“Tell Me My Fortune, Gran”
“You look so down, my love. Whats the matter?” Gran sat across from her granddaughter, peering into her face. “Dont like the soup? Ill fry up some bangers and mash instead.”
“No, Gran. Not hungry,” Emily muttered, barely glancing up as she stirred her spoon absently.
“Somethings troubling you. Out with it. Maybe I can help?” Gran asked gently.
Emily sighed and set her spoon down.
“You know, at uni, all the girls dress so niceso trendy. And I just look like some charity shop reject. They dont laugh at me to my face, but Im not blind or stupid. The lads dont even notice me,” she said glumly.
“Because of your clothes?” Gran frowned.
“Thats part of it. Im frumpy. Outdated.”
“Who told you such rubbish? Youre the prettiest girl I know. Theyre just jealous. As for clothesI get my pension tomorrow. Well pop down to Marks & Sparks, get you a new dress.”
“No, Gran.” Emily shook her head. “I want proper jeans. Designer ones. Do you know how much they cost? And whatll we live on after? I told you I shouldve gone part-time. Got a job. Made things easier.”
Gran gave her a stern look.
“Dont be daft. While Im alive, youll study proper. Whats the point of a half-arsed education? Youll work soon enough. And anyone who laughs is shallow. Clothes dont make the person.”
“Who even cares about degrees anymore? Youre so old-fashioned, Gran. Maybe I could still find some work”
“Dont even think it,” Gran cut in sharply. “Theyll stop my benefits if you switch to part-time. Every little bit helps.”
Emily dropped her head. Useless. Gran didnt understand how humiliating it was at nineteen to wear Mums old skirt and a reshaped blouse. They were decent, surebut not *cool*.
“Eat up. Ill think of something. Got an idea, actually.” Gran pushed back from the table and disappeared into her room.
Emily heard rustling, the creak of a wardrobe door. When she wandered in, Gran was on the sofa, staring out the window.
“Gran, Im sorry,” Emily murmured, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“What for, love? Youre right. You need a proper coat. Boots, too.” Gran sighed.
“Gran, dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back,” Emily pleaded guiltily.
“Wont need to. Ive got Grandads ring. Doubt youd wear it. Ill pawn it tomorrow. And you still havent eaten!” Gran fretted.
“Ill finish later. Tell my fortune instead?”
Gran whipped around.
“Since when am I a fortune-teller? I dont know the first thing about it!”
“You do,” Emily insisted softly. “Mum said you predicted Dad for her.”
“When did she tell you *that*?” Gran gaped.
“She did,” Emily said stubbornly.
“You youngsters always want to know whats coming. But why? Fates written at birth. She doesnt like being tricked or peeked at. And fortune-tellings nonsense. Even if I saw bad news, I wouldnt sayyoud fret and bring it on yourself.”
“Then tell me something good,” Emily teased.
“I dont need cards to know youll be fine. Just wait.”
“Come on, Gran, whats the harm?” Emily nestled closer, batting her lashes.
“Oh, you little fox. Fine.” Gran heaved herself up, fetched a fresh deck from the cupboard. “Sit at the table.”
She smoothed the lace tablecloth, shuffled the cards with practiced hands.
“Think of your hearts desire,” she instructed.
Emily held her breath, watching. Gran cut the deck, laid out the cards facedown.
“Ready?” She flipped them one by one, pausing to study each. When all were revealed, she smiled.
“Well? See?” Gran nudged two cards apart. “Two sevens together. Loves coming soon. Real love.” She pointed to the king of diamonds beside a queen. “And lookyoure paired. Rare, that.” Her brow suddenly furrowed.
“What? What is it?” Emily pressed.
“Nothing dire. Clubs mean worries ahead. But whats life without troubles? No joy without loss. Thats how it goes.” Grans voice was steady, wise.
Emily drank in every word.
“Gran, can we”
“Enough. You got your answer, didnt you? Loves coming, clear as day.” Gran swept the cards up. “Put the kettle on.”
Over tea, Emily kept circling back to the king.
“Works in an office, young. Thats all the cards say,” Gran dodged.
“And the worriesyoull be alright, wont you?” Emily blurted.
“Quit fussing. Im not going anywhere. *Youre* the one heading for happiness. Thats all you need to know. And I warned youIm rubbish at this.”
The next day, Emily floated to uni. Let them sneer at her thrifted clothesGrans words were her armour. Love wasnt about clothes, but heart.
After lectures, she lingered outdoors, savouring the sun. But at the sight of a police car and clustered neighbours by her building, her pulse spiked.
“Emily, love, such awful news” Mrs. Thompson from downstairs blocked her path, dabbing reddened eyes with a hankie.
“What? Whats happened? Gran!” Emily shoved past.
Her heart hammered as she took the stairs two at a time. The flat door hung ajar. Inside, drawers gaped, belongings strewn. A uniformed man stood.
“Emily Charlotte Whitmore?”
“Yes. Wheres Gran? *Gran!*” Her voice brokeshe already knew.
“Sergeant Davies. Your grandmother, Margaret Whitmore”
“Shes ill? Whys everythingjust *tell* me!”
“A neighbour found her. Someone struck her head, but lightly. She died of a heart attack.”
Emily clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Sit.” He guided her to the sofa, fetched water. “Your gran collected her pension in cash?”
“Y-yes. Didnt trust cards,” Emily whispered.
“Anything valuable missing?”
She scanned the room. “No. She she meant to pawn Grandads ring. Gold, with a yellow stone. Not worth much. She was getting her pension today”
“No cash or ring on her. Likely the thief spotted her at the post office or pawnshop. Followed her home”
“She died over *money*?” Tears splashed onto her blouse.
“Seems so. Well catch him.”
Emily bit her lip hard. “Was it someone she knew?”
“Your gran ever quarrel with neighbours?”
“No! She was kindeven gave that drunk Mick from 3B spare change sometimes.”
“Mick, eh?” Davies made a note.
The days blurred. The funeral, the hollow ache. Grans blue dressthe one shed said would bury hernow did.
Emily switched to part-time studies, took a job at Tesco. Davies visited often. One day, he admitted theyd caught the thiefbut the ring was gone.
“Emily, I fancied you from the start.” He cleared his throat. “If you ever need me, ring. Any time.”
He was kind. Steady. When he proposed months later, she said yes.
That evening, chatting to Grans photo, Emily remembered the fortune. The clubs. The loss.
“You knew, didnt you? Said you couldnt tell fortunes.” She traced the frame. “I love him, Gran but not at this price. Why didnt you warn me?”
In the picture, Grans smile was tender, endless.
Love, it seemed, was never freebut neither was it ever truly lost.
