Welcome to the latest Bezzina’s story! It is a standalone; you don’t have to read them in order of publication, but you can find them all here.
Sophey and Ariel have an idea to boost the fortunes of Bezzina’s Emporium of Magical Artefacts and Antiquities, but they’re going to have their work cut out…
Ernest Bezzina did not appreciate being told what to do, unless he was cooking. If Nigella Lawson, Ernie’s favourite television chef, said, ‘Fold in the flour,’ Ernest would fold in the flour. If she said, ‘You need a pinch of this very expensive spice,’ and the spice was only available in jars weighing a kilogram, Ernest would pay up and spend hours figuring out what to do with the surplus. If Nigella were to ever say, ‘Hand me your soul on a plate,’ he was prepared to do so.
Neither of his assistants, Ernest liked to say, enjoyed the same levels of influence over him as Nigella. Yet he found himself agreeing to host tarot evenings in his antiques shop when they requested it.
‘We’ll stay open for longer,’ Ariel suggested during a tea break one early April afternoon, the shop door propped open to enjoy an unseasonably warm breeze. Outside, seagulls called to each other, and the scent of sea salt trickled all the way up the high street, into the side road in which Bezzina’s Emporium of Magical Artefacts and Antiquities was situated, and through to three very tired shop workers. Ernie loved this time of year.
‘We could put the proceeds towards restoring the shop,’ Ariel was saying. ‘We charge a few quid for a quick reading, over in the corner there. Customers can browse while they wait their turn and if they happen to decide they like this moderately creepy statue of Dolly Parton and wish to buy it immediately, who are we to refuse?’
‘I do like the statue of Dolly Parton,’ Sophey said mildly. ‘But she does take up rather a lot of room.’ She hadn’t disagreed with Ariel’s idea, which in Ernie’s experience meant she was open to it.
‘A reading table will take up more room.’ Ernie pointed out. ‘We’d have to move things around to fit it in comfortably. And these customers will need feeding while they’re here. We’ll need to butter them up if we want them to spend.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ Sophey said thoughtfully. ‘We can serve hot drinks, and wine. And you make excellent cake.’
‘It will be a lot of work.’
Ariel shrugged. ‘So’s life. If we don’t offer readings, someone else will eventually. It should be us.’
‘It’s very on brand.’ Sophey added. Two agreements in as many minutes? Ernie smelt a scheme.
‘You both seem… very keen.’ Ernie raised one eyebrow at Ariel, and another at Sophey.
‘We sort of had the idea together,’ Ariel admitted. ‘Soph’s been saying for years that we should do events, and it occurred to me when I was in Covent Garden last week that tourists pay for anything, including tarot readings. We ran the numbers and we think it might work. It is on brand.’
‘There aren’t any tourists in Southend,’ Ernie said. ‘But point taken. Poor Dolly does rather take up a lot of space, doesn’t she? I rather think it’s her eyes. They almost…’
‘Follow you around the room,’ Ariel finished. ‘I can’t listen to the real Dolly anymore. Do you know how hard it is, to go weeks without listening to Dolly Parton?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophey primly. Ariel blew her a raspberry.
Ernie was silent for several seconds. ‘What exactly are we charging?’
Ariel consulted a sticky note attached to her lanyard. ‘A three-card reading would be ten pounds, five-card readings fifteen and one-card readings a fiver. We can’t charge for drinks because we don’t have a licence but the shop’s open as normal. If we get fifty people through the door and they all spend twenty quid… we can afford to get a quote for the floorboards in the back room.’
‘You two would get two hundred pounds each,’ Ernie said. ‘Every time we run one of these.’
Ariel nearly dropped her teacup. ‘Two hundred? Pounds? Ernie, that’s way more than our hourly rate.’
‘This was your idea, and you’ll be doing most of the work.’
‘Ernie. Are you sure?’ Sophey stared at him for a moment. ‘Okay, that means that if we’re serious about saving for renovations, we need to take, um, a lot more than a thousand pounds. What are our high-ticket items at the moment?’
