The Fortuneteller #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by Guest Author Sara Sartagne

Lewis grinned at Sophie as a lock of her blonde hair tangled in her candyfloss.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Hold this, can you?” She passed the sticky, sweet mess to him while she searched for a tissue to wipe her hair. As she did, he winked appreciatively.

“Surprised you can fit anything else into those jeans,” he said, his eyes roving over her neat denim-clad rear.

She swatted his shoulder. “Enough leering!”

He laughed in that deep voice of his, and she grinned back, her thumb automatically finding the diamond ring on her left hand. He’d been so nervous when he proposed. She’d been so excited. It was perfect. She hooked her arm through his and took back her candyfloss.

They walked slowly through the fairground, not speaking. Sophie felt a bone-deep contentment as even their steps seemed to match. The light flashed, the music blared from every stall, every ride, and the smell of fried onions and beer floated on the midsummer air, but it seemed muted as she walked in a perfect bubble of happiness with her husband to be.

“Fancy the big dipper?” he said, nodding casually to the ride which soared metres above them, with cars full of high screams. Sophie sniffed, her stomach rebelling against the smell of gasoline and oil.

“After this? You’re having me on,” she replied, dragging him towards a bin and throwing her half-finished candyfloss into it with relief. It had been sicklier than she’d remembered. She saw a small tent in a quieter part of the ground. Outside, a sign said, ‘Madame Appolonia, fortune teller. Do you dare to seek your future?’

She paused and nudged Lewis. “Let’s go in here,” she said. “It’ll be a laugh.”

Lewis looked sceptical. “I’m not going to waste ten quid for some fraud wearing red lipstick to tell me you’re going to meet a tall handsome man and live happily ever after! I already know that – you’re marrying me!”

“Oh, don’t be such a misery guts. Who knows what she’ll say? My mum’s really keen on this kind of thing, she swears by it!” Sophie said with a moue of disappointment.

He grumbled, but handed over the money to a spotty youth outside the tent, who showed them in. As Lewis expected, it was dimly lit with a faint smell of incense, and a woman with long dark hair and a shawl was sitting in front of a low table. She stared at them with almost black eyes, and Lewis felt a shiver of discomfort. He forced a smile.

“Hello, I’m Lewis and this is Sophie.”

The woman gestured to them to take a seat. “You are engaged,” the woman said in a gentle voice which seemed to come from the depths of her chest.

She saw the ring, Lewis thought. Sophie laughed and congratulated the woman on her accuracy. The woman, who looked neither young nor old, smiled slightly.

“What knowledge do you seek?” she said. Sophie leaned forward.

“Oh, the usual. Will we have children? Will we be happy?”

The woman’s face went blank and for a moment she hesitated. “Give me your left hand.”

Sophie put out her palm and the woman took it carefully. Madame Appolina’s hands were smooth and cool. “This is your heartline,” she said, pointing to a crease at the top of her palm. “You have loved two men in your life passionately, but one of the men has broken your heart. The other has mended it.”

Sophie and Lewis exchanged a look. Sophie had suffered from a callous break up. Lewis had comforted her, first as a friend and then as she gradually recovered, the relationship had deepened to love.

Lewis schooled his face. Some of this would be cold reading, he thought. He was determined not to give anything away. Madame Appolonia quirked an eyebrow as if she could read his thoughts. Turning back, she curled Sophie’s fingers and looked at the lines and bumps of her hand. “You are wilful and headstrong,” she said to Sophie, whose eyes widened. “People say that you follow your own course, not that of others.”

Lewis stiffened. He’d said that only yesterday. Sophie turned a little pale. Madame Appolonia continued in a soft voice. “You wish to be a painter, creativity is strong in your immediate future. You make decisions instinctively.” She turned those dark eyes to Lewis. “It is you who are the rational one in the relationship, but you too have an artistic yearning. You may study engineering, but you will always want to be a musician.”

At this, Sophie gasped. “Oh, my God! That’s so right!”

Lewis fought the urge to jump to his feet and flee this dim, spooky space with the unearthly woman in it. But Sophie, eyes shining, laughed delightedly.

“You really are good! Can you tell us about our future together?”

A veil seemed to drop over Madame Appolina’s eyes. She nodded. “I see a long and happy marriage,” she said finally.

“And children?” Sophie insisted.

“Two. A boy will come first, the girl two years later.”

Sophie clapped her hands and jumped to her feet, laughing and thanking Madame Appolina, who simply nodded. Lewis, lost for words, could only grab Sophie’s hand and push his way out of the tent.

Madame Appolina released a long breath and closed her eyes. All was still, and then the ghost of her mother appeared in front of the tent flap.

“Why did you lie?” the ghost asked. Madame Appolina shook her head sadly, her vision of twisted metal and spinning car wheels on a hot dusty road at the end of the summer seared on her memory. The blaring sirens, the frantic paramedics. And then – silence.

She sighed. “They’re so young, so in love. How could I tell them? Let them have their happiness a little while longer.”

The ghost of her mother nodded and faded away.  

Sara Sartagne

https://sarasartagne.com

Sara Sartagne writes women’s fiction featuring brave women, often weaving love stories through the narrative. Her English Garden Romance series reflects her passion for gardening. The novellas are downloadable from her website. The Duality books combine contemporary and historical plots into award-winning standalone dual timelines. She lives in East Yorkshire, moving from London to a HUGE garden in 2019.