less vexing. I would much rather snuggle up with a mug of hot chocolate and dream about Mr Right.
Chapter Two
‘This can’t be right,’ I whisper, although there is nobody around to hear us.
Madam Zigana’s is situated in a sex shop in the sleazy part of town.
‘Shit, it’s a bit seedy I agree?’ Issy squints at the steamed up window.
I dread to think what is going on in there. I find myself visualising streams of mysterious smoke spiralling up from Tarot cards and encircling vibrators and sleazy books while videos of feverish coupling can be heard in the background.
‘A bit seedy, that’s an understatement,’ I mutter, keeping my head down.
God, what if someone sees us here, like my mother, or Toby or even worse, the vicar. Not that I know the vicar, of course. I swear my nose is turning blue, and I can barely feel my feet. I’m relieved to see that Madam Zigana’s fortune-telling parlour is actually in the basement of the sex shop.
Okay, so it wasn’t so bad. It was actually a relief to get away from my own thoughts. Shame the whole thing cost us sixty quid. Thirty quid each that is. Correction, it cost me sixty quid. Did I mention that Issy doesn’t carry money?
‘I never carry cash darling, so common.’
Good job I’m common then. Madam Zigana offered to get her crystal ball if we stayed another ten minutes and paid another fifteen quid. What a rip-off. I almost asked Madam Zigana if, along with her Christmas special, which by the way we never heard any more of, did she by any chance have a two for one offer. You can’t blame a girl for trying, can you? The trouble is I am already broke, what with it being Christmas and everything. I had spent a small fortune on dieting food and other bits that Weight Watchers and Rosemary Conley swear are important if weight loss is to be achieved. You know the kind of thing, weighing scales, tape measure, pedometer, skin-firming cream, not to mention the exercise DVDs and packs of special diet food, which are half the size but twice the price of normal stuff. My bathroom looks like a miniature gym. Anyway, back to Madam Zigana who failed to conjure up any dead people, or if she did I failed to notice. In fact, it was so dark and cold in there I failed to notice very much at all. I could barely see the Tarot cards. My future as told by a Manchurian fortune teller and based on some accidentally dropped Tarot cards and for the amazing price of sixty quid is, hold your breath… By the end of the week I will make plans to travel. I will meet a dashing man whose name begins with B or T, ‘ you will fall at his feet, my lovely ’ and have an opportunity to change my whole appearance. I also need to gain more confidence. My mother could have told me that for the cost of a lemon drizzle cake and a ten minute ‘how to use your mobile phone’ tutorial.
‘ Time , my lovely,’ she had pounced on me as we reached the door and grabbed my arm with her bony hand. ‘I’m getting a message to warn you that time is important. Should I get the crystal ball?’
Tell me something I don’t know. I’m late for everything.
‘Look to the clock dearie. Don’t forget that. A few minutes can change the path of your destiny. A few minutes can make all the difference.’
Fifteen pounds difference in your case if you get your crystal ball. What a load of rubbish. I don’t know anybody whose name begins with a B and considering Issy let it slip that my boyfriend’s name is Toby was not surprised the initial T came up. I have no plans to travel, unless of course it’s for my honeymoon, and the last time I thought about changing my appearance was, good Lord, it was about an hour ago when Issy gave me her present. Oh well, one out of three is not bad for sixty quid is it? Issy is told she will meet her soul mate in the most unusual circumstances. Considering Issy finds herself in unusual circumstances much of
Chapter Two
‘This can’t be right,’ I whisper, although there is nobody around to hear us.
Madam Zigana’s is situated in a sex shop in the sleazy part of town.
‘Shit, it’s a bit seedy I agree?’ Issy squints at the steamed up window.
I dread to think what is going on in there. I find myself visualising streams of mysterious smoke spiralling up from Tarot cards and encircling vibrators and sleazy books while videos of feverish coupling can be heard in the background.
‘A bit seedy, that’s an understatement,’ I mutter, keeping my head down.
God, what if someone sees us here, like my mother, or Toby or even worse, the vicar. Not that I know the vicar, of course. I swear my nose is turning blue, and I can barely feel my feet. I’m relieved to see that Madam Zigana’s fortune-telling parlour is actually in the basement of the sex shop.
Okay, so it wasn’t so bad. It was actually a relief to get away from my own thoughts. Shame the whole thing cost us sixty quid. Thirty quid each that is. Correction, it cost me sixty quid. Did I mention that Issy doesn’t carry money?
‘I never carry cash darling, so common.’
Good job I’m common then. Madam Zigana offered to get her crystal ball if we stayed another ten minutes and paid another fifteen quid. What a rip-off. I almost asked Madam Zigana if, along with her Christmas special, which by the way we never heard any more of, did she by any chance have a two for one offer. You can’t blame a girl for trying, can you? The trouble is I am already broke, what with it being Christmas and everything. I had spent a small fortune on dieting food and other bits that Weight Watchers and Rosemary Conley swear are important if weight loss is to be achieved. You know the kind of thing, weighing scales, tape measure, pedometer, skin-firming cream, not to mention the exercise DVDs and packs of special diet food, which are half the size but twice the price of normal stuff. My bathroom looks like a miniature gym. Anyway, back to Madam Zigana who failed to conjure up any dead people, or if she did I failed to notice. In fact, it was so dark and cold in there I failed to notice very much at all. I could barely see the Tarot cards. My future as told by a Manchurian fortune teller and based on some accidentally dropped Tarot cards and for the amazing price of sixty quid is, hold your breath… By the end of the week I will make plans to travel. I will meet a dashing man whose name begins with B or T, ‘ you will fall at his feet, my lovely ’ and have an opportunity to change my whole appearance. I also need to gain more confidence. My mother could have told me that for the cost of a lemon drizzle cake and a ten minute ‘how to use your mobile phone’ tutorial.
‘ Time , my lovely,’ she had pounced on me as we reached the door and grabbed my arm with her bony hand. ‘I’m getting a message to warn you that time is important. Should I get the crystal ball?’
Tell me something I don’t know. I’m late for everything.
‘Look to the clock dearie. Don’t forget that. A few minutes can change the path of your destiny. A few minutes can make all the difference.’
Fifteen pounds difference in your case if you get your crystal ball. What a load of rubbish. I don’t know anybody whose name begins with a B and considering Issy let it slip that my boyfriend’s name is Toby was not surprised the initial T came up. I have no plans to travel, unless of course it’s for my honeymoon, and the last time I thought about changing my appearance was, good Lord, it was about an hour ago when Issy gave me her present. Oh well, one out of three is not bad for sixty quid is it? Issy is told she will meet her soul mate in the most unusual circumstances. Considering Issy finds herself in unusual circumstances much of
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