‘Dolly, the ballgown once owned by Grace Kelly and the strange little Artemis statue that makes everyone who sees it dream of wolves.’ Ariel replied. ‘We sell those on top of a lot of readings, we’re on our way.’
Ernie sipped his tea, and the girls knew not to push him. ‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘We will try tarot evenings. God knows we need to do something before the floorboards disintegrate. We’ll need to test the waters, though.’ He poured a fresh cup. ‘It will be hard to pull people into this sort of thing, but the time of year will have an impact on how well we do. We should host a few readings each season and compare notes about success.’
‘We could follow the Wheel of the Year,’ Sophey suggested. ‘Most pagan festivals are near mainstream holidays anyway, and people like to get advice when a new season rolls around.’
‘You’re saying that because you know I follow the Wheel of the Year.’
Sophey smiled and pulled a scrunchie from her sleeve. ‘Yep! Let me get my notebook.’
The calendar was consulted and a date set: the Friday before the next festival, Beltane. Or, as most of the UK knew it, the Friday before the early May bank holiday. The Bezzina’s staff debated whether people would already have plans for the start of the long weekend, but Sophey reasoned that the sort of people to want a tarot reading from a magical antiques shop weren’t necessarily people with things to do on a Friday evening. Besides, Ariel pointed out, there’s nothing to do in Southend anyway, unless you like mediocre food from a chain restaurant and box office films at the Odeon.
‘Hey,’ Sophey said. She was permanently offended that Ariel, not a native resident of Southend, refused to see the town’s—admittedly hard to spot—good side. ‘That Mexican restaurant is independent. You like that.’
‘We do a successful year’s worth of these, and I’ll take you both there to celebrate.’ Ernie said, still slightly sceptical of the whole enterprise. ‘We do it on the Friday. People spend money when they’ve got Monday off.’
Normal spring closing time at Bezzina’s Emporium of Magical Artefacts and Antiquities was six o’clock in the evening. The girls’ usual routine was to clean up for half an hour, count the day’s takings, deposit cash in the safe next to something new-fangled called a card reader, then lock up and go home. When Ariel first arrived at Bezzina’s, she thought Ernie insane to leave money on the premises overnight. Then one evening she forgot her house keys, went back inside and set off three human alarms and one, very painful, magical one.
Also, the building was haunted.
The girls’ routine on a tarot card night: close at six o’clock, then clean the shop for half an hour. Count the day’s takings so far. Set up a small coffee table and two chairs in an alcove. (The alcove was not really an alcove; it was a space created by moving two clothing racks and swapping the Dolly Parton statue with a hat stand.) Sophey and Ariel walked to the nearest shop to buy moderately priced alcohol. Ernie sat in an armchair and did a grounding meditation. On the girls’ return, Sophey began brewing drinks on the old wooden counter, placing a fan next to the kettle to waft the aroma of tea and hot chocolate throughout the shop. Ariel unpacked Ernie’s tin of legendary cakes and savoury pastries, swiping a Cornish pasty for quality control. Sophey organised their booze haul, chilling white wine in a small, permanently cold, cupboard no one ever expressed interest in buying. Sophey and Ariel tidied themselves up (Ariel: a comb through her pixie crop, a quick touch up of her winged eyeliner, a fast and determined chew of mint gum. Sophey: a reluctant brush through her waist-length hair, some swearing, emergency application of a scrunchie, a fast and determined chew of mint gum).
Ernie, for his part, sat serene in a pressed linen shirt and sipped mint tea as he placed his tarot cards on his tiny table, alongside a crystal. ‘Don’t look at me like that, girls, I know I don’t think much of crystals but some people do. This one invokes clarity. Possibly. It might be the one for good dreams. I really cannot tell them apart.’
Sophey said, ‘You should eat something. If people turn up then you’re going to be tapping into your psychic senses for the next four hours.’ She wasn’t sure how to tactfully say, ‘I’m worried you might collapse from hunger if you exert yourself, because you are a pensioner.’
‘I’m sustained by tea,’ Ernie said primly, shuffling cards.
