you, Adam. Now I can start to assess the company from the ground up.’ Sam settled into her chair, pulled out an A4 notepad and, occasionally glancing around the sales team, she made copious notes. Everyone, including Adam, was head down and focused.
She’s good, thought Lucy. I don’t stand a chance.
Exhausted, Lucy threw her keys on the coffee table and collapsed into her squishy armchair. It had been a long day. She kicked off her shoes and they landed at odd angles across her stripy fireside rug. Leaning back, she stretched her arms up to the ceiling and yawned. For a moment she was painfully aware of the silence. There was no one to ask how her day had been or to make her a much-needed cup of tea.
As she stared at nothing and wished she had at least a cat of her own to come home to, the locket caught her eye. It was next to her keys on the low coffee table where she’d abandoned it, slightly concerned her unpleasant neighbour might rugby-tackle her to the ground and proclaim undying love if she wore it. It sat in a shaft of early evening sun, catching the light and reflecting a beam back at her.
‘What’s so special about you then?’ she asked the locket as she fingered the delicate filigree edge and let the chain run through her fingers. It felt warmer to the touch than metal should – almost glowing. Flipping it open, she squinted at the ornate, tiddly writing, and angled it towards the light to get a closer look. That couldn’t be right…
Although she had only been half-focusing when Brenda recited the words, she was pretty certain the inscription in the locket had changed.
‘Come in, come in,’ Brenda chirped when she saw Lucy at the door. ‘Tea? I still have some of the valerian and chamomile and I’m sensing you might need it. There’s some fruit cake in the tin as well.’
While many of Brenda’s visitors were in and out before you could say, ‘thank you for the package’, Lucy enjoyed stopping by for the unusually flavoured teas that came from sweetshop-sized glass jars, with faded labels proclaiming Aphrodite’s Blend and Shaman’s Brew in a spidery hand. She loved listening to tales of Brenda’s unorthodox life; from being on the road in the Sixties with her late husband’s band, to her passion for all things natural and home-made. It was a two-way friendship that their different backgrounds and more than fifty-year age gap only enhanced.
‘Tea would be lovely.’
She followed Brenda into the exotic-smelling kitchen, hooking her bag over the back of a rush-seated chair tucked under the central table. The gift she’d ordered for her dear friend had arrived that morning and the brown padded envelope containing it was poking out the top. Walking over to the large, old-fashioned gas stove, she peered into the aluminium saucepan bubbling away merrily and offered to stir the colourful contents.
‘Only if it’s anticlockwise and not more than three times,’ said Brenda.
Lucy did as she was told, first glancing at the kitchen clock to work out the direction of her stir.
Smiling to herself, Brenda arranged the colourful fine bone-china cups and saucers on a tea tray. Lucy finished stirring and returned the wooden spoon back to the spoon rest. She looked over for reassurance that she’d done everything correctly.
‘I was teasing, you ninny,’ Brenda said. ‘How can it possibly matter which direction you stir a pot? I worry about you sometimes. Mind you, I worry about me sometimes…’
Lucy blushed and offered to carry the tray into the living room. Brenda shuffled in behind her with the cake tin and collapsed onto the sofa with a weary sigh, straightening a cream lace antimacassar as she did so.
Lucy slid into her favourite chair. It had wooden arms and a straight back, which should have made it uncomfortable, but it was a chair that Lucy often found herself reluctant to leave. Brenda was choosy about who sat it in, but it was always offered to her.
‘You’re certain this chair hasn’t got a hidden heated panel?’ she asked for the umpteenth time. ‘I swear it heats up as soon as I sit in it.’
Brenda smiled. ‘No, it’s just a kindly, old chair who looks after people it likes,’ and she placed the tin on the table. ‘So, tell me what has been happening.’
Lucy slipped the locket from her bag, flipped the catch and showed Brenda the inscription.
‘Take a beeswax candle, carve true love’s name
Sit through full moon ’til end of flame.’
‘When you handed it to me last week, I thought you were reading out the inscription. Didn’t the locket say something about finding me and binding me to my true love?’
Brenda chuckled and picked up her cup and saucer. ‘Oh, how I love this bit. So exciting,’ she said, avoiding Lucy’s question. ‘You must follow the instructions to the letter to guarantee success.’
‘Did you swap the locket over when I was asleep?’ Lucy asked, clutching at wispy straws.
‘Do I look capable of standing on a garden bench and feeding myself through a tiny top bathroom window?’
‘Knowing you, I shouldn’t be surprised if you had the ability to walk through the exterior wall.’
‘Well, I didn’t do either, cheeky madam.’
Brenda’s words reassured Lucy she’d completely misunderstood, but she still wasn’t happy that her elderly friend wanted her to undertake a ridiculous ritual to attract a man. It was no better than the girls at school playing around with a Ouija board. She knew Fiona Carter had deliberately manipulated the glass to get some boy’s name to come up, because she admitted as such several years later. It was all silly nonsense undertaken to amuse bored minds.
‘I’m really grateful you’ve entrusted the locket to me, but I want to sort my life out by myself. I’m perfectly capable of attracting a boyfriend without your dodgy jewellery, and I love my job and the people I work with. I realise I have to stand up for myself a bit more, but it’s still a challenging and fun environment, and one I want to succeed in. All the accessories and all the colours…’
‘Ah, colours, how they light up this grey world of ours. The grey never truly goes away, I’m afraid. We must try to mask it with our kaleidoscopic clothes and colourful smiles.’ Brenda stirred the fragrant tea she still hadn’t sipped, whilst Lucy looked down at her beige long-sleeved top and plain navy blue skirt.
‘Exactly. And since my mother has decided to hold this stupid party in September, with a guest list to rival a royal wedding, I’m going to make her proud of me by knuckling down and being more organised at work. I might even consider Mr Sneezy-pants as my plus-one for my mother’s do, if he starts to behave,’ joked Lucy.
Brenda put her tea down and pushed the saucer away as though it was finished. ‘Excellent decision, if I may say so.’
‘But I’m going to do it without any of your hocus-pocus.’
‘Now you listen to me, young lady. There’s not a spell in the world that can go against the natural order of things. They can help bring out what is already there and calm
