like that one day. Just ask me what you need to ask.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘You asked me not to read your mind.’
‘You’re right. I did. Fair’s fair. But can you shut it off like that? Shut it off and then just turn it on when you want it?’
‘It’s not like that. I don’t know how I can explain. It’s not like a tap.’
‘Is it like a switch?’
‘Not like a switch.’
‘It’s like – I suppose – is it like somebody whispering to you?’
‘Yes. More like that. But not exactly whispering. I mean, not in your ear.’
‘Not in your ear.’ Colette stirred her coffee. Al picked up a paper straw of brown sugar, pinched off the end and dropped it into Colette’s cup. ‘You need the energy,’ she explained. Colette, frowning, continued to stir.
‘I have to get back soon,’ Al said. ‘They’re building up in there.’
‘So if it’s not a switch – ’
‘About the job – you could sleep on it.’
‘And it’s not a tap – ’
‘You could ring me tomorrow.’
‘And it’s not somebody whispering in your ear – ’
‘My number’s on the leaflet. Have you got my leaflet?’
‘Does your spirit guide tell you things?’
‘Don’t leave it too long.’
‘You said he was called Morris. A little bouncing circus clown.’
‘Yes.’
‘Sounds a pain.’
‘He can be. ’
‘Does he live with you? In your house? I mean, if you call it “live”?’
‘You might as well,’ Al said. She sounded tired. ‘You might as well call it “live”, as call it anything.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘It’s going to be a long afternoon.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Wexham.’
‘Is that far?’
‘Just up into Bucks.’
‘How do you get home, do you drive?’
‘Train and then a taxi.’
‘By the way, I think you must be right. About my family.’
Al looked down at her. ‘I sense you’re wavering. I mean, about my offer. It’s not like you to be indecisive. More like you to take the plunge.’
‘I’m not quite sure what you’d want me to do. I’m used to a job description.’
‘We could work one up. If that’s what’s worrying you. Write your own, why not? You’ll soon see what needs to be done.’ Alison was rummaging for something in her bag. ‘I may not be able to pay as much as your last job. But then, when you’ve looked at my books, you’ll be able to tell me what I can afford. And also, it’s a quality of life thing, isn’t it? I should think the schedule will be more relaxed than in your last job. You’d have more leisure.’ Then she said, as if she were embarrassed, ‘You wouldn’t get rich out of me. I’m no good for lottery numbers, or anything like that.’
‘Can you hang on for a minute?’ Colette said. ‘I need to know more.’
‘They’ll be waiting.’
‘Make them wait.’
‘Yes, but not too long. Or Mrs Etchells will catch them.’ Al had found a tube of mints in her bag. She proffered it to Colette. ‘Keeps the mind alert,’ she said. ‘What I need, you see, is someone to keep the diary straight and make sure I don’t double-book. Liaise with the management, wherever I’m on the platform. Book hotels. Do the accounts. It would be good to have someone to answer the phone. If I’m with a client, I can’t always break off.’
‘You don’t have an answering machine?’
‘Yes, but the clients would rather hear a human voice. Anyway, I’m not very good with electrical things.’
‘So how do you do your washing? In a tub?’
‘No, the fact is…’ Alison looked down. She looked harried. ‘I can see there’s a lot I’m going to have to explain to you,’ she said.
The truth was, it emerged, that whatever message Alison left on her machine was liable to become corrupted. Other messages, quite different ones, would overlay it. Where did they come from? ‘There’s no simple answer to that,’ Alison said. She checked her watch. ‘I meant to eat but I’ve been talking.’
‘I’ll bring you a sandwich in, shall I?’
‘I never eat when I’m reading. It’s not professional. Oh well. Do me no harm to be hungry, will it? I’ll hardly waste away.’ She patted her tummy, smiled miserably. ‘Look, about the travelling, I do travel a lot, and I used to drive, but I don’t any more. I think if I had a friend with me, I could manage, so we could split it, you see.’
‘You need a navigator?’
‘It’s not so much that.’ What Alison needed, she explained – picking again at the sugar straws, opening them and putting them down – was a warm living body beside her, as she drove from town to town, fayre to fayre, and from one Psychic Extravaganza to another. Otherwise, a spirit would come and sit in the passenger seat, and natter on while she tried to negotiate an unfamiliar one-way system. ‘Do you know Bracknell? Bracknell’s hell. All those roundabouts.’
‘What’s to stop the spirits from climbing in the back seat instead? Or have you got a two-door?’
Alison looked at her for a long moment. Colette thought she was actually going to answer the question. ‘Look, Colette,’ she said softly. She had got four straws lined up now, and she moved them about, delicately, with one finger: changing the pattern, shuffling and reshuffling. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter if you’re a bit sceptical. I understand. I’d be sceptical myself. All you need to realise is that it doesn’t matter what you think, it doesn’t matter what I think – what happens, happens all the same. The only thing is, I don’t do tests, I don’t do tricks for people to try to prove myself, because I don’t need to prove anything. Do you see?’
Colette nodded. Alison raised a finger to a girl who was serving, and pointed to the pot. ‘A refill for you,’ she explained. ‘I can see you’re bitter. Why shouldn’t you be? Life hasn’t treated you well. You’ve worked hard and had no reward. You’ve lost your home. And you’ve lost a lot of your money, haven’t you?’
Colette’s