‘Bullshit,’ Ariel replied. ‘You went for pie and mash at lunch. My friend Steph said she saw you in the café.’
Ernie cackled. ‘Shouldn’t your friend Steph be at school with you?’
‘We’re in sixth form, Ernie, they let us out sometimes. Steph’s coming later, by the way.’
‘My nan is too,’ Sophey said from behind a stack of receipts. ‘Ernie, I’m putting all the shop paperwork in the storeroom. We need this counter completely clear for drinks and I’m not sure half these papers would survive contact with literally anything that isn’t air. I’ll put them in the box next to the hoover.’
‘What did the food and drink cost?’ Sophey asked. She had a pencil behind her ear and was frowning down at a piece of paper. ‘The advertising materials came to thirty-five in total—I got a deal from that guy who comes in for bone china—but I don’t know if we had the posters up for long enough. This would be easier if we had an online presence, you know.’
‘I spoke to the lady who runs that local Facebook group, she put a copy of the poster on there.’ Ariel put in. ‘Booze was thirty-five, ish. We already had the brandy from Christmas.’
‘Food ingredients were twenty or so,’ Ernie supplied. ‘I had quite a bit of flour left over from my yoga retreat.’
‘Ninety quid in expenses,’ Sophey muttered.
Ariel winced. ‘Ernie, did you invite any of your dealer friends?’
‘A couple. I’m not sure how many of them will come for a reading, but Mirabel does like my brownies. She’s been threatening to take me hostage for the recipe for years. I invited Mrs Bucket too.’
Sophey groaned. ‘I hoped we wouldn’t be seeing her again until the summer holidays.’
Mrs Bucket—nicknamed after Hyacinth Bucket, real name Lavinia Davenport—was a regular client, and in the girls’ top five Worst Customers Ever. She was rude, pernickety, patronising and, unfortunately, spent a lot of money on every visit. Ariel longed to throw a cream cake at her face.
‘She would like to plumb the ether and talk to her late uncle,’ Ernie said. ‘Her words, not mine. We have a shot at selling her that Grace Kelly dress. You know she likes to make her in-laws feel inferior.’
‘There’s no way she could fit into a dress that belonged to Grace Kelly. She is three Grace Kellys.’
‘Ariel, that is rude.’ Sophey admonished. ‘You’re not wrong, though. What’s she going to do, frame it and put it in the living room?’
Seven thirty struck. Door: propped open. Ambient background music: switched on. Tarot cards: artfully arranged.
At seven thirty-one, a large, soft looking lady wearing big glasses tapped on the door frame. ‘Knock knock!’
‘Nan!’ Sophey bounded across the room to embrace her.
‘Hello Sophey-Soph. Am I too early?’
‘You’re on time. Thank you for coming. Is Mum—’
‘Still at work. Sends her apologies.’
Sophey swallowed. ‘Let me get you a drink. White wine spritzer?’
‘Go on then. Hello, Ariel, you’re looking stressed.’
Ariel looked up from her phone. ‘Hello, Mrs C. Sorry, last-minute text call out to some mates.’
Ernie beamed. ‘Mrs Cartwright. How lovely to see you. Would you like to start with your reading, or finish your wine first?’
‘Ooh, I’ll have at least three of these before I let you tell me my future. Oh, look, a real customer. I shall be in this corner with, ah, is that Dolly Parton? Wonderful.’
It wasn’t just a real customer, it was a family with teenage children, all five of them shyly requesting a reading each. Somehow—brilliantly—word seemed to have spread. Maybe Ariel was right, maybe there really wasn’t anything else to do this evening. Within minutes, both girls had their hands full of crockery, drinks and homemade pastries.
‘Welcome to Bezzina’s, madam. Are you here for tarot? Wonderful, Ariel will look after you. Can I take your jacket?’
‘Welcome back, sir, you bought… the magical backpack. That’s it, I remember you. You’re here for a reading? Let Sophey get you a drink, I’ll add you to the list.’
