Crystal Balls (6 page)

When Chantelle was nine, her mother died of breast cancer.

“You must have given her some indication,” I say dismissively “Did she say your mother specifically or did she simply say a female relative who was dead?”

Chantelle’s forehead wrinkles as she frowns intensely. “She said my mother is no longer of this world. They don’t actually say
dead
, Tina.” Her tone is
clipped.

“I’m sorry, Chantelle – that was insensitive.”

“It’s okay.” A watery smile materialises. “She said my mother’s spirit is guiding me.”

“But you
must
have given her some indication, Chantelle? I don’t want to be a party-pooper or anything but she could hardly pluck that information from thin air.”

“I didn’t, Tina, honestly. I know what you’re thinking but I swear I sat there straight-faced and said absolutely nothing. Not a word. I believe it, Tina.” Her voice
quietens. “She said other stuff she couldn’t possibly have guessed.” She fondles the gold locket around her neck. “She knew this was my mother’s. She said it helped
her get a link with her, you know, bringing something that she once wore.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek and I reach out and touch her arm lovingly, swallowing hard to be strong for her. My heart aches for her. Of all the people who deserve to be loved, it is her
and it’s at times like this you do wonder if there is a God and where the hell his logic is. “To know that my mother is around me is the greatest feeling ever.” She sniffs like a
lost child in much need of motherly tenderness.

“Here.” I hand over a tissue. “Good for you. I’m made up for you.” I squeeze her tightly, kissing her cheek before releasing her.

It is rather strange though. I mean, you can tell Chantelle is young, too young to guess that at her age she could have lost a parent. I have a suspicion that she gave it away indirectly. How
else could the woman have known? Peculiar.

I remember the news. “Oh, you’ll never guess what! Our Sam is engaged, can you believe it?” A heaviness hits me once more.

“Wow, that was quick!”

“I know, she probably thought her biological clock was ticking over.”

“She’s pregnant?”

“God no! She never said.”

“I can’t really imagine Sam as a mother, no offence meant.” Chantelle’s eyes regain their mature composure.

“It’s okay, none taken. I know what you mean but neither can I imagine myself as a mother. I’d probably go out with the baby and forget to bring him back!”

“What if it’s a ‘her’?” she teases.

“I’d definitely leave her then!” I snort. “I spent a life time clashing with my own mother. If you think I’m going through that again you’ve got another think
coming!”

We roar with laughter, linking arms, as we make our way to the car park.

Today is a great day for Sam and Chantelle. Sam has the man of her dreams and Chantelle the dream of her mother. But I can’t help feeling like the stuffing has been knocked out of me. All
this great news has left me feeling rather self-absorbed. I am so happy for Sam even though Tim is not exactly what you might call dynamic, but he is a good man who clearly worships the ground she
walks on. I, on the other hand, fall for the bastards every time. It must be wonderful to feel so wanted and so secure, never caring whether the total stranger who just walked past you in the
street finds you attractive. It’s totally shallow but true, I’m afraid. The day I stop attracting attention is the day I stop leaving the house and curl up to die. It’s been a
long time since I’ve felt loved up and I guess it will take a strong man to provide me with that blanket of security and to eradicate the need to be aesthetically appreciated by all.

Most of my ex-boyfriends were the Thespian type, insecure and dramatic. And while there was rarely a dull moment, high-maintenance relationships are bloody hard work. Particularly when
it’s the bloke who does all the demanding.

Arriving at the car park, Chantelle releases her tight link of my arm and grips me loosely around the neck. Her temporary warmth takes away my internal chilliness and I feel good for supporting
her.

“Thanks again, Tina. I’m so glad you were with me. I can’t wait to tell Colin, although you know what a cynic he is.” Her car bleeps and the lights flash as she presses
the key-fob before climbing into her convertible blue Mini. She climbs in with a natural grace that could teach royalty a thing or two. “See you Monday, Tina!” Then she shouts as she
pulls away, “And don’t forget to tell your Sam I said congratulations!” She waves madly until out of sight.

