Little Bones Read online

  Shania blushes when I ignore her, then says, ‘That’s not what I said. I said you’re not normally allowed out on a Saturday night.’

  Tracy plonks down next to Shania. I carefully perch beside her. The thought of being alone on the empty couch opposite is leaving me cold.

  ‘Okay, ladies,’ the doorman says, tentatively edging into the room.

  I haven’t even caught sight of Mariah yet. I hope it’s not this weasel-looking guy in drag, and that he expects us to keep straight faces while he shuffles tarot cards, and digs around in our minds for our deepest, darkest, blood-soaked secrets … I shouldn’t be here. I wriggle in my seat. Tracy rests a heavy hand on my knee.

  The man squeezes past our sofa to stand before us. He’s making little sounds beneath his breath, like an actor loosening his lips ready for a monologue. Are we paying for this too? If I had wanted Shakespeare in the living room, I’d have booked am-dram tickets, which I suspect might have been a better idea.

  ‘My name is Jon. I’m Mariah’s husband of fifteen years, and let me tell you, being married to such a talented psychic for so long is a huge feat. If I plan a holiday, she’s already packed her suitcase. I try to organise a surprise birthday party, she arrives early to greet her guests. I buy her jewellery … well, she’s a woman, so doesn’t mind shiny presents.’ He fake laughs while all four of us simultaneously sigh at his sexist joke.

  Jon turns around to scoop up four clipboards off a nearby table.

  ‘Fill these in, please.’ He gives us each a clipboard, then leaves the room.

  Tracy nudges me. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think if he were married to a real psychic, she’d have predicted all his jokes would be crap,’ I say. Everyone giggles.

  I look down at my clipboard and scan the questions. Nothing too intrusive, just the basics of name, address, age, and ticking a box to promise I won’t have a heart attack mid-reading. However, I dither.

  I look up to see Jon has appeared back in the doorway. He’s staring at me.

  ‘Umm, why do you need all this?’ I ask him.

  ‘Health and safety. Please fill it in if you want a reading.’

  I want to scream at him that I don’t want a reading, so taking my personal information isn’t necessary. Then again, if I don’t go through with tonight’s entertainment, I’ll prove Shania right, Gurpreet wrong, and Tracy will never let me live it down. We’ll be old ladies shuffling along in the shopping centre; she’ll look at me and say, ‘Remember when you ran out on me at the psychic’s house? Didn’t see that coming.’

  I must frown, as Jon scoffs and walks away. He’ll be telling Mariah to give me a bad reading, which ironically could be useful. If this psychic is real, her laziness could mean she leaves my buried secrets untouched to rot.

  ‘Fill it out. Go on.’ Tracy pokes me in the ribs.

  I pick up the pen. The form asks for my birth name, my address, date of birth, and my In Case of Emergency contact; I put down Leo. I tick the boxes, which say I don’t have a disability and my heart is fine. I go to sign it. I hesitate again. I declare all the information given is correct, it reads in big black letters. There’s one piece of information I’ve given that isn’t one hundred per cent correct, but what sort of enforcement powers could this home-working sideshow have? I sign it.

  As if he’s been watching, Jon suddenly steps back into the room. He collects the clipboards. ‘It’s £25 each,’ he tells us.

  We all give up our money, which Jon rolls up in his hand. He disappears, shutting the door behind him. I can hear a murmured conversation. Closing my eyes, I try to make out the whispered words. Are they talking about me?

  ‘I’m so excited about my reading.’ Shania rubs her arms as if she’s cold.

  ‘Yeah? Not concerned she’ll see you’re dating a married man?’ Tracy says.

  ‘Shut it. What about you, Cherrie? Any skeletons in your closet?’

  Swallowing hard, I choke a little and have to clear my throat.

  ‘Oh, perfect little Cherrie does have something to hide.’ Shania crosses her legs and nudges us all; our bodies knock together like the balls of a Newton’s cradle.

  I’m about to reply with a lie when the door opens.

  ‘Welcome!’

