arms. Now that a sensible streetwise lucy sullivan is getting married / 13
woman like Megan was on the case, they knew that the outcome would be to their liking.
"Here," I said, giving the thirty-five-year-old little girl a pound.
She accepted it with a grim nod.
"Now can we please go and have our fortunes told?" asked Megan impa- tiently.
Meredia, the big wimp, had cowered in the car during the entire exchange with the Children from Hell. She waited for them to drift away before levering herself out.
But the minute they saw her emerging from the car they returned at high speed. It wasn't often that they got a two-hundred-pound woman dressed head to toe in crimson crushed velvet, with matching hair, in their neigh- borhood. But when they did, they knew how to make the most of it. The screeches of laughter that emerged from the children were blood curdling.
Poor Meredia, her face as crimson as the rest of her, lumbered the short distance to Mrs. Nolan's front door like the Pied Piper, with swarms of horrible brats running and dancing after her, laughing and shouting insults. A carnival atmosphere prevailed, as though the circus had come to town, while Hetty, Megan and I jostled protectively around Meredia, making half-hearted attempts to shoo the children away.
Then we saw Mrs. Nolan's house. You couldn't miss it.
It had double-glazed windows and a little glass porch stuck onto its front. All its windows had scalloped, lacy net curtains and elaborately looped Austrian blinds. The windowsills were crammed to capacity with ornaments, china horses and glass dogs and brass jugs and little furry things on little wooden rocking chairs. Evident signs of prosperity that set it apart from all the other houses around 14 / marian keyes
it. Mrs. Nolan was obviously a bit of a superstar among tarot readers.
"Ring the bell," Hetty told Meredia.
"No, you do it," said Meredia.
"But you've been here before," said Hetty.
"I'll do it," I sighed, reached over and pressed the button.
When the first couple of verses of "Greensleeves" began chiming in the hall, Megan and I both started to snigger.
Meredia turned and glared.
"Shut up," she hissed. "Have some respect. This woman is the best. She's the master."
"She's coming. Oh my God. She's coming," whispered Hetty in hoarse excitement as a shadowy shape moved behind the frosted glass of the porch.
The door opened and instead of an exotic, dusky, psychic-looking woman, an unfriendly-looking young man stood there. A small child with a dirty face peeped out from between his legs.
"Yes?" he said, looking us over. His eyes widened with mild shock as he registered Meredia in all her crimsonness.
None of us spoke. Hetty gently nudged Meredia and Meredia elbowed Megan and Megan elbowed me.
"Say something," hissed Hetty.
"No, you," muttered Meredia.
"Well?" inquired the creepy looking man again, none too civilly.
"Is Mrs. Nolan here?" I asked.
He eyed me suspiciously, then apparently decided that I could be trusted.
"She's busy," he muttered.
"Doing what?" demanded Megan impatiently.
"She's having her tea," he said. lucy sullivan is getting married / 15
"Well, can we come in and wait?" I asked.
"She's expecting us," volunteered Meredia.
"We've come a long way," explained Hetty.
"We were led by a star from the East," sniggered Megan from the back.
All three of us turned and frowned at her.
"Sorry," she muttered.
The young man looked mortally offended at the disrespect shown to his mother or granny--or whatever Mrs. Nolan was to him--and began to close the door.
"No, please don't," pleaded Hetty. "She's sorry."
"I am," called Megan cheerfully, not sounding a bit of it.
"All right then," he said grudgingly and let us into a tiny hall.
There was barely space for the four of us.
"Wait here," he ordered and went into another room. It must have been the kitchen, judging by the smoke and the clinking of teacups and the smell of fried
woman like Megan was on the case, they knew that the outcome would be to their liking.
"Here," I said, giving the thirty-five-year-old little girl a pound.
She accepted it with a grim nod.
"Now can we please go and have our fortunes told?" asked Megan impa- tiently.
Meredia, the big wimp, had cowered in the car during the entire exchange with the Children from Hell. She waited for them to drift away before levering herself out.
But the minute they saw her emerging from the car they returned at high speed. It wasn't often that they got a two-hundred-pound woman dressed head to toe in crimson crushed velvet, with matching hair, in their neigh- borhood. But when they did, they knew how to make the most of it. The screeches of laughter that emerged from the children were blood curdling.
Poor Meredia, her face as crimson as the rest of her, lumbered the short distance to Mrs. Nolan's front door like the Pied Piper, with swarms of horrible brats running and dancing after her, laughing and shouting insults. A carnival atmosphere prevailed, as though the circus had come to town, while Hetty, Megan and I jostled protectively around Meredia, making half-hearted attempts to shoo the children away.
Then we saw Mrs. Nolan's house. You couldn't miss it.
It had double-glazed windows and a little glass porch stuck onto its front. All its windows had scalloped, lacy net curtains and elaborately looped Austrian blinds. The windowsills were crammed to capacity with ornaments, china horses and glass dogs and brass jugs and little furry things on little wooden rocking chairs. Evident signs of prosperity that set it apart from all the other houses around 14 / marian keyes
it. Mrs. Nolan was obviously a bit of a superstar among tarot readers.
"Ring the bell," Hetty told Meredia.
"No, you do it," said Meredia.
"But you've been here before," said Hetty.
"I'll do it," I sighed, reached over and pressed the button.
When the first couple of verses of "Greensleeves" began chiming in the hall, Megan and I both started to snigger.
Meredia turned and glared.
"Shut up," she hissed. "Have some respect. This woman is the best. She's the master."
"She's coming. Oh my God. She's coming," whispered Hetty in hoarse excitement as a shadowy shape moved behind the frosted glass of the porch.
The door opened and instead of an exotic, dusky, psychic-looking woman, an unfriendly-looking young man stood there. A small child with a dirty face peeped out from between his legs.
"Yes?" he said, looking us over. His eyes widened with mild shock as he registered Meredia in all her crimsonness.
None of us spoke. Hetty gently nudged Meredia and Meredia elbowed Megan and Megan elbowed me.
"Say something," hissed Hetty.
"No, you," muttered Meredia.
"Well?" inquired the creepy looking man again, none too civilly.
"Is Mrs. Nolan here?" I asked.
He eyed me suspiciously, then apparently decided that I could be trusted.
"She's busy," he muttered.
"Doing what?" demanded Megan impatiently.
"She's having her tea," he said. lucy sullivan is getting married / 15
"Well, can we come in and wait?" I asked.
"She's expecting us," volunteered Meredia.
"We've come a long way," explained Hetty.
"We were led by a star from the East," sniggered Megan from the back.
All three of us turned and frowned at her.
"Sorry," she muttered.
The young man looked mortally offended at the disrespect shown to his mother or granny--or whatever Mrs. Nolan was to him--and began to close the door.
"No, please don't," pleaded Hetty. "She's sorry."
"I am," called Megan cheerfully, not sounding a bit of it.
"All right then," he said grudgingly and let us into a tiny hall.
There was barely space for the four of us.
"Wait here," he ordered and went into another room. It must have been the kitchen, judging by the smoke and the clinking of teacups and the smell of fried
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