Chapter Text
“I just don’t understand how this could possibly be a good idea, Isaac?”
Charlie Spring picks his way across the pavement. It’s one of those old fashioned ones with the big square tiles instead of unbroken tarmac and it requires all his focus not to tread on the cracks.
What was it his grandma always told him?
Watch out or the bears will get you!
Probably untrue, but it’s hard to break a habit of a lifetime.
Trust Isaac to send him on a merry goose chase in this part of town. Why couldn’t he have given him a gift card for Waterstones? Or, better yet, just nothing. Nothing is good. You don’t have to leave the house for nothing.
Unfortunately, Isaac had chosen violence for this particular round of Secret Santa. Once again, it had ended up not being a secret at all once the wrapping was gone and everyone was grinning inanely at their recipient in a flagrant breach of the rules. Even Charlie had been a culprit; he’d been too interested in what Elle thought of the scarf he’d painstakingly combed every funky looking thrift shop to find to absorb what was written in his own card. By the time he looked down and read it properly, it was too late to tell his face how to behave.
To his horror, he had held in his hand a simple leaflet with the words ‘All paid for’ scrawled on the front. As he’d absorbed the typeface, Isaac had leant in and grinned.
“She specialises in love predictions, apparently. Her website is very thorough. She’ll tell you exactly what’s in store for you, love-life wise.”
Having been recently dumped by his arsehole ex apparently made him fair game for these sorts of shenanigans.
Now, Charlie is still slightly unsure whether the entire thing has been Isaac’s idea of one big joke. James had opened up a bracelet holder that was suspiciously dildo-shaped from his Secret Santa, so maybe Charlie had just missed the novelty memo.
With the way Isaac chuckles down the phone, Charlie is still none the wiser.
“Oh, come on, Charlie. Don’t you want to indulge my belief in romance?”
Charlie grunts softly.
“The budget was fifteen pounds, Isaac, and I’m walking towards a shopping centre that should have been knocked down in the nineties. I really doubt that I’m going to uncover the secrets of the universe from—” He checks the leaflet carefully. “Madam Mystery.”
“You never know.”
“She’s working in Chatham, Isaac.”
“Practically exotic, at this point.”
Charlie presses his lips together. Clearly Isaac is enjoying himself far too much to listen to reason.
“You love shit like this, Charlie. Don’t you have, like, seventeen different rules on how to get through the average Tuesday?"
Sixteen, Charlie thinks, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to argue. He likes rules. Rules are comforting. They give order in an increasingly chaotic world.
They do tend to take over, in his experience, but it’s difficult to get his brain on board when it latches onto something new. It’s always been the same; have a good day where nothing goes wrong and he’ll spend hours in the night analysing every aspect until he’s got a new part of his daily routine. It makes life harder, but he’s not dead yet.
Frankly, he doesn’t need some woman in a floaty dress to tell him what he already knows; the world is terrifying and disordered and, if you want to survive, you have to make your own rules. After this evening, Charlie is fairly certain that his next new rule is going to be: Don’t walk into dodgy shopping centres at eight at night.
He’s already here now, and it seems silly to turn back. Isaac is clearly enjoying himself and it’s not like any harm can actually come to him. He’ll have to sit and listen to some doddering woman for an hour as she fudges her way through trying to cold call spirits, then he can be on his way and Isaac can owe him a drink.
Once he’s inside the shopping centre, it’s a case of following the scent of incense. Fortunately, it’s overpowering what would otherwise be quite a pungent smell of damp and old rubber. Most of the shops are closed this late, but Charlie catches the eye of a man painting a small model train as Charlie passes his shop. He doesn’t look impressed at the interruption, but points a thick finger towards the back of the shopping centre. Charlie hurries on.
Eventually, the smell of incense is so intense that his eyes are watering, and he steadies himself before pushing aside the beaded curtain that has been deemed a suitable door.
A woman bursts out from the back room. Whatever Charlie was expecting, it was exactly this. Except perhaps a foot shorter. She looks a little like someone has compressed Elle’s mum into a pocket-sized package. This is not a thought that he will share with her, especially as the woman bumbles around looking flustered.
“Ah, you’re Charlie, aren’t you?”
There’s a pause.
“Your friend told me your name when he booked,” she says slowly. Charlie gets the distinct impression that she thinks he’s a simpleton. “I couldn’t tell just by looking at you. That’s not quite how this works.”
“Right…”
There’s a bustle of activity as she leads him through to the back of the shop, where the decor lends itself to swooshing material and velvet cushions instead of the pale grey paint of the rest of the shopping centre. It’s very much exactly that Charlie expected, which makes him think it’s even more of an act.
Still, when she pours him a cup of tea and adds exactly one and a half sugars, Charlie feels a tingling down his spine.
“So,” she starts wistfully, waving a hand towards the opposite armchair. Charlie sinks down into it. “You’re here because you’ve been unlucky in love, Charlie?”
Charlie notes the breathy tone that has suddenly appeared in her voice. He makes a bold assumption that it’ll disappear again when she’s asking him if he wants to rebook later.
“I wouldn’t say unlucky…”
Isaac would say unlucky, but then as far as he’s concerned Charlie has cycled through a series of bland first dates and hookups that go nowhere. He doesn’t know about the Ben-of-it-all in the background, like a relationship poltergeist. The one time Charlie had even hinted that he wanted to tell his friends about them, Ben had acted like he wanted to confess to being Mr Blobby. He’d never brought it up again.
Better his friends think that he’s just a loser who can’t keep a date than someone only worth hiding.
The psychic sighs and gives him a knowing look that he finds disconcerting.
“Ah, stuck in an on again, off again relationship since you were a teen. Must’ve been hard, being with someone who never wanted to come out the same way you did.”
Charlie stops with the tea poised at his lips.
“How—”
She waves a ring-heavy hand airily.
“It’s written all over your face. He ended things for good, recently, am I right?”
On Christmas Eve, in fact. Dumped him by text and then blocked his number. Bastard.
He always did like the last word.
“I— I mean—” Charlie takes a deep breath. “It’s not been a good time, romance-wise, yeah.”
Satisfied, she nods sagely and reaches for a pack of cards.
“My own personal Tarot set,” she says, as Charlie eyes them carefully. “You’d like them, the designer based them on Greek myths.”
There’s a tingle working its way up Charlie’s spine. A mixture of unease and trepidation that he can’t quite bite down. The psychic shuffles her cards expertly before placing them face down on the table between them.
Then, she turns them, one by one, until there’s a spread of images in front of them. She frowns.
“Ah, it seems you will face public humiliation…”
The tingle becomes a full blown alarm. The psychic carries on talking, but it’s as if only the worst headlines make their way through the panic attack that's rising up and threatening to make Charlie puke across the velvet table cloth.
“You will fail to reach an important destination in life…”
Fuck.
“Your world will come crashing down…”
Fuckity fuck.
“You will be trapped with what you most fear…”
She looks up, finally, and meets his eye.
“Oh, none of these are fatal, by the way.”
But it’s too late, Charlie is already on his way out of the door.