By seven eight o’clock, a queue trailed around the shop’s many tables and cabinets and quiet conversations built up into raucous chatter, especially as customers watched their friends get their readings. The shop felt more alive, and more like a pub or café, than it had in years. Sophey and Ariel’s ticketing system, based entirely on a clipboard and a book of raffle tickets Ariel found down the back of an armchair, started to stretch to breaking point.
‘Number 522? Three-card reading? You’re next!’
‘Number 536? Ernie’s ready for you, sir. No, no, bring your cake. Oh, are you all right, madam? Would you like a tissue? Oh, these are happy tears. Wonderful. Shall I get you a prosecco to celebrate?’
‘Number 543? One-card reading? You’re buying the Tiffany lamp—Sophey will take care of you. Would it be okay if this gentleman has his reading while you sort out payment? Thank you, ma’am—’
‘Number 555? Here’s that bag of crystals you asked me to remind you to take home—’
Twilight faded into darkness. Occasionally the girls would alternate tasks, do two things at once, or bring Ernie a cup of tea. Ariel’s eyeliner smudged, just enough that Sophey pointed it out and Ariel ducked under the counter to fix it. Sophey’s hair escaped its confines and Ariel grabbed the scrunchie before it could dive to the floor. They shared a pint glass of water, chilled in the creepy cupboard. Sophey’s grandmother flirted with Ernie throughout her reading and bought a bangle for her friend Pam from line dancing class. Ariel’s friend Steph drank one whisky before her reading and three after. Ariel gently talked her out of buying a set of vintage platform heels and sat her in the corner with a coffee. Mirabel, one of Ernie’s antiques friends, bought the Artemis statue for her spare bedroom and took four brownies home in a serviette.
‘For the journey!’ she insisted. ‘I’ll see you at the next one, lovelies. It’s so nice to have a quiet night out.’
Ariel, consulting her clipboard and slightly dizzy, wondered what Mirabel’s definition of ‘loud’ was. ‘See you soon, Mirabel. We’ll phone you in the week about the… I can’t remember. Might be crystals. Look after yourself! Okay, um, who’s next? Number 634? 634, you’re up.’
A teenage boy shuffled forward, a small girl clutching his hand. The children were clearly siblings: same long noses and wan complexions. The boy, obviously in charge, looked anxious. The hand that wasn’t attached to his sister’s was deep in the pocket of his grey tracksuit bottoms. Sophey wondered the last time he’d been into a shop that sold items manufactured before he was born.
‘Which of you am I reading for?’ Ernie asked. His glasses were on the tip of his nose, reflecting lamp light, and he looked more than a little ethereal. The boy blinked. ‘Me. Well, both of us. We’re hoping you can help us.’
‘All right,’ Ernie said gently. ‘What are your names?’
‘This is Daisy, and I’m Daniel.’
‘We’ve lost our dog,’ Daisy said. She looked a little grubby, in the way small children do after eating a large quantity of food. ‘He ran away and we can’t find him.’
‘We put up posters,’ the boy, Daniel, added.
‘I saw those!’ Ariel said, ‘I put our posters up next to some of them. ‘Boxer cross, microchipped, answers to… Marty.’
‘I named him,’ Daisy said proudly. ‘After Marty McFly.’
‘I don’t know that tarot cards will have the precise answer to his whereabouts,’ Ernie said kindly.
‘Please,’ Daniel said. He placed a grimy ten-pound note on the table. ‘We’d just like to know if he’s okay.’
‘I’ll have a go,’ Ernie said. ‘Have a seat, young man.’
‘Sit on my lap, Daisy.’
As Daniel and Daisy settled in, Sophey began to think Bezzina’s might meet its takings target. Ernie hadn’t left his seat, and most of the people browsing the shop were waiting their turn at the tarot table. The room was stuff, even with the door open, and uncomfortably full. Ernie caught Sophey’s sleeve as she went past.
‘Send the queue outside,’ he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. ‘Have them browse after their reading. And have Ariel wedge that cabinet closer to the wall.’
‘Why?’ Sophey asked.
‘Hillsborough.’
