«Tell me my fortune, Gran.»
«Whats the matter, love? You look so down.» Evelyn sat across from her granddaughter, searching her face. «Dont like the soup? I can fry up some bangers and mash instead.»
«No, Gran. Not hungry.» Holly barely glanced up, stirring her spoon absently in the bowl.
«Somethings bothering you. Out with it. Maybe I can help.»
Holly sighed and pushed the spoon aside.
«All the girls at uni dress so nice, so trendy. And I look like something from a charity shop. They dont laugh in my face, but Im not blind. The lads dont even glance my way.»
«Because of your clothes?» Evelyn frowned.
«Thats part of it. Im outdated. Unattractive.»
«Who put such nonsense in your head? Youre gorgeous. Theyre just jealous. As for the clothesmy pension comes in tomorrow. Well get you a proper dress.»
«No, Gran.» Holly shook her head. «I want jeans. Proper designer ones. Do you know how much they cost? How would we live after that? I shouldve gone part-time. Got a job. Wed manage better.»
Evelyn shot her a look.
«Dont be daft. While Im breathing, youll study properly. What kind of education is part-time? Youll work soon enough. And anyone who mocks you isnt worth your time. Clothes dont make the person.»
«Who even cares about degrees anymore? Youre too naive, Gran. Maybe I could still find work?»
«Dont you dare,» Evelyn said firmly. «Ill lose my pension top-up if you switch. Every penny counts.»
Holly slumped. Pointless. Gran didnt get how humiliating it was at nineteen, wearing Mums old skirt and a hand-me-down jumper. Fine clothes, but not *cool*.
«Eat up. Ive got an idea.» Evelyn rose and vanished into her room.
Holly heard drawers opening, the wardrobe creaking. When she peeked in, Gran sat by the window, lost in thought.
«Gran, Im sorry.» Holly hugged her.
«For what, pet? Youre right. You need new boots, a proper coat.»
«Gran, dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back.»
«I wont. Ive got Grandpas ring. Youd never wear it. Ill pawn it tomorrow. You still havent eaten?»
«Ill finish later. Tell my fortune instead.»
Gran spun around.
«What? Im no fortune-teller.»
«You are! Mum said you predicted Dad for her.»
«When did she tell you that?»
«She did.»
«You youngsters always want to know the future. But fates written at birthit doesnt like being peeked at. Divinations rubbish. Even if I saw something bad, I wouldnt say. Worrying just invites trouble.»
«Then tell me something good.» Holly grinned.
«I dont need cards to say youll be fine. Patience, love.»
«Come on, Gran. Please?» Holly cuddled close, eyes pleading.
«Oh, you minx. Fine.» Evelyn fetched a fresh deck from the cupboard. «Sit.»
She spread a lace tablecloth, shuffled the cards.
«Focus on your deepest wish.»
Holly held her breath, watching Grans practised hands. Cards flicked, shifted, settled.
«Ready?» Evelyn laid them out face-downlarger than normal, intricate backs. One by one, she flipped them, pausing, studying. At last, she smiled.
«Well? See this?» She tapped two cards. «Two sevens. Real loves coming soon.» Another pair. «The King of Diamonds beside you. Matches everywhere. Rare.» Her face darkened.
«What? What is it?»
«Its fine. Dont rush me. Clubs worries ahead. But what lifes without them? No joy without loss. Lose one thing, gain another.» Her voice was steady, calm.
Holly listened, memorising.
«Gran, can we»
«Enough. Got what you wanted? Love, wasnt it? Its coming. Soon.» As Holly leaned in, Gran swept the cards up. «Put the kettle on.»
Over tea, Holly circled back to the King.
«Works for the government, young. Thats all the cards say.»
«And the worries? Youll be alright, wont you?»
«Course I will. And if not, so what? Ive lived my life. Yours will be happy. Thats all you need to know. Timings everything. And I warned youIm no good at this.»
