«Tell Me My Fortune, Gran»
«Whats got you so down, love? Whats happened?» Edith Mayfield sat opposite her granddaughter and peered into her eyes. «Dont like the soup? Ill whip up some bangers and mash instead.»
«Not hungry, Gran,» Emily muttered, barely glancing up before stirring her spoon absently through the broth.
«Somethings bothering you. Out with it. Maybe I can help?» Edith prodded gently.
Emily sighed and set her spoon down.
«All the girls at uni dress so nicelyproper trendy, like. And I just look frumpy. They dont laugh outright, but Im not daft. Boys dont even notice me,» she admitted, cheeks flushing.
«Over clothes?» Edith frowned.
«Partly. Im old-fashioned. Not pretty.»
«Who told you that rubbish? Youre gorgeous! Theyre just jealous. As for clothes Ill get my pension tomorrow. Well nip down Primark, get you something new.»
«No, Gran.» Emily shook her head. «I want proper designer jeans. Youve no idea how much they cost. Howd we manage after? I shouldve gone part-time, got a job»
Edith cut her off with a sharp look. «Dont be daft. Youll get a proper education while Im alive. Distance learning? Pah. Plenty of time for work later. And if anyone laughs, theyre not worth your time. Clothes dont make the person.»
«Who even cares about degrees nowadays? Youre so old-fashioned, Gran. Maybe I *should* find work»
«Not a chance,» Edith said firmly. «Theyll cut my benefits if you switch. Every penny counts.»
Emily slumped. Pointless. Gran didnt get how humiliating it was at nineteen to wear Mums hand-me-downsdecent, sure, but painfully unstylish.
«Eat up. Ill think of something. Got an idea.» Edith bustled off to her room.
Emily heard drawers rummaged, the wardrobe creak. When she followed, Edith was gazing out the window.
«Gran, Im sorry,» Emily murmured, hugging her.
«What for, duck? Youre right. You need new boots, a jacket» Edith sighed.
«Gran, dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back.»
«Wont. Ive got Grandads ring. Sapphire. Not your style, is it? Ill pawn it tomorrow. You still havent eaten!»
«Later. Tell me my fortune instead.»
Edith spun round. «What? Me, a fortune-teller? Dont be silly.»
«You can! Mum said you predicted Dad for her.»
«Whend she tell you that?» Edith blinked.
«She did,» Emily insisted.
«Youth todayalways wanting tomorrows news today. Why? Fates written at birth. She doesnt like being peeked at. Divinations rot. Even if I saw bad news, I wouldnt sayyoud fret and tempt trouble.»
«Then predict something nice,» Emily teased.
«Ill say it without cards: youll be fine. Patience.»
«Go on, Gran! Whats the harm?» Emily nudged her, all big eyes and pout.
«Oh, you cheeky thing. Fine.» Edith fetched a fresh deck. «Sit. Focus on your hearts desire.»
Emily held her breath as Edith shuffled with practiced ease, then laid the cards face-down.
«Ready?» She flipped them one by one, pausing to study each. Finally, she smiled. «See? Two sevens side by side. Loves comingreal love.» She tapped two more. «Young King of Diamonds near you. Pairs galorerare, that.» Her brow suddenly furrowed.
«What? What do you see?» Emily pressed.
«Alls well. Spades mean worries ahead. But whats life without em? No joy without sorrow.» Ediths voice softened. «We lose one thing, gain another.»
Emily hung on every word.
«Gran, can I»
«Enough. Got your answer? Love, wasnt it? Its coming. Soon.» Before Emily could peek, Edith swept the cards up. «Put kettle on.»
Over tea, Emily nagged about the king.
«Works for the council, young. Cards say no more,» Edith deflected.
«The worriesyoull be alright, wont you?»
«Fussing over nothing! Ive had my time. Youve happiness comingthats all you need. Told you Im rubbish at this.»
Next morning, Emily floated to uni. Let them sneer at her clothesGrans prediction would come true. Love wasnt about fashion, but heart.
After lectures, she ambled home, soaking up the sununtil a police car and clustered neighbours sent her sprinting.
«Emily, love, terrible news» Mrs. Wilkins from number three blocked her path, dabbing reddened eyes.
«Gran? Wheres Gran?!» Emily shoved past.
Her heart hammered as she took the stairs three at a time. The flat door stood ajar. Inside, drawers gaped, belongings strewn. A uniformed man rose from the sofa.
«Emily Grace Mayfield?»
«Yes. Wheres Gran? Gran!» She already knew.
«Sergeant Fletcher. Your grandmother, Edith Mayfield»
«Is she ill? Whys everythingjust tell me!»
«Neighbour found her. Struck on the head, but lightly. Heart gave out.»
Emily clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.
«Sit.» He guided her down, fetched water. «Was she collecting her pension today?»
«Y-yes. Hated cards,» Emily whispered.
«Anything valuable missing? Jewellery? Cash?»
Emily scanned the room. «Her ring. Gold, with a blue stone. Grandads. She meant to pawn it today.»
«Neither was on her. Likely spotted at the post office, followed her home»
«So her *pension* killed her?» Tears splashed her shirt.
«Seems so. Well catch him.»
«Gran was kind. Even gave Mick from 14A beer money»
«Mick?»
«Hed never» Emily dissolved.
Mrs. Wilkins helped tidy, but Emily slept at home. Gran would fret if she didnt find her there. Then she remembered.
Next morning, the grief hit fresh. How would she manage? She spotted Grans glasses on the tellyalways misplacing themand tucked them away, throat tight.
Sergeant Fletcher returned at eleven.
«Weve pooled funds for the funeral. Pick something to bury her in.»
Emily numbly chose the navy dress Gran had once said would be her shroud. Shed scolded her then. Now she folded it carefully.
The funeral blurred. At uni the next day, she switched to part-time studies and got a job at Tesco. Regulars whod known Gran offered condolences.
Fletcher visited often. One day, he shifted awkwardly.
«Emily I fancy you. Bad timing, butif you need anything, call.» He saved his number in her phone. Handsome in his uniform.
«Your day off?»
«Friday.»
«Fancy the cinema?»
Why not? Home was too empty now. They went, then walked. He spoke of his sister, his law degree, his dream to be a detective.
She liked his steadiness. When he proposed months later, she said yes.
That evening, chatting to Grans photo, Emily remembered the fortune. The frown, the cryptic warnings.
«Gran you knew, didnt you? Said you couldnt tell fortunes. I love him, but not at this price. Why didnt you *warn* me?»
In the frame, Grans smile was warm, her eyes twinkling. Almost alive.