Sophey understood immediately.
‘Let’s take this queue outside, ladies and gentlemen! It’s cooler out there, isn’t it? Of course you can take your glass, madam.’ Ah, Mrs B—Davenport. Lovely to see you! Let me take your coat.’
‘Hello, Miss Cartwright. Is that wine I see?’
‘Yes, ma’am, let me get you a glass. Yes, it’s clean—yes, okay, here’s another one. Would you mind terribly waiting outside please? That’s where the end of the queue is.’
Mrs Davenport accepted a fresh glass, situated herself directly in the middle of the doorway and set about earwigging Daniel and Daisy’s reading.
Ernie shuffled and turned the deck to face the children. ‘Pick a card each and then choose one together. Think of Marty while you do it.’ They nodded solemnly and followed his instructions to the letter.
Sophey and Ariel, without quite meaning to, had been orbiting Ernie’s table since Daniel and Daisy sat down. Ernie suspected most browsing customers were listening in too.
All three staff members winced when they saw the cards. Even Mrs Davenport, visibly leaning forward to see better, looked upset.
‘Death?’ Daniel demanded. ‘That means—’
‘Not necessarily,’ Ernie said quickly. ‘The Death card represents change. And it’s only the middle card, see? Here we have the Five of Coins, Death and the Tower.’
‘What do they mean?’ Daisy asked.
‘Well.’ Ernie took his spectacles off and Ariel wondered if she should bring him a whisky. ‘The Five of Coins is all about financial hardship, see, the Coins are the suit of money, and the Fives represent adversity. Death, as I’ve said, just means change, or transformation. And the Tower… well, I’m afraid it’s hard to put a happier spin on this one. The Tower represents devastation and, ah, betrayal.’
‘Can I get you both a cup of tea?’ Sophey asked. ‘In fact, here you go, have this one.’ She set a loaded tea tray directly on the reading table, alongside a plate of shortbread. Ariel had no idea how she moved so quickly.
Daniel ignored the tray. ‘So this means…’
‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not sure it can help you find Marty,’ Ernie said sadly. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t provide happier news.’
Daisy began to sniffle. Ariel, who disliked children and was positively allergic to them when they cried, immediately handed her a tissue and stepped back several paces.
‘So he’s gone for good?’ Daisy asked her brother.
Daniel blinked furiously. Ernie wondered how much he had suspected before he brought his sister in for a reading. ‘I think so.’
Ernie cleaned his glasses. ‘I’m sorry I can’t bring better news. Have you thought about speaking to your family about this?’
‘It’s just Dad and Nan,’ Daisy sniffed. ‘Nan reckons someone nicked him. Dad’s not bothered. Dogs make him sneeze.’ She surveyed the shortbread. ‘What’s in these? I’m celiac.’
‘These are gluten free,’ Sophey smiled. Ariel had no idea how she always, always knew about dietary restrictions.
‘Excuse me!’ The little huddle at the reading table looked up as Mrs Davenport squawked and huffed at a man pushing across the threshold, looking harassed. Sophey wondered if was worth saying that getting shoved by strangers was an occupational hazard of blocking a doorway… then decided there was enough drama in the shop for the time being.
‘Danny? I thought that was you through the window.’ The man had the air of a person who had not begun his day intending to visit a magical antiques shop. Dressed like Daniel in a tracksuit and hoodie, plus scruffy stubble and knuckle tattoos, he was what Ariel would call a geezer. He surveyed the shop—worn carpet, old books, two human skulls perched on a side table—and visibly steeled himself.
Daniel looked up. ‘Dad?’
‘I told you two to stay in McDonald’s while I ran your nan home. It’s not safe to wander around the high street this time of night.’
‘We were in McDonald’s, we came outside when some students started kicking off. We saw a poster about these readings and Daisy thought they might be able to help us find Marty.’
‘Dad?’ Daisy demanded. She gestured to the cards. ‘Do you know what this means?’