I make a mental note to stop off at my office on the way to Mum’s. I have a few bottles of chilled champagne I keep for special occasions and this is definitely one of those. Plus I need a
drink! Visions of Sam gliding up the aisle flood my imagination. A picture of elegance and serenity. I can’t wait to see her although I feel like I might cry and I don’t want to. Not
for all the wrong reasons.

The diesel engine rattles with uncertainty and I wait for it to settle down. I’ve been thinking about replacing it for ages but any liquid cash, for now, has to be pumped back into the
business. At least until it starts to show consistent signs of making profit. My brain ticks over in sync with the noise. A chug here and a groan there. Why are there no guys for me? A
good-looking, financially secure professional is not too much to ask for? Surely? You walk past those types every day. I’m not a bad person. I give monthly payments to charities and rarely
pass a collection box without digging deep. I buy
The Big Issue
without actually taking it so they can sell it on to somebody else. I know just how they feel and curse those mercenary types
who stroll past them with rich arrogance. I even smile at people I’ve never seen before just to brighten up their day.
When will it be my turn? When? When?

Switching off the engine, I practically fall out of the car, slam the door shut and sprint up the marble steps of the hotel. My legs run instinctively towards the Great Hall.
Don’t do
it, Tina, don’t do it!
But my feet seemingly run of their own accord. The physical battling the mental and winning fiercely.
And why do I keep attracting the wrong person? Surely I
have a soul mate out there? Doesn’t everyone?

I halt abruptly, breathless and panting, staring deep into the Great Hall, willing myself to have the strength to turn and go. Just walk away.

I am my destiny. I hold it. I control it.
The words drill into my brain. Repeat after repeat after repeat. I watch Holler Man still singing the same dreary song and using the same pitch.
This is clearly a déjà vu.

I gaze at the stained-glass window showering flecks of brilliant light across the room and decorating the walls and floor with a million tiny rainbows. An abundance of colour dances prettily,
costumed out and performing to an unappreciative audience, bar one. I feel the tingle of angel dust as it travels through the atmosphere and I inhale its medicinal remedy until dizziness results.
It tickles my senses and penetrates my soul and then, with an invisible click, the spell has been lifted and once more I am of this world.

Phew! That was close, Tina, you bloody idiot! What the hell were you thinking?

“Place your hands on the crystal ball, my dear, and try to free your mind of any thought,” says Gypsy Florence.

Free my mind? How long have you got? It’s suffering from a humongous thrashing. Beaten by a pair of legs. I guess it was a case of who got there first, and it well and truly lost. Mind
over matter? I don’t think so.

I don’t expect this to take long. Having said that, I didn’t expect to be here to start with. In fact, it’s one of those surreal experiences where you keep asking yourself
‘
Am I really here?
’ But here I definitely am. I attempt to eradicate any level of contemplation by exhaling it noisily from my body. In through the nose, out through the
mouth.

“Tina,” her forehead creases, “can you fix your eyes directly on the crystal ball? Try to erase all thoughts.” She frowns once more.

The cubicle is dimly lit and my eyes adjust slowly. The atmosphere is mellow and relaxed and suddenly focusing is easier. But I am feeling a little tired now. The crystal ball is sitting in the
centre of a small round table covered with a black velvet cloth trailing to the floor. A foldaway chair bears an open leather briefcase displaying a pack of tarot cards, various crystal rocks and a
rag or cloth of some description.

A flicker of light shines into the cubicle and the crystal ball glistens as the light travels across it. Muttering, Florence excuses herself momentarily, awkwardly prising her elderly body from
the chair, and fixes the canvas curtains in an attempt to black out any distractions.

“Plays havoc with the magnetism,” she fusses. “It’s only just been charged up.”

I glance down at the crystal ball, curious as to how you might charge a piece of glass. Looking up I catch her surveying my face intently. It feels intimidating.

“You leave it out during a new moon,” she tells me. “It makes it more powerful.”

My question never moved from my lips.
Freaky.

Seated once more, she resumes the reading with my hands wrapped securely around the crystal ball, willing it to predict a future of lavishness and love. In any order.

