Sweet Temptation (21 page)

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Nat. ‘Dry those hands, Mrs Mop, and get your shoes on. You’ve got two minutes.’

She had had her hair cut, I registered dimly, into a choppy, elfin style. It suited her delicate features.

I swallowed. ‘But I . . .’ I began.

But I haven’t finished the washing up yet!

But I can’t go out without letting Charlie know!

But I was all set for a quiet night in reading wedding magazines and watching
Casualty
!

‘No buts,’ said Gem sternly. She looked as if she’d been poured into her cut-off jeans, they were so tight. ‘Keep walking while you’re talking.’

That made me laugh. It had been the catchphrase of Colin, the old bloke who worked in the White Lion. He’d yell it out every ten seconds or so while he was collecting the glasses at the end of the night in an attempt to shoo everybody out. I hadn’t heard him say it for a long, long time.

‘Hurry up!’ Shelley ordered, putting her strappy-sandalled foot in the door. ‘Come as you are – you don’t need to get changed or anything. We’ll have a laugh. Just like old times, yeah?’

I bit my lip, weighing up the offer. It
was
Saturday night and it had been ages since I’d caught up with the girls properly. Also, if I was back in good time, Charlie didn’t need to know I’d been out at all.

‘Yeah, okay,’ I said, smiling, suddenly giddy at their unexpected arrival. I shoved my shoes on, then grabbed some money and my door keys. I still had my make-up on from work, and my hair had been washed that morning. I’d do.

‘Brilliant. So what’s the plan? Are we having a beauty session? Do you want me to grab some lotions and potions? Where are you taking me?’

‘No lotions and potions necessary,’ Nat said, ‘although personally I’d be well up for a Jess Beauty Night soon. I could do with a facial now that I think about it . . .’

‘We’ve booked Susan,’ said Gemma quickly. Nat had a tendency to blether. ‘Round at our place. And we know how much you wanted to see her last time, so . . .’

‘Susan? Ooh, fab,’ I said, feeling a shiver run through me as I pulled the front door shut and we began walking down the road. Now I was properly excited. Susan Ridley was a clairvoyant Nat’s mum had told us about a couple of years ago. Nat’s mum had gone to see her at a spiritualist church and Susan had been uncannily accurate, apparently, passing on a message from Nat’s deceased gran (‘Don’t forget to cut back the clematis’) as well as predicting an imminent sporting triumph for the family (Nat’s brother had run the Birmingham half-marathon in under two hours that very weekend) and news of a pregnancy close to home. Nat had had to deny it vigorously at least four times before Mrs Bingham, the newly-wed next door, had announced her happy tidings.

At the time we were all living together and immediately booked Susan for a home consultation. Unfortunately, the night she was due to come round my car had broken down on the way back from work, and by the time I’d got home, Susan had already packed up her tarot cards and gone, leaving the others to breathlessly tell me tales of the tall, dark strangers and exciting journeys that lay ahead of them.

Since then, I’d often wondered what she would have said to me, but didn’t quite have the courage to go and see her on my own. Now I’d get my chance . . . and oh, I couldn’t wait. I hoped she’d tell me how wonderful the wedding was going to be.

‘That reminds me,’ I said as we got to the end of the street, images of white dresses floating around in my mind. I was just about to tell them about the date Charlie and I had set for the wedding, but then I closed my mouth again. Ah. Problem. I hadn’t actually asked my mum and dad if they were free on that Saturday yet – which was a pretty basic detail to check before announcing the date to the rest of the world. And besides . . . I suddenly remembered the dismissive way Shelley had spoken about Charlie last time I’d been out with her and didn’t feel like discussing it after all.

‘What?’ Nat asked. ‘Blimey, that’s a dramatic pause. Don’t leave us hanging, girl!’

I laughed, trying to think of something to say. ‘Um . . . I haven’t seen your new place yet, have I?’

Shelley elbowed me. ‘No – and it’s hardly new any more either, Mrs. We moved in in
January
. Some friend you are, not turning up with a pot plant and bottle of plonk before now.’

I felt bad then. She was right. I hadn’t been a very good friend at all. ‘Well, I hope you’ve tidied up for me,’ I said, trying to make a joke. Back when I’d lived with them, I was always the messiest house member. In fact, the closest Gemma and I ever came to blows was when she once exploded over my constant inability to make the toast without leaving a trail of crumbs from the worktop to the table. ‘It’s like living with bloody Hansel and Gretel!’ she’d fumed.