Their father stared down at the cards for several seconds, gaze catching on the spidery, eerie illustrations of skulls and burning towers. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. ‘Well, it’s not… listen. It’s hard, having a dog. Especially one with as much energy as Marty. You have to walk him a lot—’
‘We walked him,’ Daniel interrupted. ‘An hour before school and an hour after. All weathers, like we agreed.’
‘And he’s had some health problems—’
Sophey, aware that everyone inside the shop and quite a few of the people outside were thoroughly invested in this conversation, strode to the counter. ‘Can I get anyone a refill? Have another glass, Mrs Davenport, the bottle’s nearly finished…’
‘You said we’d have the money to cover that, and you said he was insured!’ Daniel was protesting. ‘I saved up for years so we could afford him.’
‘He cost a little bit more than Christmas money when he ate that sock, lad. Even with insurance.’
Daniel squinted up at his father. ‘He didn’t run away, did he?’
Their father took a deep breath. ‘I sold him on Facebook.’
‘You didn’t even take him back to the Dog’s Trust? Where we got him from?’
‘Oh god,’ Sophey breathed. Customers and staff alike tried not to look as Daniel furiously scrubbed his eyes and Daisy, almost completely reduced to a puddle, howled loudly enough to wake the dead. Which, in Bezzina’s Emporium of Magical Artefacts and Antiquities, was a very real possibility.
‘Daisy May, calm down. It’s not that bad—’
‘Don’t tell her to calm down! You’re awful! How come you can afford to go to Malaga on that stag night if we can’t afford a dog? And you’re going to Wembley to see your football thing with Uncle Darren. How come you can do that? We never asked for nothing except a dog.’ Daniel hugged his sister and glared at their father.
Their father seemed at a loss for words. Sophey, replenishing drinks, heard a woman say, loudly, ‘I’d rather have a dog than a lad’s weekend on the piss in Malaga.’ Sophey had to agree.
Perhaps realising he was losing the good opinion of half of Essex and both his children, their father knelt to their level, and patted Daisy on the head. Daniel refused to look at him. ‘I’ll buy him back! I sold him to a bloke I used to work with—you remember Short Alan, don’t you Danny—oh, never mind, I sold Marty to him. His missus is nervous of burglars.’
‘Marty would be a shit burglar deterrent, we taught him not to bark.’
‘You did, didn’t you. I forgot that.’
‘You Googled how much dogs sell for and you saw pounds signs is what you did. I knew you were up to something.’
Their father swallowed. Customers raised eyebrows. Ernie rubbed the compass tattoo on his arm. Sophey sipped water. Ariel consulted her clipboard.
‘That’s fair. I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t think you would both react this badly. I didn’t think he meant that much to you. I… I’ve sort of got to do that stag weekend because I’m the best man, and it was me who asked Darren to Wembley, and, look, things piled up. I looked at our expenses and one less mouth to feed was the best decision. At the time!’ he added hastily. ‘It was the wrong decision. I shouldn’t have just taken him like that. I’m phoning Short Alan right now, look.’
As their father made his call, Daniel and Daisy nibbled at a shortbread each, Daisy still perched on her brother’s lap. The other customers, thankfully, turned their attention back to the shop’s oddities and offerings. Mrs Davenport purchased Grace Kelly’s ballgown. ‘I think it will look wonderful on a mannequin in the drawing room! What a wonderful centrepiece.’
Sophey requested a photograph.
‘Alan’s coming round with Marty tomorrow,’ the children’s father said after a few minutes of muttered discussion. ‘I’ve got to give him his five hundred quid back, but he’s glad to be rid of him. Too much work, apparently.’
‘Most people don’t think through buying a pet,’ Daniel said sniffily. ‘You hear that, Daisy? Marty’s coming home!’ She nodded sombrely and gulped a mug of tea.
‘Still don’t want to talk to Daddy.’
‘I deserve that,’ their father said. ‘We’ll have to talk when I take you for ice cream tomorrow afternoon, though. I’ll need to know what flavours you want…’
Despite himself, Daniel smiled, just a tiny bit. He stood up and offered his hand to Ernest. ‘Thank you for helping us, Mr Bezzina, sir.’ Ernie, always delighted by a show of manners in someone younger than thirty, beamed and shook vigorously.
