‘Ah, well good luck.’ Bert wondered if he could persuade her to take a reading and realised her gums were still flapping.
‘My fiancé offered to pay for us to fly abroad, but I said, like, babe, I don’t want nowhere but Brighton. He’s a celebrity you know. Such a doll, he bought me a BMW to drive up in,’ she squeaked, hunching her shoulders and wrinkling her nose. ‘Are these your cards?’ she asked, leaning across the bar in the hope of being served.
Bert tapped the deck. ‘Yes. I predict the future,’ he found himself saying.
‘Ohhh. My fiancé’s a psychic, but he doesn’t like reading for family. Can you give me a reading?’
‘The going rate is forty pounds.’
Hesitation flickered in Felicity’s eyes.
Bert shrugged his oh-go-on-you’ve-twisted-my-arm look. ‘I can give you a quick reading for twenty, seeing as you’re getting married.’
Another shriek of delight as Felicity clapped her hands together, the note flapping between her fingers.
Bert attuned himself to her high-pitched frequency. It wasn’t too bad once you got used to it. As long as she didn’t try to touch him. He couldn’t bear that. He hated the huggers, and people like Felicity were everything that was wrong with the world. Her equally deplorable friends gathered around as Bert cleared a table in the corner.
‘This is a private reading,’ he said bluntly, as the beast awoke from within. From early childhood, Bert’s anger felt like a separate entity deep within his soul. He tried hard to keep it under control. Most of the time, he won.
Drink in hand, Felicity took a seat and dismissed her friends to the other side of the bar. Rifling in her purse, she paid the fee and dropped her designer bag under the table. It gaped open, revealing all the things you would expect of a woman whose only interests were designer brands and her weekly edition of Heat magazine.
Bert worked the cards as Felicity leaned over, her heaving chest resting on the table. He spoke of how she had been let down in the past. He disclosed that her fiancé was older than her, her one true love. Tears sprang in Felicity’s doe eyes, acknowledging his words as truth. ‘You have so many plans, and you want everything to be right for your special day.’
Felicity gave a watery smile as she played with a length of hair extension. ‘Oh my God that’s amazing. Tell me, how many babies are we gonna have?’
Bert waved his hands theatrically over the cards. ‘You’re not going to have any children.’
Felicity scowled, no doubt mourning the loss of dressing her newborn toy in Armani Baby designer wear. ‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Have you ever heard of karma?’ Bert said, relishing the words spilling out of his lips.
Felicity’s scowl transformed into painful concentration as she searched her mind for answers. ‘Karma? Yeah, you get what you give.’
Bert gave her a knowing look. ‘You’ve got a secret, haven’t you?’ It was all becoming clear as the cards plucked her shameful secrets and laid them bare.
‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about. What secret?’
Bert pointed at the card. ‘I’m seeing college. So many friends, grateful to be in your company.’
‘I’ve always been popular,’ Felicity said, staring at the image on the card and not seeing any such thing.
Bert continued to glance down, feeling his heartbeat quicken as the scene unfolded before him. ‘Yes. I’m seeing one schoolgirl in particular. Cara. With her cheap clothes and fake jewellery.’
The colour drained from Felicity’s face. It was all the validation Bert needed.
He licked his dry cracked lips as he leaned in towards Felicity to deliver his condemnation. ‘You hated that girl. The phone calls, the bullying, and then the night of the party, when you held her down, so those boys could familiarise themselves with her.’
‘Nothing happened,’ Felicity said, as the truth came back to haunt her. ‘I let go before they did anything.’
Bert narrowed his eyes. ‘She killed herself while your bruises were still fresh on her wrists.’
‘Keep your voice down. I’ve done everything in my power to forget that girl. Why are you bringing it up now?’ she whispered sharply. ‘Just who are you?’
‘My name is Raven. You asked for a reading,’ Bert said as he turned the final card. There was no denying the enjoyment of wiping the smile off the bimbo’s face, but the pub was filling up and discomfort began to creep up his spine as he leaned in to be heard. ‘Now for your future.’
Felicity’s bottom lip jutted outwards in a pout, making her look four years old.
‘You’re not going to make it to your wedding. You’re going to die in the woods,’ Bert said, waiting for the dramatics to unfold.
Sure enough they did. Felicity clasped a hand to her mouth, stemming the sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh my God! You’re telling me … I’m gonna die?’
Felicity’s shrieks drew the attention of her friends, who were pointing in their direction. Bert felt his chest tighten as both dread and excitement coursed through him. He needed to get out before she made a scene. An agonising combination of emotions relayed on his contorted face.
‘Yes. In the woods,’ he said to Felicity, who was opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish about to be dropped into the toilet.
Felicity’s chest heaved dramatically as she took great gulps of air. ‘How dare you … How dare you say such a thing! I don’t even know of any woods. You’re nuts, that’s what you are! Nuts!’
Bert hurriedly slid the cards together and tapped them on the table before returning them to the pouch. The last thing he wanted was to be mobbed by a group of hysterical women. Scurrying out of the building, he peered over his shoulder to see Felicity’s friends click clacking towards her in their high heels as they rushed in response to her evident distress.
A sneer grew on his lips. She was as good as dead. Within forty-eight hours, her nail–varnished big toe would bear the mortician’s tag.
[#]
The black BMW gleamed at the far end of the car park. Stupid girl, Bert thought as he strode past the empty bus that provided good cover from curious eyes. He tutted as he stopped to light a cigarette, gently puffing as the roll-up ignited into life. Anyone could vandalise it there. Anyone at all. He pressed the fob of the keys he had taken from her bag. The car lights flashed in response. He had learned all about cars when he was young, and how to loosen the wheel nuts just enough so they wouldn’t come off straight away. Minutes later he threw the keys on the ground. The mysteries of fate were all well and good, but sometimes fate needed a helping hand. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a taut smile and he tipped his hat to avoid the accusing glare of the sun.
[#]
That night he decided to leave his cards in his pocket. The urge to use them had dissipated, his inner self was positively purring after recent events. Death was a happy bedfellow and he would sleep easy tonight. He settled into the low-backed chair at the piano bar, his foot nodding in time to the music. His double brandy clawed at the back of his throat as it slid down, warming his senses.
He tapped the bar mat against the smooth mahogany table. The music tinkling in the background was far preferable to the rumble of his engine, and he was in no hurry to return to his cot bed in the back of the van. He could return to mother. He pushed away the thought but the unease lingered. He would return. But not before he finished what he set out to do.