  I look up to see a thin woman in a black maxi dress, only a little older than I am. Her hair is short and dark, and her long nose is the most noticeable feature of her face. She’s striking, with bright maroon lipstick teamed with thick black kohl-lined eyes.

  ‘Hi,’ Gurpreet mutters, perhaps expecting us all to say it at once.

  ‘I’m Mariah. Thank you for coming tonight. I will choose my first reading.’ She carefully looks at us all. I feel like a harem wife hoping her husband doesn’t pick her for the night.

  Mariah’s stare rests on each of us in turn. I cross my arms over my chest and try to smile at her, although I fear I might just be baring my teeth. Tracy and Shania both shift in their seats.

  Smiling, Mariah takes Gurpreet by the hand. ‘You will be my first reading.’

  The psychic pulls my friend off the couch and takes her away.

  ‘How come she got to go first?’ Shania complains.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t want to be last. Mariah will be knackered by the end of the night. I’ll get a crap reading.’ Tracy makes herself comfortable in Gurpreet’s vacant couch space.

  ‘I don’t mind going last,’ I say.

  It feels as if this evening will never end. When Gurpreet comes out, and Shania goes in, the whole show repeats.

  In the living room, Gurpreet gushes about how accurate Mariah was in her reading. Apparently, she predicted her long-term boyfriend was going to propose on Valentine’s Day next year. The psychic told her to say yes, that they would be happy together. I’m not sure I agree with that advice. Choosing your husband is a serious matter; it’s why I haven’t married Leo. He asked me once, when we discovered I was pregnant with Robin. In painful slow motion, he bent down on one knee, but he didn’t have a ring ready to slip onto my finger. I said no. Although he often calls me his missus to his mates, he has never asked again.

  Shania comes out. Mariah, in equally dramatic fashion, chooses Tracy, leaving me for last. Why would she do that? Has she secretly read me already and needs to build up to being in the same room as me?

  ‘What was it like?’ Gurpreet asks.

  ‘Shit,’ Shania says. She catches me smiling at her reply. ‘Your lipstick is flaking. Shame. It was a great colour. A bold choice for a woman your age.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. I would typically throw out a comeback, but I’m far too relieved about Mariah’s crappy abilities to care about a little dig.

  Shania regales us with a blow-by-blow account of the cards’ meanings and predictions. It takes so long to describe that, after a while, her voice sounds like white noise.

  In the end, Gurpreet sighs. ‘What a shame. Mariah was so accurate with me.’ She leans across to pat Shania’s knee.

  ‘Oh, she was accurate all right; just didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.’

  What? Didn’t Shania just say she was crap! Does that mean she’s good; that she’s real? I gulp and look up to see Mariah escorting Tracy back into the room.

  It’s my turn.

  Chapter 3

  Mariah’s hand is clammy and firm around mine. A silent gesture stating, you’re not going anywhere. I have you now. Perhaps I’m misinterpreting it and it’s more of a motherly, everything will be all right gesture. As if sensing my confusion, Mariah looks back at me with a broad smile. Although I don’t have much experience with mums – mine never won Parent of the Year – I decide it’s a nurturing gesture.

  We walk down a hall the colour of curdled cream. It’s tight due to a tin shelf jutting out along its length. As we pass, I see there’s a collection of silver photo frames adorning the shelf. Each one shows a happy little girl about six years old. She has her mother’s nose and her father’s eyes. Their daughter. No doubt, they’ve confined
her to her room while they work. Considering they have a kid, this place is almost spotless. I didn’t even notice any toys. Perhaps girls are easier to entertain than boys. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t trip over something of Robin’s; usually his discarded shoes.

  Mariah notices me admiring her photos. ‘Sarah,’ she says.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ Most mothers say this to one another regardless, but I mean it. Sarah has an easy smile and natural highlights in her hair, which catch the flash of the camera, giving her a perfect halo effect. I’m not sure why, but I feel more relaxed knowing Mariah and Jon have a child. I guess it’s a kind of parental camaraderie.

