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‘What do you mean?’
‘Palm reading. Fortune telling. Psychic healing. It’s bunkum.’
‘Don’t you believe in the spirit world?’
‘No.’
‘But you live in a haunted house.’
‘It’s old, not possessed.’ He looks back towards the beach. ‘These people are scam artists. They ask leading questions, fishing for information, reading body language and picking up on verbal clues.’
‘But that’s what you do,’ I say.
‘That’s different. I’m a psychologist.’
‘Maybe you have a closed mind. My grandma was a psychic. She started seeing ghosts when she was little, and she could remove curses. She also saw auras. She’d look at someone and say, “You’re blue” or “You’re red”.’
‘Genius,’ he says.
‘Don’t be a dick.’
‘Please don’t waste your money. The future isn’t written on your hand or floating in a crystal ball.’
‘It’s my money,’ I say, holding out my hand, wanting his wallet.
‘How does that work?’
‘I’ll pay you back.’
I take a twenty-quid note and push open the door. A bell tinkles above my head and a woman appears. I expect her to be dressed like a gypsy, but she looks like she’s been cleaning her oven.
‘Hello. My name is Madame Semanov, but you can call me Cindy. What’s your name?’ she asks.
‘Evie.’
She peels off pink rubber gloves and lights a cigarette, waving it like a magician’s wand. ‘Are you here for a life reading or a spiritual reading?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘A life reading focuses on your personal journey, while the spiritual reading speaks to loved ones who have passed.’
‘The second one,’ I say, not really understanding the distinction.
‘Right you are.’ She fills her lungs with smoke and inclines her head to one side, screwing up one eye, as she studies me. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘You look younger.’
‘I get that a lot.’
‘Are you studying?’
‘No.’
Waving the smoke away with her hand, she crushes out the cigarette and leads me through a heavy curtain into a dark room with a round table covered in a black cloth. I expect to see shelves full of crystals and tarot cards and crystal balls, but this looks like someone’s cluttered sitting room. I can see a flat-screen TV partially hidden under a blanket.
‘Sit yourself down, petal,’ says Cindy. ‘Who is the loved one you wish to contact?’
