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Authors: Katherine Hole

BOOK: Swan
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‘I’ve lost one of my earrings.’

‘Oh God.’ A look of terror crossed his face as he
dived under the table, frantically searching for it. After a minute or two, he
remerged clutching the prized earring. The look of relief on his face was
indescribable. I felt so foolish for putting him to so much trouble. First I’d
spilled the drinks, now this. What a klutz I was.

Taking the earring from him, I took off my other one
and placed them both back in their box for safekeeping. Then, downing my Mojito
in one gulp, I made my excuses and escaped to the toilets to cool down. I
needed to psyche myself up, raise my spirits, get over my humiliation. I had
been behaving like a complete moron all evening.

When I returned, I was surprised to see David deep
in conversation with the dark-haired man who had been watching us. David seemed
angry, the man having said something that riled him. As they saw me approach,
the stranger scurried off into the shadows like an odious vampire bat.

David moulded his face appropriately to disguise his
anger.

‘Sorry, was I gone long?’ I asked.

‘No, no,’ he replied hastily, pulling out my chair
for me.

I sat down, looked at him. An awkward silence hung
between us.

‘Who was that guy you were talking to?’

‘Oh, just someone who thought they knew me.’

‘And did he?’

‘Did he what?’

‘Know you?’

‘No, no, of course not. But he was very persistent;
he didn’t want to take no for an answer. However, I think the matter is now
resolved.’

‘Are you sure you’re okay, David? You seem a bit
rattled. You’re not in any sort of trouble are you? Because if you are, I want
you to know that you can count on me. You can trust me to keep my mouth shut.’

‘What on earth are you talking, Madeline? I’m
absolutely fine. Like I said, I’ve never seen the man in my life. Let’s just
forget about it, okay?’

David’s eyes sparkled with venom. I was slightly
taken aback. It was the first time he had ever displayed his temper to me
before. I decided not to question him any more about the incident.

For the next twenty minutes he remained distracted,
agitated and soon requested that we leave Havana Café altogether. I, for one,
was not sorry to go. What had started out as a magical evening had descended
into farce, then into disaster. I didn’t like being around David when he was in
such a foul mood and hoped that perhaps when he’d had time to reflect on things,
he’d be back to his loveable old self.

Some chance! The following morning he slotted a
postcard through my letterbox. On the front was a photograph of the Eiffel
Tower. On the reverse was a brief note saying that he’d gone to France for six
weeks on a modelling assignment and would be back after Christmas. He wished me
well and told me to take care of myself. It was signed with a smiley face and
two kisses. I almost died.

 

Chapter
Twelve
  

 

At first I didn’t know how I was going to survive
for six weeks without David. With Christmas fast approaching, the prospect of a
lonely festive season was depressing enough without the added mystery of
whether or not I would see him again. I tried to go about my usual routine,
tried to keep myself busy and not dwell on it, hoping against hope that he
would be back for me. He had to be. My optimism for a reunion was the only
thing that kept me going.

Not that there wasn’t enough to keep me busy. The
Beth and Phil saga had become like a soap opera. The week following the reveal
of his infidelity, Phil had moved out of the marital home into a little flat in
Archway. He saw Vicky twice a week, took her to the cinema, the park, all the
while begging for Beth’s forgiveness.

My sister played the wronged wife to perfection: she
refused to take his calls, refused to discuss anything other than the childcare
arrangements and resolutely stood by her original assertion that their marriage
was over. She was on the phone to me constantly, filling me in on every last
detail of their separation. From morning until night, I was updated on his
movements, his pleas, his tears, his tantrums, his feeble declarations of love.
Beth related it all with mischievous glee, clearly enjoying the power she
exerted over the situation.

In some perverse way, it was almost like she had a
newfound respect for him
because
he
had cheated on her. Like she had discovered a new dimension to this downtrodden
man she had so long thought incapable of defying her. The fact that he had
slept with someone else, shared his body with someone else, helped her to view
him as a sexual being again. She analysed every sordid text message and found
that they were the key to understanding a hidden side to her husband. The key
to understanding what was missing from their marriage. And, although she hated
to admit it, I think my sister found it all rather exciting. Drama of any kind
was what Beth craved. Anything to shake up her mundane existence.

It didn’t happen overnight but, little by little, I
could sense her resolve wearing thin. I knew it would be only a matter of time
before she took him back. Tough as she pretended to be, I knew my sister just
wasn’t strong enough to be anything other than a stay at home wife. It was more
the lifestyle she feared losing, the financial security than the love of her
husband. Above all, she didn’t want to leave the door open for that bitch
(Peter Cushing) to take the spoils of her twenty-year marriage. ‘Over her dead
body,’ she shrieked.

By the third week, Phil began working his way back
into her good books. On visits to see Vicky, he’d linger in the living room and
leave little gifts behind which Beth collected with a grudging admiration. He
spoke of them recapturing their youth, of starting over again, of being a
better man now that he had learned what it was like to lose all that he held
dear. And from the way my sister gushed about this on the phone, I could tell
that divorce was definitely off the cards.

Meanwhile, I had David Powell on my mind. Every day
when the mail arrived, I’d wonder fleetingly if perhaps he’d send me another
postcard or something. Nothing came, but this didn’t stop me from hoping.
Sometimes I’d hover in the landing, staring at his locked door, wondering if
I’d see him again. Once, I even phoned the landlord on the pretext of tracking
David down to deliver a parcel to him. Jim was a bit of an old gossip so it
didn’t take me long to discover that David had paid the whole year’s rent in
advance, which I found extremely uplifting. At least it confirmed that he intended
to return to England. I mean, who would want to lose out on a year’s rent?