“You have an unusual aura around you,” she begins. “A mixture of outspokenness combined with a rare sensitivity.”

She is looking around my shoulders from one side to the next.
For what?
I quickly turn my head left to right but can see nothing.

“Does that make sense to you?” She pauses. “That you can be almost confrontational but at the same time have a sensitive side?”

I guess it does really. I’m renowned for my outlandish and outspoken opinions but unravel the layers of hard-nosed Tina and you’ll find a purring pussycat lies within.

Determined to give nothing away, I remain without emotion and simply shrug my shoulders.

“I am being drawn to your higher self,” she continues. “Your higher self indicates that you have not yet learned to trust your own voice.” Leaning into the ball, her eyes
strain and she looks at me fixedly. “You need to believe in yourself.” Her face softens. “Find a way to forgive yourself.”

What is she on? Forgive myself for what?

“I feel that you are battling with a failed past and I must warn you that you must
not
become what you are not truly destined to become.” Her face is overflowing with concern
and a deep grimace distorts her already heavily lined forehead. Taking a break, she squints and moves her eyes from the ball for a few moments and then questions me directly, seeking affirmation.
“Can you identify with any of this, my dear?”

Like I’m going to tell you. How unspecific was that? Doesn’t everyone have a past failure that they’d rather not discuss? Feeling ill at ease and somewhat deflated at my lack
of willpower, I simply nod. Humour the old dear so you can get out of here, Tina.

I could be with Sam, knocking back champagne.

“Good.” She smiles. “I thought you might understand that.” Her face lights up excitedly. “Ooh, I am also being shown a ring which indicates a marriage.”

I sit up, suddenly interested to learn more, nodding for her to continue.

“I don’t feel that this relationship belongs to you, however, although the person who is destined to be
your
soul mate is all around you.” Scratching her head, she asks,
“Are you in a relationship currently?”

I shake my head, attempting to hide my disappointment.
Aren’t you supposed to tell me that?

“Well, it won’t be long for you, my dear. As I say, this person is around you as we speak and your paths are destined to cross very soon if they haven’t already.” She
hesitates. “If you allow it, Tina.”

That is the first time my name has been used which in fact was all she asked me for, apart from the thirty pounds of course.

“
If you allow it,
” she repeats, watching me sternly.

Okay, I got the message the first time around.

Fidgeting on the white plastic chair, I cross and uncross my legs impatiently, unable to relax and cursing myself for just being here. My sharp stiletto heel clumsily attaches itself to the
draped velvet cloth and I jerk my knee up trying to free myself.
Ouch!
It bangs hard beneath the table top and I freeze in horror as the table rocks with its force. In what seems like slow
motion the crystal ball rolls towards me, twisting and turning and heading for the edge of the table.

“Jesus!” I manage to grab it just before it rolls off, clutching it without a millisecond to spare and holding it tightly to my chest.

I watch as her face changes from a ghostly panic to utter relief. It looked like the old dear was a goner for a moment.

She prises the ball from my perspiring hands, frantically examines it and heads to the open case where she pulls out the soft cloth. She wipes the ball with soothing, loving strokes.

“I’m so sorry . . . it . . . it was an accident,” I implore. “My heel got caught on the cloth.”

But she ignores me, still wiping the ball. Caressing it with affection.

It’s a bloody piece of glass, for God’s sake. Nothing more than a big marble.

She stares at me. A look of repugnance crosses her face. “This ball is made from quartz crystal,” she scolds. “And I simply cannot practice without it.”

Okay – once is coincidental. Twice is plain spooky.

I stand to go, no longer feeling the need to hear more. Enough damage has been done for one day.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I mutter in embarrassment. I turn to go, looking for the break in the canvas drapes. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Tina.” Her voice is lowered and calm as she hobbles towards me, giving the impression of being concerned. “I no longer have a connection to continue.” She inhales deeply
and with much effort. “But I must warn you that you truly need to learn to trust
yourself.
” Her eyes, although worn and bloodshot, are filled with wisdom and compassion.
“Only you know who and what is right for you and things are not always as they seem.”