‘I wouldn’t be seen dead at a séance, and I do not communicate with the deceased. Too creepy,’ she added with a shudder. ‘I did do a course in mediumship skills some time ago but I had a rather unpleasant experience with some ectoplasm.’
‘So what do you do then?’ I asked as I topped up my own glass.
‘I’m a psychic. I have the gift of clairvoyance and I use it to give people advice, or to help them achieve their goals. I can help with all sorts of matters—matrimonial crises, professional problems, family difficulties—I even help to find missing pets. Some people think of me as their spiritual guide, or even angel.’
‘Well—‘ I regard it as complete baloney but tried to think of something nice to say. ‘That sounds fascinating.’
‘It is, although, confidentially…’ her brow had pleated with anxiety, ‘I could do with a few more clients. In fact it’s a bit of a worry. It’s hard, isn’t it—having to make one’s living,’ she added distractedly.
‘Well,’ I shrugged. ‘I’m…used to it.’
‘So if you know anyone who’s in need of a little clairvoyance…’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Have you put an ad in the local paper?’
‘I have—and I’ve got a website—but the problem is that there are so many psychics in London. The market’s saturated—oh hello Hans!’ Her cat had just wandered in through the open door and was now winding itself in and out of her ankles, purring like a tiny Ferrari. ‘You don’t mind cats do you?’ she asked as it sprang on to her lap.
‘No. I like them.’
‘And she’s very sweet.’
‘She is. Erm…why do you call her Hans, if she’s female?’
‘Because I found her outside my old flat in Hans Place.’
‘Hans Place in Knightsbridge?’ She nodded. ‘That’s a nice address.’
‘Oh it was,’ she said regretfully. ‘It was heaven.’
‘So what brings you here?’ I asked. ‘Ladbroke Grove’s a bit…different.’
‘I know. But, well…’ she sighed. ‘My circumstances changed. You see, my last flat didn’t belong to me. Unfortunately .’ She snapped a breadstick in half. ‘So, when that…arrangement…came to an end I decided I really must buy my own place. This was all I could afford, but it’s a nice flat.’
‘But how did you get into the psychic…business?’
‘Well, that’s quite a story actually…Do you want to hear?’ I didn’t—but I nodded politely. She sat back, and cradled her wine, gazing into the middle distance as she began her trip down Memory Lane. ‘It was all because of a seagull,’ she began. ‘A psychic seagull, to be precise.’ I looked at her. ‘It saved my life.’
‘Really?’
‘Without a doubt. You see, this time last year I was feeling very, very low—I’d reached…a major turning point in my life. So I went to stay with my sister in Dorset and one afternoon I went for a walk on the cliffs. And I must have been too near the edge, because I slipped and fell about twenty-five feet. And I was lying there, on the beach, trapped between two boulders, in great pain with a broken leg, quite unable to move—like this .’ She’d clapped her arms stiffly to her sides to help me visualise her predicament.
‘How awful.’
‘It was terrifying —not least because I knew the tide was coming in. I kept calling out, but the beach was deserted; and as I lay there, sincerely believing that I was going to die, a seagull came and hovered overhead. And it wouldn’t go away. So, in desperation, I shouted at it. I yelled, “For God’s sake, go and get help !” To my very great surprise, it flew off.’ She leaned forward, her large grey eyes widening. ‘But this is the incredible part. I learned afterwards that it had flown to my sister’s cottage, where it tapped on the kitchen window with its beak, and flapped its wings and made a huge noise. My sister tried to shoo it away, but it persisted, so she decided that it must be trying to tell her something. So she followed
‘So what do you do then?’ I asked as I topped up my own glass.
‘I’m a psychic. I have the gift of clairvoyance and I use it to give people advice, or to help them achieve their goals. I can help with all sorts of matters—matrimonial crises, professional problems, family difficulties—I even help to find missing pets. Some people think of me as their spiritual guide, or even angel.’
‘Well—‘ I regard it as complete baloney but tried to think of something nice to say. ‘That sounds fascinating.’
‘It is, although, confidentially…’ her brow had pleated with anxiety, ‘I could do with a few more clients. In fact it’s a bit of a worry. It’s hard, isn’t it—having to make one’s living,’ she added distractedly.
‘Well,’ I shrugged. ‘I’m…used to it.’
‘So if you know anyone who’s in need of a little clairvoyance…’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Have you put an ad in the local paper?’
‘I have—and I’ve got a website—but the problem is that there are so many psychics in London. The market’s saturated—oh hello Hans!’ Her cat had just wandered in through the open door and was now winding itself in and out of her ankles, purring like a tiny Ferrari. ‘You don’t mind cats do you?’ she asked as it sprang on to her lap.
‘No. I like them.’
‘And she’s very sweet.’
‘She is. Erm…why do you call her Hans, if she’s female?’
‘Because I found her outside my old flat in Hans Place.’
‘Hans Place in Knightsbridge?’ She nodded. ‘That’s a nice address.’
‘Oh it was,’ she said regretfully. ‘It was heaven.’
‘So what brings you here?’ I asked. ‘Ladbroke Grove’s a bit…different.’
‘I know. But, well…’ she sighed. ‘My circumstances changed. You see, my last flat didn’t belong to me. Unfortunately .’ She snapped a breadstick in half. ‘So, when that…arrangement…came to an end I decided I really must buy my own place. This was all I could afford, but it’s a nice flat.’
‘But how did you get into the psychic…business?’
‘Well, that’s quite a story actually…Do you want to hear?’ I didn’t—but I nodded politely. She sat back, and cradled her wine, gazing into the middle distance as she began her trip down Memory Lane. ‘It was all because of a seagull,’ she began. ‘A psychic seagull, to be precise.’ I looked at her. ‘It saved my life.’
‘Really?’
‘Without a doubt. You see, this time last year I was feeling very, very low—I’d reached…a major turning point in my life. So I went to stay with my sister in Dorset and one afternoon I went for a walk on the cliffs. And I must have been too near the edge, because I slipped and fell about twenty-five feet. And I was lying there, on the beach, trapped between two boulders, in great pain with a broken leg, quite unable to move—like this .’ She’d clapped her arms stiffly to her sides to help me visualise her predicament.
‘How awful.’
‘It was terrifying —not least because I knew the tide was coming in. I kept calling out, but the beach was deserted; and as I lay there, sincerely believing that I was going to die, a seagull came and hovered overhead. And it wouldn’t go away. So, in desperation, I shouted at it. I yelled, “For God’s sake, go and get help !” To my very great surprise, it flew off.’ She leaned forward, her large grey eyes widening. ‘But this is the incredible part. I learned afterwards that it had flown to my sister’s cottage, where it tapped on the kitchen window with its beak, and flapped its wings and made a huge noise. My sister tried to shoo it away, but it persisted, so she decided that it must be trying to tell her something. So she followed
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