By the fourth week, I had cheered up enough to go
shopping in the West End. I had always been keen on astrology and occasionally
browsed the New Age bookshops in the Convent Garden/Shaftsbury Avenue area.
Places specialising in mind, body and spirit titles had long been a source of
comfort to me on lonely weekends.

About one o’clock, I exited Leicester Square Tube
station. It was typically busy for a Saturday, the streets heaving with
tourists and shoppers eager to grab a bargain in the run-up to Christmas.

Tarot was my favourite bookshop on Monmouth Street.
It was not as well known as Mysteries or
Watkins,
but I preferred it there because I found the staff to be especially knowledgeable.
What also attracted me were the in-house clairvoyants that gave private
readings in the afternoons. For thirty pounds you could have your future
predicted by a psychic using methods ranging from tarot to aura. One guy in
particular, Gerry, was very intuitive. In the past he’d correctly predicted
Beth’s pregnancy and revealed many home truths to me about my childhood. Now I
was hoping that he would be equally perceptive about my relationship with
David.

After trudging through a maze of back streets I
eventually found
Tarot
squashed
between a fashion boutique and a bakery that sold horribly over-priced
cupcakes. As soon as I entered the shop the intoxicating aroma of jasmine
incense hit me. I glanced round. The walls were stacked from ceiling to floor
with self-help manuals, books on meditation, Reiki and positive thinking.

The grey-haired sales-assistant smiled at me from
behind the till, clearly recognising me from previous visits. Once, we’d had a
forty-five minute debate about the effectiveness of Louise Hay’s positive
affirmations, and I’d impressed him with the depth of my knowledge.

‘Is Gerry in today?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to book a
reading.’

‘Yes he’s in. He’s currently with a client at the
moment.’ The man reached under the counter and brought out a worn-looking
appointments diary. After flicking through the well-thumbed pages, he informed
me that there was a slot available in half an hour.

I made the booking then tried to kill some time
browsing the bookshelves and buying one of those sickly, over-priced cupcakes
from next door. It looked more like plastic than something edible, smothered in
garish coloured icing and topped off with a rubbery-looking strawberry. I
almost broke my tooth trying to take a bite.

When I returned to Tarot I found Gerry waiting for
me in a little room partitioned off by a beaded curtain at the back of the shop
with walls covered in pictures of zodiac signs, Aleister Crowley and the Dalai
Lama.

Gerry beamed at me from behind a table littered with
plastic stars and shiny business cards. ‘Oh it’s you,’ he trilled. ‘Good to see
you again. Maddy, isn’t it? Please, sit down, sit down.’

He weighed about twenty stone and wore his
coal-black hair slicked back like Rudolph Valentino. His ghastly spray tan was
riddled with streaks, particularly between his short, chubby fingers, and his
eyes were an intense blue beneath his suspiciously dark lashes.

I took a seat opposite him.

‘Did you do a bit of shopping today?’ he asked,
referring to my paper bag.

‘Er, no, it’s just a cake.’

‘Not one of those vile things from next door is it?’

‘Actually, it is,’ I laughed. ‘It was so horrible I
couldn’t even finish it!’

Gerry took the bag from me, inspected it and then
made a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

‘Disgusting!’ He pushed it back to me. ‘Okay, let’s
get started.’

I relaxed my shoulders. Cleared my head in
preparation for Gerry to work his magic. From previous experience, I knew that
this was the best way to get in contact with the astral plane. Unlike other
psychics, Gerry didn’t use tarot cards or birth charts to predict the future
– instead he got in contact with his ‘angels’, celestial beings that
showed him the gateway to your destiny.

‘All right Maddy, close your eyes and try to
concentrate. Clear your mind of all thoughts, both positive and negative. Just
sink into yourself ... become at one with your aura. Okay, now give me your
hand.’

We linked hands across the table. Gerry’s palms felt
all clammy like the underside of a fish. His eyelids flickered like he was
having a disturbing dream. Then, slowly, he opened them and stared into the
middle distance. When he spoke again, his voice was a pitch deeper. Very
spooky.

‘Right, I’m making a connection ... my angel is
hovering just above your head. I see his benign face smiling at me, telling me
he sees your destiny, what’s inside your heart. I can see that you are troubled
about something, Maddy. A man ... your mind is clouded by indecision ... You
want this man to give you answers.’

I nodded my head eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Hmm ... My angel is showing me a name. What’s that?
Daniel, Darren ... no David. Yes, that’s it – David.’

‘Yes, yes! Oh my gosh, that’s right. What else do
you see?’

He rambled on for a while about other issues in my
life: how I hated my job, my low self-esteem and my recent failure to secure
the management position. Everything was spot on. But what I really wanted to
hear more about was David.

‘Wow Gerry, you’re so amazing. You’re so in tune
with me it’s scary. But, getting back to the guy you mentioned – this
David. What do the angels tell you about him?’

Gerry paused, narrowed his eyes like he was looking
into the abyss. There was a look of absolute concentration on his face. Slowly,
he started rocking from side to side, snapped his fingers and let out a
high-pitched ‘ooh!’ Then he started undulating his hips as if in the grip of
James Brown’s spirit.

Suddenly he shot his eyes wide open. There were
beads of perspiration on his forehead.

‘I have just seen something so unbelievable, so
ridiculous, I think my angel is having me on. No! This simply can’t be true.’

‘What is it? What do you see? Tell me!’ I was now
frantic, on the edge of my seat.

Gerry gripped my hands tightly. ‘Maddy, this man,
this David ... he has many surprises in store for you. At the moment that’s all
I am allowed to tell you, but just hang on in there, okay? I know he blows hot
and cold sometimes and you’re probably wondering if he’s worth the hassle.
Believe me - he is
.’

‘Can’t you elaborate? Please Gerry, I need to know
exactly what you’re talking about. What sort of surprises does David have in
store for me?’

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