Next morning, Holly walked to uni lighter. Let them mock her thrift-shop look. Love wasnt about clothes, Gran said. It was about heart.
After lectures, she lingered, enjoying the sun. Thena police car outside her building. Neighbors clustered. Her stomach dropped.
«Holly, love, awful news» Mrs. Wilkins from downstairs blocked her path, dabbing red eyes with a hankie.
«What? Wheres Gran?» She lunged for the door.
Heart hammering, she took the stairs two at a time. The flat door stood ajar. Insidedrawers ransacked, cupboards open. A uniformed man stood.
«You Holly Margaret Clarke?»
«Yes. Who are Gran! GRAN!»
«Sergeant Dawson. Your grandmother, Evelyn Mary Hart»
«Is she ill? Whys everything TELL ME!»
«A neighbor found her. Struck on the head, but lightly. Heart attack took her.»
Holly clamped both hands over her mouth.
«Sit.» He guided her down, fetched water.
«Was shemurdered?»
«Your gran collected her pension in cash?»
«Y-yes. Hated cards.»
«Anything valuable missing? Jewelry? Money?»
Holly scanned the room.
«No. She mentioned pawning Grandpas ring yesterday. Gold, big yellow stone. Not worth much. She was getting her pension today»
«No cash or ring on her. Likely spotted at the post office or pawnshop. Too many witnesses outside, so he followed her up.»
«She died for her pension?» Tears splashed her shirt.
«Seems so. He fled empty-handed. Well catch him.»
Holly bit her lip raw.
«Any feuds with neighbors?»
«No! Gran was kindeven gave Mick from 3B beer money sometimes.»
«Mick»
«He wouldnt. Hes harmless.» The dam broke. She sobbed.
Questions followedparents, her studies. She answered mechanically.
«Ill return tomorrow. See if you remember anything.»
Mrs. Wilkins helped tidy up, took Holly in. But come bedtime, she went back. Gran would worry if she wasnt home. Thenrememberingshe cried herself to sleep.
Theyd only had each other. Mum and Dad died years backminicab ran a red light, hit a lorry. Front-seat passengers. Mum died instantly, Dad by morning.
Next day, she woke to grief fresh as dawn. How would she manage? She spotted Grans glasses on the telly, tucked them away. Always misplacing them.
Sergeant Dawson returned at eleven.
«You were here yesterday?» The name felt familiar.
«Ill help with the funeral. Neighbors chipped in.» He set an envelope on the table. «Come with me. Bring something to dress her in.»
Numb, Holly picked a navy dress. Last year, Gran had refused to wear it to a friends party. *Save it for my funeral*, shed said. Holly had scolded her. Thought shed live forever. Now she folded it carefully.
They went somewhere. She signed things. A blur. Even Grans face in the coffinstrange, peacefulleft no imprint.
Next day, she dragged herself to uni. Home was unbearable. After lectures, she applied to switch to part-time, got a job at a nearby supermarket. Restocking shelves, cleaning. The cashiers knew Gran. Pitied her.
Sergeant Dawson dropped by sometimes. Once, he came with newsthe killer confessed. No ring, though; sold it off. Small comfort.
«Holly, I wanted to say» He cleared his throat. «I fancied you from the start. Maybe bad timing, butIm here if you need me.»
She studied himkind eyes, sharp in uniform.
«Give me your number.» As he typed it in, she memorized his face.
«Whens your day off?»
«Friday.»
«Fancy the cinema?»
She shrugged. Better than an empty flat. They went. Walked after. He talkedmum remarried, baby sister, his law studies. Dreamed of being a detective.
She liked him. Felt safe. When he proposed, she said yes.
That evening, talking to Grans photo, she remembered the fortune. The frown. The warning.
*Gran, did you know? Said you couldnt tell futures. I love him, but not at this price. Why didnt you tell me? Id never have let you go.*
In the frame, Gran smiled back, warm as life.