  The psychic leads me into another boxy room. This one is candlelit and smells of earthy frankincense. In the centre is a low, round table with a black tablecloth. A deck of cards sits on top. Surrounding the table are thin scatter cushions. I quickly scan the rest of the room and see a sideboard with several cups and saucers. In the low light, they look magical, like something from a Disney film.

  ‘I do tea leaves too,’ Mariah says, as if to justify their presence.

  I nod and, as I move towards the table, bump into some plastic-covered clothes hooked over the door of a cupboard. Touching the plastic, I see a dark, elaborate outfit beneath and the hint of something white and glowing.

  ‘Fancy dress for Halloween,’ Mariah explains.

  ‘Oh, that’s soon, isn’t it? Where does the time go?’

  Moving the plastic aside, I count two costumes in the bag. It must be lovely to play dress up with your daughter.

  ‘Ready?’ Mariah motions for me to sit across from her.

  My trousers are tight and it’s uncomfortable, yet I manage to sit down and cross my legs.

  ‘It’s good to meet you, Cherrie.’

  In an elegant gesture, Mariah offers me the cards. ‘Please shuffle these, cutting them with your left hand, as it’s your left hand that deals your destiny.’

  I do as she asks, although the cards are large and awkward and slip from my grasp more than once.

  ‘Have you travelled far tonight?’

  ‘No, I’m about twenty minutes away.’

  ‘The Rosemount Estate?’

  ‘No, Oak Cross. By Dawson’s Food where I work.’ I’m rambling and giving too much away.

  ‘The cards are ready now.’ Mariah motions for me to put them down.

  I place the deck on the table and cut them with my left hand.

  ‘You’re left-handed,’ she tells me as if it’s some amazing revelation. As if I will suddenly look down at my digits exclaiming, Holy crap, that’s why I’ve never been able to use regular scissors!

  ‘Yes. All my life,’ I say.

  ‘In the past, left-handed people were considered sinister.’

  ‘All polar bears are left-handed.’ A fact Robin read off an ice-lolly stick last summer.

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ she replies.

  ‘Perhaps that’s why they’re becoming extinct,’ I add. ‘Polar bears only have right-handed tin openers. They can’t get into their cans of tuna.’ That was the worst joke ever. What am I playing at? Wait a minute, I’m paying this woman – it’s her job to entertain me.

  ‘More likely we’re ruining the planet,’ Mariah says flatly.

  I tap the top of the cards. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, good. We will begin.’ Mariah closes her eyes and waits.

  I feel conspicuous now, and for some reason Thomas Doncaster’s disappearance races through my mind. Hoping he is okay, strongly suspecting that he’s not, I can’t stand this anticipation. I should ask if she knows anything about Thomas.

  ‘Mariah? Can I ask you about something?’

  Opening her eyes, she gives a little nod.

  ‘Have you had any visions of that missing boy – Thomas Doncaster?’

  Mariah purses her lips and leans forward. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but his mother and brother came for a reading just after it happened.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘People often seek out psychics when they feel the police are failing them.’

  ‘How can the police be failing them? Didn’t he only just go missing?’

  She snorts.

  ‘Did you see anything?’ I then ask, wanting to end my question with the word helpful, yet deciding against it.

  ‘Not at the time.’ Mariah moves closer to me. ‘I did see him this afternoon, though.’ She then looks around us as if someone is watching. ‘He had lost his shoes and was coughing on car fumes.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  She whispers, ‘I fear he is no longer with us.’

  I was expecting a lazy response of, he’ll be found safe soon, not some ominous death prediction. I want to ask more questions about Thomas, but Mariah cuts through my thoughts with a clap of her hands.

  ‘Now, before we begin I need to clarify how this works. I will deal you five cards. One represents the past, which still affects your present. One is your present as it is today. One is your future as it will be if you continue on your current path. The remaining two are messages from the spirits.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’d prefer to just stick to the past, present and future. No spirits, thanks.’

  ‘You get both. In life, sometimes we get things we don’t want along with the things we do. I can’t control what I see. I simply pass the information along in the hope it helps.’

  At Dawson’s Food, the customer is always right. Clearly, Mariah doesn’t care about that in her line of work. A wave of defiance rolls over my manners, so I ask, ‘Did you tell Mrs Doncaster you think Thomas is dead?’

