
if I tell my mother she’ll start planning the next wedding and knitting baby booties. Well, the former possibly as like myself she can’t thread a needle yet alone knit and, besides, her
acrylic nails would only get in the way.

I laugh out loud as my memory skips back some years, reminding me of a comical night of bowling with Mum, Dad and Sam. My mother truly had no idea what she was letting herself in for and we had
to explain to her that the three holes in each ball were designed to fit three fingers. Easy? She nearly hit the roof. “But my nails!” she whinged in a mild tantrum. “You
can’t expect me to run the risk of losing them! Do you know how much these things cost?” Dad rolled his eyes as usual as if to say ‘just humour your mother’ but Sam and I
could do nothing but laugh. I did hear him say something under his breath about him paying for them. Sam disappeared for a few minutes and then re-appeared pushing a metal stand shaped like a
ski-slope with a flat shelf on top. She grabbed a ball, curving her hands around it to demonstrate the
no-nails-required
technique, and placed it on the flat part of the metal stand which
she had positioned just on the red line of our bowling lane.

“Mum, just point the stand in the direction of wherever you think the ball is likely to hit the skittles best.” She snorted. “And when you’re ready, just push the ball
down the slope and let it roll away!”

Needless to say it worked a treat and my mother scored the highest both in terms of bowling scores and best entertainer. All the other kids were staring at her as she held the ball clumsily,
blatantly refusing to take her turn unless the sides were up, no matter how much of a cheat we called her. She always maintained that it was the winning that counted and how you actually played the
game was irrelevant!

Perhaps she and the competitive Mr Steen would get on after all!
But perhaps it’s a little too soon to think of
that right now. Still . . . it’s food for thought.

I send one final text to Brian, purely for work purposes. Seriously.
“Pls don’t 4get 2 bring bldg quote need 2 org internal work asap. Thx.”

His reply comes thick and fast:
“Internal wk Ms Harding! Nthg a quik lick wont fix!”

OMG! Roll on Saturday!

“This is Golden Aura. Who is my caller today?” Her dulcet tones drool seductively.

“Tina,” I tell her, offering no more. I refuse to give my surname or any other information which might help her quest to find my chosen path.

“Hello, Tina. Welcome to Golden Aura,” she salivates. “I hope you enjoy your reading today.” I remain tight-lipped, focusing on the art of will power and clearing my mind
as blank as a sheet. “I’m going to use tarot cards to tap into your psyche today. I find the cards have an uncanny knack of allowing me to tune into you and your situation and I let the
cards tell me the topics I need to discuss.” She draws breath. “As opposed to me asking you and not really feeling a connection with your chosen topics. How is that for you? “

“That’s fine as long as your cards show my love life and career path,” I retort. I’m not paying two pound a minute for her to harp on about what she can see or what suits
her mood today. Beside, I’ve one thing on my mind. And only one.

“Let’s see what we can do,” she answers in smooth tones. “I’ve chosen eight cards and one by one I’m turning them face up.” The silence is unnerving. It
continues.

“Well, now . . . you are an unusual one. Your aura is very yellow. There’s no doubt about that. You are very much a free spirit.” Her voice brightens with floral tones.
“Your psychic energy is produced by your life force and yours is truly joyful. You’re generous and lively and a teacher of good behaviours.”

Wow. How cool is that!

“You are mentally optimistic and always seeking to learn new skills in order to gain wisdom which may be shared with others.” She pauses. “You do play your cards pretty close
to your chest. You might like to consider sharing your skills with people a little more?”

I remain tight-lipped.

“I also see some specks of silver,” she goes on, “which is a sign of immense creativity. Do you have creative involvement of any sort in your life?”

“Erm.” I think at accelerated speed.
Is she trying to
extract information? Don’t give anything away.
“I was creative but not now,” I state in neutral
monotone.

“Nonsense!” she bounces back. “You are creative beyond belief although some of your silver aura has weakened a little.”

“Weakened?”

“It’s quite common. This can be down to any negative thoughts or habits. A poor diet, alcohol, drugs, etcetera.”

“I don’t do drugs!” I blurt suddenly, feeling paranoid. Oh my God, that’s one of the key symptoms of drug-takers! Paranoia. “Okay, maybe at uni I had a few spliffs.
And some poppers but that was it.” I suddenly remember the speed episode but decide to keep it to myself. I discount the ecstasy tablets. They were only half a tablet each time. We
couldn’t afford a whole one so that doesn’t really count.

“I’m talking about bad habits in general,” she soothes me with a hint of humour. “But anything that damages the body is also damaging for the soul. You can strengthen
your aura with a healthy diet, fresh air and sunlight. Meditation is also a great way of strengthening your aura.”

Tried it. Couldn’t concentrate for long enough.

“Your key weakness is your indecisiveness, Tina. Why is this, do you think?”

“I’m not indecisive. At least, I don’t think I am.”
Am I?
“Hhm. I still feel this is an area which needs development and this in itself is key to your
success. I feel, however, that you are struggling to maintain power in a business or personal relationship. Does this mean something?”

Cheeky cow. I’m about to open a second office and am being courted by Liverpool’s most eligible bachelor.

“Nope,” I reply, glancing at my watch. “Nothing at all. My relationships are great, thank you very much.”

“Yes, of course they are.” Her tone is subtle and easy. “But they could be better and it does no harm to seek to improve them. Always remember, Tina, that life is nothing more
than a series of relationships.”

Yes! And this relationship is going to be bloody
expensive if you don’t get to the point.

As if my frustrations have been felt, she does get to the point.

“Who is Richard?”

“Richard?”

“Richard,” she repeats. “I keep getting this name when I look at the Sword of Cups.”

“I’ve no idea.” I tingle with apprehension.
Richard
and Tina.
That sounds quite nice actually.

“Well, I want you to look out for him. He’s going to come into your life soon and I see a relationship developing here . . . although I can’t see how long it will
last.”

Ooh! Some news of my love life at last. Not quite the name I was looking for though.

“Go on,” I urge her.

“There is nothing more emanating from this name apart from what I’ve told you. Your paths will cross and there will be some type of relationship . . .”

“Business or personal?” I demand.

“I’m getting nothing more than what I’ve told you about this individual, but what you make of it when it happens is down to you.” Her candy softness hardens.
“Everything you do in life is about choices. Just make the right ones, Tina.”

Well, I’m choosing to end this bloody call right now!

“Fine. Point taken,” I snap with gut-wrenching disappointment. “Oh and erm . . .” I whisper in embarrassment. “Can you please send me the dowsing pendulum you have
on your website?”

“Pardon me?”

“The brass medium pendulum. Please add it to my bill, thank you.”

I hang up rather rudely. I do this every time yet I don’t like doing it. It seems I just get so tense and hyper before these readings, almost holding my breath with the anticipation of
clarity handed on a plate. But it never seems to happen.
Why? Why? Why?
How bloody hard can it be? And indecisive? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. I stick by all my
decisions thank you very much. Like deciding I wanted to order that pendulum the moment I saw it. I didn’t hesitate.