of teenage girls. She’d never forgotten the snorts of mirth that had erupted in the classroom when the careers guidance teacher had announced that Bethany wanted to be an actress (‘Sure after all, girls,’ the teacher had chortled, fanning the flames of her peers’ ridicule, ‘isn’t Bethany O’Brien a fine name for a thespian? With a grand alliterative name like that, you wouldn’t be after needing any talent at all, so you wouldn’t.’) At least today she had somewhere to hide: there’d been nowhere to hide in the classroom that day. Pulling aside the curtain, she ducked into the booth.
It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The tented space was lit by a single, crimson-shaded lamp. At a table covered in a star-spangled chenille cloth, a veiled woman was sitting gazing into a crystal ball in which Bethany could see herself reflected in miniature.
‘Erm, hello, Madame Tiresia,’ she said, feeling awkward. ‘My name—’
‘Sit down, Bethany,’ said the woman.
‘Oh! How did—’
‘I know your name? I saw it in the crystal. I’ve been waiting for you.’
Well, so far, so impressive. What clever trick had Madame used to get her name right? She’d try to work it out later, the way she and her parents did after watching Derren Brown on the telly. Moving towards the table, she sat down opposite Madame Tiresia.
‘Before we start, I must ask you to cross my palm with five euros.’
‘Oh – of course.’ Bethany pulled out her purse and handed over a five euro note, which Madam Tiresia slid into a manila envelope. The envelope was bulging: business must have been brisk. Bethany wondered how many of Daisy’s Facebook friends had taken her advice and sought a consultation with the fortune-teller. She’d check Facebook out later, and see what the consensus was.
‘Let me see what else the crystal has to show,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘You sat exams recently, Bethany. You think you did quite well, but you’re scared that you may not have done well enough.’
‘You’re right.’
Hmm. Bethany guessed that that could apply to virtually every girl her age who came into the booth, since most teenagers this summer would have taken exams, and most would be feeling insecure about results.
‘What else do I see in the crystal?’ continued Madame Tiresia. ‘I see…a fish. Two fishes. What does that signify?’
‘Um. I don’t know. Maybe my mum’s going to do some kind of fish for supper.’
Madame Tiresia gave a low laugh. ‘No. The crystal is telling me that you were born under the sign of Pisces. Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are a talented young lady, Bethany. Artistic.’
Bethany shrugged. ‘I – I suppose I am.’
‘I see a keyboard. Do you play the piano?’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘And you love to act. It is your dream career. Have you applied to theatre school?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Isn’t it about time you did?’
‘I guess so. They’ve actually extended the deadline to the school I want to go to, but I keep putting it off.’
‘I see. You’re putting it off because you’re scared of rejection?’
Bethany nodded.
‘The crystal ball is telling me that you shouldn’t procrastinate any longer,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘If you want this thing badly enough, you must take action now.’
‘Oh.’ Bethany looked dubious. ‘OK.’
‘The ball is telling me too that you’ve had a reason to be unhappy lately. What is the reason for your unhappiness, Bethany?’
‘I – I guess it’s just…I’m eighteen and I’ve never had a boyfriend.’ Oh! What was she doing, blurting out personal stuff like that! It was a fortune-teller she was talking to, not an agony aunt!
‘You badly want a boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but I feel like a loser without one.’
‘But you are a special girl, Bethany.’
Bethany shook her head. ‘No way! I’m not special!’
‘You are a special girl, Bethany,’ repeated Madame Tiresia. ‘And special girls have to be particular about the kind of boy they allow into their lives. You must not settle for just any Tom, Dick or Harry.’
Bethany drooped. ‘It’s just that nearly all the other girls I know have boyfriends.’
‘Ah – but they probably have settled for any Tom, Dick and Harry. They think that by surrounding themselves with friends, it proves to the world how popular they are. But they’re indiscriminate. You, Bethany, being special, must wait for that special boy. He is out there somewhere, waiting for you. But you must be patient.’
Funny. That’s what her mother always said to her. Bethany had always pretended to her mum that she didn’t care that she didn’t have a boyfriend, that she was perfectly happy without some punk hanging around, cramping her style. But the real reason she told her mum this was to reassure her, because she didn’t want her to know how badly she was hurting. She’d never told anyone how badly she was hurting. Until now…
‘I know it’s hard, Bethany,’ continued Madame Tiresia. ‘It’s hard to be different. And it’s even harder when you’re beautiful, because beautiful girls are expected to be carefree and fun-loving. You do know that you are beautiful, don’t you?’
‘Me? Are you—’ Bethany had been about to say, ‘Are you mad?’ but, realizing how rude it would sound, stopped herself and changed it to, ‘Are you serious?’ Nobody apart from her parents had ever told her that she was beautiful. At school, she felt so ordinary next to the glossy girls who spent a fortune on their appearance. Plus, she was always being asked for her ID.
‘You’re beautiful, Bethany. You’re a natural beauty. Trust me.’
‘But everybody picks on me and calls me pleb and loser!’
‘You’re neither of those things, Bethany.’
‘Oh – I’ve been a pleb and a loser for as long as I can remember.’ Bethany gave a little laugh, as if she didn’t care that people called her names – even though in reality it hurt like hell. ‘I remember when all the girls in my class were getting confirmed and boasting about the frocks they were going to wear, and I pretended that I had a frock with lace petticoats and pearls sewn on and in fact there wasn’t a frock at all because I wasn’t getting confirmed. My parents are atheists, you see and have no truck with religion. And when the other kids found out I was lying they gave me such a hard time.’
‘I can imagine. Children can be very cruel.’
‘They’re