‘I’m not sure I did very much,’ he admitted. ‘I do have an idea, though. We’re often rather shorthanded here on a Saturday. And we need people to hand out posters for our events. Would you like to work here? We can’t cover all your vet bills, but it will keep you out of trouble…Daisy is welcome to join you, if she listens very carefully to the list of things we tell her she can’t touch.’
Daniel looked around the shop, taking in the odds and ends… and the skulls. He swallowed. ‘I’d love that. Thank you, sir.’
Sophey and Ariel caught each other’s eye. Ariel’s face said, ‘is this a good idea?’ and Sophey’s said, ‘it was probably a terrible idea for him to hire us, but we’re grateful for it.’ They mutually decided to bring things up at a later date.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Daniel’s father said. He seemed relaxed, and much friendlier, now neither of his children was shouting at him. ‘How about we come by after school on Tuesday? We’ll introduce Marty.’
‘It’s a date.’ Ernie smiled and sipped tea. ‘Mrs Davenport? Would you like your reading now? I’m sorry for the wait, you’ve been very patient…’
‘Well, yes, Ernest, I didn’t expect to queue—’
‘And indeed, you haven’t. Now, I believe you wanted to know something about an uncle?’
What felt like hours later, Sophey locked the door as Ernie and Ariel tidied the shop. Night had fallen proper and there was a bite to the air. Sophey was grateful for it—the shop felt like a furnace.
‘Takings?’ she asked as she flipped the ‘closed’ sign.
She could hear Ariel smile. ‘Sixteen hundred.’
‘No way.’
‘Yes way.’ Ariel yawed widely. ‘Less than a quarter was tarot. Most people who had a reading bought something, and a lot of people came in because they thought we were a pub. They stayed because…’ she gestured to the empty bottles. ‘Booze.’
‘Not bad for a first attempt,’ Sophey said, impressed with them all. ‘I wonder what the average order value was? It’s probably higher in people who had more than one drink, or who had good news at their reading. I wonder if we could work out—’
‘If you keep talking, I will smack you with this bottle of prosecco. Wait, no, it’s got a bit left.’ She sloshed it into a clean glass and passed it around. ‘Cheers.’
‘There was the hen night,’ Ernie reminded them after a moment. ‘They spent a lot. That won’t happen every time.’
This was true. Around ten thirty, after Daniel and Daisy left with their father, a group of very drunk thirty-something women wandered in, lured by the sight of people clutching pastries. Within minutes, eight of them were paying for readings and Ariel had flogged the bride a silk garter.
‘What do you reckon about the whole thing?’ Sophey asked Ernie. ‘Worth the hassle?’
Ernie blinked absently. He rarely looked his age—neither Sophey nor Ariel knew exactly how old he was, but they were fairly sure he remembered World War II—but tonight he leant back on a stool like he could use a hot water bottle and some fluffy slippers. ‘I’ll decide when I’ve had a good night’s sleep… Do you think I did the right thing, giving those children a reading?’
‘They would have found out about the dog eventually,’ Sophey said. ‘It’s probably better they learnt what their dad’s like now. And they’re going to get him back! Plus now we’ve got an extra pair of hands on a Saturday afternoon, and someone to distribute flyers for the next event.’
‘True,’ Ariel mused. ‘Daisy’s too young to legally employ, isn’t she? I’m not keeping her company while she sits in a corner waiting for her brother. Small children are disgusting. So, Ernie, when’s the next one? If we do it?’ She tried not to look too hopeful, but Ernie caught the glance she shared with Sophey.
‘I think this might be beginner’s luck. But I said a year, so tomorrow we sort out the marketing for midsummer. Right, then, let’s lock up. We’ve all three of us got to be here by half past eight tomorrow morning, and we need to do something about those rickety cabinets first thing. I have a feeling we’re going to be busy…’
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Copyright © 2022 by Francesca Astraea
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Short Stories by Francesca Astraea 