  Mariah coughs and grins at me. ‘Do you have issues with the dead, Cherrie?’

  ‘I have issues with the living and the dead,’ I reply.

  ‘Death hangs around you, like black smoke on your bones.’ There’s a rasp to her words that makes me want to run. It’s icy in this room. Cold and dark. Last time I felt like this I was eight years old and hiding under my dad’s workbench listening to the knocking coming from the cupboard …

  ‘Are you ready?’ Mariah asks.

  This isn’t real. It can’t be. People like Mariah don’t exist in reality. She’s hustling me, and that’s okay. Hustle away, lady. I’ve dealt with worse.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘Excellent.’

  She takes the cards and deals out five. I know little about tarot cards. Only what I’ve seen in films and the opening credits of Tales of the Unexpected. I do realise there’s one card I’d like to avoid. Mariah flips the first over – it’s Death. I lean back, hitting my shoulders against the wall behind me.

  ‘I’m sorry; I should have told you about the Death card before I began. Clients are often taken aback by this card, but it’s not as grim as it appears. It represents a new beginning. The end of something hurtful. Nevertheless, this card sits in your past. What does it represent?’ Mariah raises an eyebrow.

  I almost blurt out that she should know what it means, yet bite my tongue. I have to keep reminding myself she’s not in touch with some cosmic energy; she can’t see my past. Who I am. I mean, who I used to be.

  ‘My parents died when I was eight,’ I say. It’s partly true, so perhaps it’s enough to keep her fake spirits quiet.

  ‘So, you went to live with another member of your family?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lie.

  ‘That will be it. You’ve not quite come to terms with what your parents did.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Leaving you so suddenly. They didn’t mean to; it wasn’t their intention.’

  This woman is full of it. I slump back into her uncomfortably thin floor cushions.

  ‘Actually, I think they did mean it.’

  She looks a bit taken aback, but quickly shrugs it off. Mariah’s not a real psychic, but she is a professional.

  The next card is a picture of a small, smiling boy riding a white horse.

  ‘The sun. This is your present. There is a c
hild around you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s my son Robin.’ I instantly kick myself for giving her both his gender and name. I’d be terrible in one of those hard-core police interviews.

  ‘He’s lovely, your little bird. He makes you so proud.’ Her lips lift into the practised smile of a mother.

  ‘Yes, he’s great. He’s the love of my life,’ I say, wishing I’d stayed home with him.

  Narrowing her eyes, Mariah gathers her lips into an unflattering grimace. ‘His father; I see a lion, Leo.’

  ‘How did you know his name?’

  ‘Leo is a challenge. Set in his ways. It’s his mother’s fault. The woman panders to him, making him need lots of attention.’

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  She closes her eyes. I edge towards her.

  ‘Men rarely grow up. Trust me. Jon has a habit of making everything my fault. He then makes it his business to fix it. Is Leo like this?’

  ‘Kind of. He can be annoying at times; but he loves me. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me.’ Even as I say this, I realise that there might be at least one thing he wouldn’t do for me.

  ‘Annoying, yes. That’s what I meant.’

  I’m not sure it was, yet she pulled Leo’s name out of thin air. It’s not as if he is a Chris or a Bob. She didn’t even say I see the letter L, to entice me to offer the name. Mariah said it as if she just knew.

  ‘What should I do about him? Does he get better?’

  ‘They never get better, just easier to handle. Let’s see if he’s in your future.’

  The next card is the Ten of Wands. It shows a lone man dragging a mass of tall tree branches.

  ‘What does it mean?’ I ask.

  ‘Someone is working against you. This future is almost immediate.’

  ‘You think Leo is plotting against me?’ I say, knowing it’s absurd.

  ‘I don’t think so. It could be, though. Be wary.’

  Knowing she can’t mean Leo, I ask, ‘Um, could you give me more on the person I need to watch out for?’

  Mariah sits up straighter. ‘Apologies, I have no further information to give. You’ll know them when you see them.’

  Helpful.