Now, of course, I was a regular Snow White, playing house for Charlie and me. But that was just being grownup, wasn’t it? That was simply a case of me realizing that if
I
didn’t sweep up crumbs or sort laundry or wash dishes, they didn’t
get
swept or sorted or washed. Besides, I liked making everything nice for him. Us.

Once we arrived at their house, Shelley showed me round. She worked at a lettings agency so had nabbed them a great property. It was a three-bedroomed semi and they’d made it really pretty. The bedrooms were all girl heaven, with huge, overspilling wardrobes, massive mirrors and fairy lights, and the long, knocked-through living room had a vast squashy sofa with loads of colourful cushions, a pink feather boa draped along the mantelpiece, a big TV and piles of DVDs and videos (I’d be amazed if
Sleepless in Seattle
still worked, the number of repeated plays it had been through). There were a table and chairs at the far end near some French windows that opened onto a scruffy garden, and on the wall above the table hung a fab photo montage someone had made, featuring all of them in various party outfits. I went for a closer look.

‘Oh my God, that was the School Disco night, wasn’t it?’ I cried, spotting a photo of the legendary party we’d thrown at our old house. There were the four of us dressed up in white school shirts, short skirts and ripped fishnets, our hair in bunches, with brown-eyeliner freckles dotted across our noses. ‘Look how thin I was then,’ I added, crossing my hands over my big belly to hide it.

‘Jess, don’t say it like that,’ Shelley scolded. ‘I think you’ve lost some weight anyway since I saw you last – not that you need to or anything,’ she added quickly. ‘But your face looks a bit slimmer to me.’

I flushed. ‘Do you think so?’ I asked.

‘Deffo,’ she said. ‘Hey, that was a riot, that party, wasn’t it?’ she went on fondly, coming to stand next to me and looking at the photo I’d been studying. ‘Oh, and here’s your birthday night, remember? – three years ago, was it? – when we all went to The Ram, and you snogged that policeman for a bet.’

I giggled. ‘And you and Gems got told off for dancing on the table to Abba,’ I said, a rush of memories tumbling into my mind. ‘What were we like?’

‘Happy days,’ said Gemma, coming to join us. ‘We must get you out and about more often, Jess. Even if it means we have to hide behind cars watching for Charlie to leave the house so that we can steal you away.’

My mouth fell open. ‘You didn’t!’

Before she could reply, there was a knock at the door and we all stiffened. ‘That must be Susan!’ Nat squealed, racing to answer it.

Shelley grabbed my arm excitedly. ‘Oooh, here we go,’ she said, pulling me over to the sofa. ‘Sit down, Jess,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and get the wine. I’m in need of some Dutch courage all of a sudden.’

Susan Ridley wasn’t at all what I expected. I’d imagined every last fortune-teller cliché rolled into one: that she’d be a wizened, hunched old crone in a headscarf, with golden hooped earrings, and penetrative, slightly crazed eyes that looked right into your soul. Not a bit of it.

In walked this tall, thirty-something woman with a cloud of dark curly hair, wearing tight black jeans and a retro David Bowie T-shirt. ‘Hiya,’ she said, looking around and smiling. ‘Where do you want me?’

‘Hi, Susan,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m Gemma, and this is Jess. Do you want to do the readings at the table here?’

‘Perfect,’ she said, walking across the room. ‘I’m getting a great feeling about this space, you know. Lots of music and dancing, my spirits are telling me.’

Gemma grinned. ‘They’re spot on, then,’ she replied. ‘We often push the table back and have a bit of a dance in here before we go on a big night out.’

Shelley came in with a tray full of wine glasses. ‘As long as your spirits don’t let on about me puffing and panting in front of my Davina workout DVDs in here, I don’t mind,’ she added, smiling. ‘Can I get you a drink, Susan?’

After Susan had been given some peppermint tea, and we’d all poured ourselves large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc, it was time to begin. Suddenly I felt antsy at the prospect. What if Susan said something awful was going to happen to me or someone I knew? What if she looked at my palm and pronounced that I would be hit by a bus on the way home? What if her spirits told her I was a big fat loser who shouldn’t be drinking wine because it had too many calories for a so-called dieter? I put my glass down quickly. I’d just have this one, I vowed, then go on the water. I didn’t want Charlie to smell booze on my breath anyway. If he knew I’d sneaked out behind his back, he wouldn’t be very happy.

‘Who’s going first, then?’ Susan asked, unwrapping a pack of tarot cards from a purple velvet cloth, which she spread out before her on the table.

