old woman took Michelle’s hand and rubbed it gently, watching her face all the time. ‘You work in a place with a lot of people,’ she said. Michelle only slightly inclined her head in affirmation. ‘A lot of women, dancing.’
Michelle smiled. ‘That’s right.’ The old woman hadn’t lost it.
‘You’re good at your job. You’ll have your own business maybe in the next year or so.’ Again, the psychic was right. At least that was the plan. She’d already looked into starting her own Zumba and Pilates classes. She’d spoken to a friend to find out what it would entail, setting herself up as a business, taking out personal insurance. She was saving some money before she quit her job to set out on her own. It was her goal, and she knew she’d do it.
‘Things haven’t been so good in love,’ the old woman said.
‘No.’
‘How long were you together?’
‘Almost eight months.’
‘And everything was going well before. You were thinking of moving in together?’
They hadn’t talked about that, but Michelle had thought that it hadn’t been too far off. She spent three or four nights a week at Nick’s place anyway. He said he hated it when she wasn’t there. She did too. She’d loved living alone before. She liked the freedom, the not having to answer to anybody. Before, she’d lived with a man for almost three years, and it had stifled her. Everywhere she went, he’d asked questions. The thing he’d claimed to love most about her, her free spirit, was what tore them apart in the end. And then a year later, Nick had come along.
‘Things went bad – just like that.’ The old woman clicked her fingers with her free hand, then rested it on top of Michelle’s.
Despite herself, she could feel the tears coming. Nick would surely laugh at her for that – a flashing neon sign for the psychic to interpret. Damn him anyway.
‘No explanation.’
‘No, he just … disappeared.’
‘He’s torn,’ the woman said. ‘Wants you in his life and doesn’t.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Is he well?’ she asked then.
‘You mean healthy?’ Michelle shrugged. ‘I think so.’
The woman looked confused. ‘A drinker maybe?’
Nick drank a few beers, but he didn’t drink too much, did he? She’d never seen him particularly drunk, no more so than a lot of their friends.
The old woman sighed. ‘I’m not sure this is a good situation for you, lovey. This man, he has a good heart, but he’s not willing to commit. There’s a reason, but it’s not clear to me. There isn’t another woman?’
‘No. I mean, he was married before, but that’s finished.’
‘A child?’
‘No.’
‘Funny, I see a child. A dark-haired little girl and a woman.’
Strange. There was no child – unless he hadn’t told her. He wouldn’t have kept something like that a secret – not after eight months, would he?
‘How old is this child?’
‘Four, maybe five, and Johnny …’
‘Johnny?’
The old woman looked sharply at her. ‘You said his name was Johnny?’
‘No. No, it’s Nick.’
‘Nick?’ The woman looked confused. She let go of Michelle’s hand, ran her palm across her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, dear. Ignore that. It’s … I don’t know, I’ve given you a wrong reading, I think.’
‘You think it’s someone else?’
‘No, not someone else. Sometimes things get confused. I don’t know. Maybe you could come back tomorrow, dear. We could try again.’
Michelle took out her purse, but the old woman waved her hand and told her to put it away. ‘No money,’ she said. ‘Not for today.’
Michelle left, disappointed. She thought of the woman’s reading. Johnny. She didn’t know anyone called Johnny. She hoped the old lady hadn’t had some premonition about the future. A woman and a dark-haired child. It didn’t make any sense, but then the other things did. She’d known that she taught dance to a lot of women. That she planned to start her own business. Maybe she had good days and bad, the old lady. Michelle contemplated how old she might be. She’d first visited her ten years before, and she’d thought she was ancient then. Maybe her powers were going as the years advanced, her visions becoming blurry. Powers. She heard Nick mock her. You don’t really believe in all that nonsense, do you? Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all nonsense, and she ought to just get on with her life.
‘Do you know what year it is?’
Tessa’s voice intruded on his vision.
‘It’s 1980.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At home. It’s Cait’s birthday. She’s five. They’ve made a cake, her and Rachel.’
‘Are you Nick or Johnny?’
‘Johnny. John Davis.’
A pause on the recording, then he speaks again.
‘She’s so happy. We’ve got her a bicycle. She’s starting school soon … Rachel is planning on going to college.’
‘What’s Rachel going to do?’
‘Design. She works in a home store, but she wants to be a designer. Interiors.’
‘And what about you, Nick?’
He doesn’t answer.
‘What do you do?’
Still no answer.
‘What’s going on, Nick?’
‘Rachel, she says she has to go out this evening. I don’t want her to go. It’s Caitlin’s birthday, but she says she has to. She’s meeting Orla.’
‘Who’s Orla?’
‘Her friend. She’s trouble, I don’t like her.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. There’s something about her. Rachel’s annoyed. She says it’ll only be for a few hours.’
‘Are you jealous? Jealous of Orla?’
‘No. I think she’s hiding something … she’s not being honest.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know … I’m not sure yet.’
Tessa leaned forward and stopped the recording. ‘That’s pretty much it,’ she said. ‘I bring you out of it then.’
Nick looked at her. ‘It’s so weird, listening to myself …’
‘What do you think is happening, Nick?’
‘I