Mrs Angel visibly steadied herself before she introduced Madam Zizi, who sounded more like a local bistro than a spiritual guide to another world. Rare volumes surrounded her as she sat behind a low card table at the far side of the room. The curtains were already drawn and she was lit solely by three candles, which sat precariously close to her elaborate costume. She was draped in an avalanche of cheap charity shop scarves, wrapped inexpertly about her shoulders and head. In fact, she had so many veils and accoutrements it was not beyond the realms of possibility that she would soon begin dancing and pulling away each veil before demanding one of our heads on a plate. Her bangles and chains jostled and bickered with one another. The smell of mothballs raised the possibility that she may well have fallen out of one of the many wardrobes and wandered down here still smothered in old clothes. The light was so dim and the wig so badly fitting and low slung across her face that only her squinting eyes were visible.
We lingered at the door, wary as schoolgirls outside the Head’s office. The dog ground itself low into the floor, baring its teeth and growling as if it sensed something.
‘No.’ Bridget held up her hand, trying to calm the animal. ‘No, I’m afraid this is not what Mr Bojangles and I were expecting.’
‘It’s a fortune telling. She’s a fortune teller. What more was there to expect?’ Aunt Charlotte asked incredulously.
‘This is a book club so we were expecting discussions of books not this . . . this heathenism!’
‘Just to be clear, Bridget,’ I asked, ‘when you say, “we were expecting”, you mean you and the dog, don’t you?’
‘Mr Bojangles has expectations too!’ She turned and began walking away, tugging on the dog’s lead, its eyes sharp with fear. ‘We will be spending the evening in our room reading.’
‘It’s a dog. It can’t read,’ I called, but she didn’t respond.
‘Please excuse her. How do you do, Mrs Zizi?’ said Mother, loudly, as if she was speaking to a befuddled bag lady, which to be fair, seemed appropriate.
The woman nodded slowly, and the entire stack of scarves and jewellery lowered and trembled. We watched, anxious to see if she could pull the tangle back up or if the lot would fall off in a great bundle of washing. Finally, painstakingly, she righted herself and the mountain of clothing.
Mrs Angel coughed pointedly. ‘Perhaps you ladies would prefer to visit Madam Zizi individually so as to preserve your secrets.’ She smiled a long, slow grimace that looked as though she was suffering from a digestive disorder.
‘We don’t have any secrets,’ Mother barked.
I laughed spontaneously.
Mother re-issued The Look.
‘I’ll go first.’ Less seemed to be the only person actually inspired by this. ‘I’m the most spiritual person here so I’m the most likely to get something out of the experience. I’ve found my inner self.’ Less had spent so long searching for herself, finding herself, losing herself again that it must have been positively bewildering for her. Unfortunately, she always seemed to find her way back to us.
Mother had known Less since university and since then Less had tried everything: Pilates, yoga, juice cleanses, charcoal cleanses, cardiac diets, blood-based diets, macro, baby food, vitamin injections, vegetarianism, veganism, Paleo. She’d been gluten-, alcohol-, caffeine- and lactose-free. In fact, she was so free of everything, it’s a wonder she didn’t just float off like an untethered balloon. I’d have been very happy to cut the rope to be honest. Most people would. Most people see through her eventually. Most people except Mother. Even when Less stole from us.
The only thing anybody really needs to know about Less is that she’s a liar and a thief. She stole from my mother and father on numerous occasions but Mother turned a blind eye. Cash went missing every time she came to the house: a random ornament, a scarf, jewellery. Dad often challenged Mother about her pilfering friend, but Mother would not accept it. This woman somehow remained in Mother’s blind spot and nothing anyone could do would lead to her being exposed. Finally, when large sums of money vanished along with some family heirloom cufflinks, he spoke up. On that occasion, Less had left her herbal tea untouched on the kitchen table, trails of steam still lingering above it, and didn’t reappear for what seemed like years. It was as if, like a cheap trick, she’d just disappeared into smoke. Aunt Charlotte said it was to smoke — weed to be precise. Aunt Charlotte was always sticking the knife into Less.
‘Less, you are such a trooper!’ I said, with a deep smile. ‘Don’t you remember, Mother, how Dad would say so himself?’ I paused as if I was remembering, but I was really imagining slowly pushing a pin into her Voodoo doll. ‘Wait, was it “trooper” he said?’
Mother rolled her eyes.
‘I don’t know why you let her come!’ Less blurted.
‘What? What did I say wrong?’ I said innocently.
‘She’s always—’
‘Me? What about you with your—’
Mother held out her arms semi-messianically. She closed her eyes.
‘Does Madam require assistance?’ Angel enquired of Mother’s awkward pose.
Mother opened one eye and slowly began to lower her arms.
‘Let’s just get on with it,’ Aunt Charlotte said, with grim joviality.
Less did some of her loud ritual breathing exercises to centre herself and attract attention. When she did this, there was always the hope that one day she might stop breathing entirely.
She adopted her usual air of serenity and drifted into the library.
‘Watch the silver, Angel,’ I managed to cry before the door was closed on her seething little face. Not actually on her face, unfortunately.
I’d hoped there might have been a traditional body-in-the-library style scene at this point but unfortunately Less reappeared half an hour later with a great big supercilious grin that cried out to be slapped. She felt spiritual. I felt murderous. It is remarkable how many times these two reactions have gone hand in hand for me and Less.
‘So, how was it?’ Aunt Charlotte whispered.
Less closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Enlightening!’
‘Did she tell you anything about yourself that you didn’t already know?’
‘No, no, Less knows everything about herself.’
Mother stared at me intently.
‘I felt like she definitely knew me, that there was a real connection there.’ Less fixed her gaze on the middle distance, as spiritual people often do. We all followed her eyeline and looked at the spot on the wall. ‘She knew all about me,’ Less sighed in her hideous Zen-like manner. She turned and walked out, fluttering with incantations about chakras and karma.
Mother straightened and said, business-like, ‘Right, who’s next?’
A black hole of enthusiasm opened up. Finally, Aunt Charlotte relented. ‘I suppose I’ll give it a go.’
Angel had appeared at the door. He was the sort of man who had an unnerving ability to be in a room without seeming to have entered it at any point, as if he had been conjured from nothing but air.
‘That won’t be necessary, Madam.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Aunt Charlotte puffed.
‘What I mean to say, Madam, is I can see that enthusiasm is waning and since we have only our guests’ enjoyment at the front of our minds, might I suggest some other form of entertainment? Trivial Pursuit perhaps or—’