I felt myself shrinking back nervously, but luckily the others were jostling to have the first reading. Gemma won and sat down opposite Susan at the table, while Shelley heaved the sofa round at an angle so that we could all sit a respectful distance away and listen.

Susan asked Gemma to shuffle the cards and cut the pack, twice. Then she dealt them in a pattern on the purple cloth. I watched, tingly with trepidation. Suddenly this all seemed rather serious – and kind of stupid. What were we doing, messing around with tarot cards and spirits? The atmosphere felt charged, electric, as if anything might happen. I couldn’t help thinking about those horror films where evil spirits rampaged through houses, pushing over furniture, throwing pictures from the walls, smashing mirrors . . .

I was just wishing I was back home checking my lottery ticket in front of the draw when I heard Susan give the dirtiest laugh I’d ever heard. ‘My goodness,’ she said, studying the cards in front of her. ‘My word. You’re a bit of a fireball when you get your garters down, aren’t you?’

Gemma gave a scream of laughter and clapped a hand to her mouth. Nat, Shelley and I all burst out laughing too. Gemma
was
a saucepot, it had to be said. She’d always be the one you’d hear shagging through the wall, or making you splutter with tales of her late-night shenanigans the next morning.

‘Let’s see . . . so we’ve got the Lovers card, the Knight of Wands, we’ve got the Empress . . .’ Susan raised her eyes to Gemma. ‘Girl, you’re getting some action at the moment, aren’t you?’

Gemma spluttered again, and Shelley elbowed me. ‘When
isn’t
Gemma getting some, more like,’ she whispered. ‘Her bedroom’s been like Shag Central lately.’

‘And the spirits are saying . . . Ooh.’ Susan raised her eyebrows and paused as if listening. ‘They’re saying that this bloke you’re seeing at the moment – I can’t get his name. Maybe Gareth? Graham? They’re saying he’s built like a can of Pledge, if you get my drift.’

Gemma’s shoulders shook with mirth. ‘Oh my God!’ she squealed. ‘He’s called Gary. And . . . yes. Your spirits are right. He’s quite . . . ahem. Well-endowed.’

Shelley and Nat were in hysterics. ‘I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again now,’ Shelley giggled.

‘Too busy looking at his packet,’ Nat spluttered.

‘Who’s Gary?’ I hissed, nonplussed.

‘New man. Only met him last weekend,’ Shelley whispered back.

‘Mind you,’ Susan was continuing, ‘he might be a big lad, but he’s not . . . ahhh.’ She broke off and lowered her voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but the spirits are telling me he’s not . . . ahem . . . using his assets in their best way. Let me think of a nice way to put it: it’s as if he’s standing at the cashpoint, yeah, and he keeps trying to put in the right number, but no money’s coming out. Am I right?’

Gemma wiped her eyes as we all collapsed in hysterics again on the sofa. ‘You’re right,’ she giggled. ‘But I’m working on him, don’t worry.’

The readings went on. Susan foresaw a trip to America for Gemma, a change in career for Shelley and a tall blonde man for Nat. It all sounded very exciting and now, with two glasses of wine down my throat, I had finally relaxed and become totally engrossed in everyone else’s predictions.

In fact, I was enjoying myself so much, it was something of a shock when Nat got up from the table and Susan looked at me and said, ‘Okay. Let’s have number four then. Jess, did you say your name was?’

‘Oh,’ I said, stupidly. ‘Is it my turn?’

‘She’s quick off the mark, our Jess,’ Gemma teased. ‘We don’t need any spirits to tell us that.’

I turned red as I got to my feet and went over to the table. My heart drummed a fast beat as I sat down near Susan. My mouth felt dry and I licked my lips.

‘Right we are then,’ she said briskly, passing me the cards. ‘Shuffle those and cut them twice for me, love – split them into three piles, left to right in front of you. While you’re holding the cards, I want you to think about any questions you want the cards to reveal. Just keep those questions in your head – no need to say anything.’

I did as she said, my fingers trembling slightly as I held the large, slippery cards. The first question that popped into my head was:
Will me and Charlie be all right?

Then I felt disloyal. No. I should think of something different. Mustn’t doubt Charlie. What should I ask? I could smell Susan’s strong perfume, a rather sickly patchouli kind of smell, and it was clouding my head.
Don’t start thinking bad things about her perfume, she can probably read your thoughts!
a voice warned in my brain, and I almost dropped the cards in my nervousness. Could she read my mind? Did she know I didn’t like her perfume?