«Tell my fortune, Gran,» I said, slumping into the chair across from her.
«Whats got you so down, love?» Gran reached over, her wrinkled hands warm on mine. «Not hungry? I can fry up some bangers and mash instead.»
«No, Gran. Just not in the mood,» I muttered, pushing my spoon through the soup without eating.
«Somethings troubling you. Out with itmaybe I can help.»
With a sigh, I set the spoon down. «All the girls at uni dress so posh. They look at me like Im some relic. No one says it to my face, but I know. And the lads dont even glance my way.»
Gran frowned. «Because of your clothes?»
«Thats part of it. I look frumpy. Outdated.»
«Who put that nonsense in your head? Youre lovely. Theyre just jealous. About the clothesIll get my pension tomorrow, and well nip down to Marks & Spencer for something nice.»
I shook my head. «No, Gran. I want proper jeans, designer ones. Do you know how much they cost? Wed have nothing left for rent. I shouldve gone part-time, gotten a job»
Gran cut me off with a sharp look. «Dont be daft. Youll finish your degree proper. Distance learning? Pah. Youve got your whole life to work. And those girls laughing? Fools. Its not the clothes that make the woman.»
«Who even cares about degrees anymore? Youre so old-fashioned. Maybe I should just find work?»
«Dont you dare,» she snapped. «If you switch to part-time, theyll cut my benefits. Every penny counts.»
I dropped my gaze. Pointless. Shed never understand the shame of being nineteen and wearing Mums hand-me-downs. They were decent, surejust not *cool*.
«Eat up. Ive got an idea.» Gran vanished into her room. I heard drawers rummaging, the wardrobe creaking. When I followed, she was sitting by the window, lost in thought.
«Gran, Im sorry,» I whispered, hugging her.
«For what, love? Youre right. You need proper boots, a coat» She sighed.
«Dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back.»
«Wont need to. Ive got Grandads ring. That yellow-stone one. Doubt youd wear it. Ill pawn it tomorrow.» She brightened suddenly. «You still havent eaten!»
«Ill finish later. Just tell my fortune?»
Gran stiffened. «What rubbish! I dont do that.»
«You do! Mum said you predicted Dad for her.»
Grans eyebrows shot up. «When did she tell you *that*?»
«She did,» I insisted.
«You youngsters always want to peek ahead. But fates writtenit doesnt like being tricked. Even if I *saw* something bad, I wouldnt say. Why fret over what you cant change?»
«Predict something nice, then.» I grinned.
«Fine. Without any cards, I *know* youll be happy. Patience, love.»
«Come on, Gran. Just once?» I nudged her shoulder.
«Oh, you little fox. Alright.» She fetched a fresh deck from the cupboard. «Sit. Think of your hearts desire.»
I held my breath as she shuffled, her fingers swift. She laid the cards facedown, then flipped them one by one, pausing to study each. Finally, she smiled.
«Well? See?» She tapped two cards. «Two sevens side by side. Loves comingreal love.» Her finger moved. «The King of Diamonds, and you beside him. Pairs everywhere. Rare, that.» Then her face darkened.
«What? What is it?»
«Nothing dire. Just clubs mean worries ahead. But whats life without a few? No joy without loss.» Her voice was steady, almost chanting.
I clung to every word.
«Gran, can I ask»
«Enough. Got your answer, didnt you? Love, wasnt it? Its coming. Soon.» She swept the cards up. «Put the kettle on.»
Over tea, I prodded about the King.
«Works for the Crown, young. Thats all the cards say,» she deflected.
«And the worriesyoull be alright, wont you?»
«Course I will. Youre the one with a bright future. Thats all you need to know.»
The next morning, I floated to uni. So what if my clothes were dated? Love wasnt about fabric. Gran said so.
After lectures, I dawdled home, soaking up the sununtil I saw the police car. Neighbors clustered by our building.
«Oh, pet, such awful news» Mrs. Wilkins from flat one clutched a soggy hankie.
«What news? Wheres Gran?» I sprinted for the door.
My heart pounded as I took the stairs. Our flats door hung open. Drawers spilled onto the floor. A uniformed man stood.
«Are you Emily Grace Wilson?»
«Yes. Wheres Gran? *Gran!*» I already knew.
«Detective Sergeant Harris. Your grandmother, Margaret Wilson»
«Is she ill? Whys everythingjust *tell me!*»
«A neighbor found her. Struck on the head, but it was her heart that gave out.»
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
«Sit.» He guided me to the sofa, brought water. «Was your gran collecting her pension today?»
«Y-yes. She never used the card.» My voice shook.
«Anything valuable missing?»
I scanned the room. «Her ring. Gold with a yellow stone. Grandads. She meant to pawn it today.»
«Neither the ring nor the pension was on her. Likely, the thief followed her from the post office. Saw the ring, waited till she was alone»
«So her *pension* got her killed?» Tears splashed onto my blouse.
«Looks that way. Well find him.»
«Gran was kindnever fought with anyone. Even gave that drunk Mick from 21B money sometimes.»
Harriss pen paused. «This Mick»
«He wouldnt!» I broke down.
He asked about parents, my studiesI answered robotically.
«Ill stop by tomorrow. See if you remember anything.»
Mrs. Wilkins helped tidy up, took me in, but I went back to our flat that night. Gran would worry if I wasnt home. Then I remembered. And cried till dawn.
We only had each other. Mum and Dad died years backa minibus ran a red light, plowed into a lorry. Mum died instantly; Dad held on a day.
Next morning, I found Grans glasses on the telly, tucked them away. She always misplaced them.
Harris returned around eleven.
«Detective Sergeant Harris,» he reminded me.
The name tickled my memory. «You were here yesterday? Sorry, I»
«Understandable.» He set an envelope on the table. «Neighbors chipped in for the funeral. Well sort the rest. Just pick out something for her to wear.»
I numbly chose the navy dress shed once said would be her burial gown. Id scolded her then. Now I folded it carefully.
We went somewhere. I signed things. The funerals a blureven Grans face in the casket, peaceful and unfamiliar, barely registered.
Next day, I went to uni. Couldnt stand the empty flat. After class, I switched to part-time study, got a job at Tesco. The cashiers knew Gran, offered quiet condolences.
Harris visited sometimes. Once, he said theyd caught the thiefhed confessed, but the ring was long sold. No comfort. Gran was still gone.
«Emily, I wanted to say» Harris scuffed his shoe. «I fancied you straight off. Maybe bad timing, but you can call me. Anytime.»
He saved his number in my phone while I studied him. Nice face. The uniform suited him.
«Your day off?» he asked.
«Friday.»
«Fancy the cinema?»
I shrugged. Better than sitting alone. We saw a film, walked. He told me about his mum remarrying, his little half-sister. How he was studying law too, wanted to be a detective.
I liked him. Felt safe. When he proposed, I said yes.
That night, talking to Grans photo, I remembered the fortune. The frown. The warning about loss.
«Gran, you *knew*, didnt you? Said you couldnt tell fortunes. I like Harris, but not at this price. Why didnt you warn me? Id never have let you go.»
In the frame, Gran smiled back, tender as ever.
