**Diary Entry**
*Thursday, 18th May*
“Tell my fortune, Gran.”
“Love, whatevers the matter?” Gran sat opposite me, peering into my face with those kind eyes. “Soup not to your liking? Ill make you some bangers and mash instead.”
“Not hungry,” I murmured, pushing the spoon around half-heartedly.
“Somethings troubling you, Emily. Out with it. Can I help?”
I sighed and set the spoon down.
“All the girls at uni dress so nicelytrendy things, you know. And I just look frumpy. They dont laugh outright, but I can tell. Even the boys dont glance my way.”
Gran frowned. “Over clothes?”
“Partly. Im just outdated. And plain.”
“Who put such nonsense in your head? Youre lovely. Jealous, thats all. As for clothesmy pension comes in tomorrow. Well get you something new.”
I shook my head. “No, Gran. I want proper jeans, designer ones. Do you know how much they cost? Wed have nowhere left for rent or food. I shouldve gone part-time, found work”
Gran cut me off sharply. “Nonsense. Youll study properly while Im here. Distance learning? Not the same. Youll work soon enough. And those laughing at you? Small-minded. Clothes dont make the woman.”
“But who cares about degrees these days? Youre so old-fashioned. Maybe I *should* find a job?”
“Dont you dare,” she said firmly. “The allowance stops if you switch courses. Every penny counts.”
I slumped. Pointless. Shed never understand the shame of wearing Mums altered skirts and hand-me-downs at nineteen.
“Eat up. Ive an idea.” Gran vanished into her room. I heard rustling, the wardrobe creaking. When I peeked in, she was staring out the window.
“Gran, Im sorry” I hugged her.
“For what, love? Youre right. You need proper clothes. A coat, boots”
“Gran, dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back.”
“I wont. Theres Grandads ringthe gold one with the yellow stone. Youd never wear it. Ill pawn it tomorrow. Youve barely eaten!”
“Ill finish later. Tell my fortune instead.”
Gran stiffened. “What nonsense! I dont do that.”
“You *do*,” I insisted. “Mum said you predicted Dad for her.”
Gran blinked. “When did she tell you that?”
“She did,” I pressed.
“You youngsters always want to peek ahead. But fates writtenit doesnt like being tricked. Readings? Dangerous. Even if I saw bad, I wouldnt sayyoud fret and draw it to you.”
“Then tell me something *good*,” I teased.
“Without cards, Ill say this: youll be fine. Patience.”
“*Gran*” I nudged her, grinning.
“Oh, you minx. Fine.” She fetched a fresh deck from the cupboard. “Sit. Focus on your wish.”
I held my breath as she shuffledexpert, quick. She laid the cards face-down, flipped them one by one, pausing to study each. Finally, she smiled.
“See? Two sevens side by side. Loves coming. Real love.” She tapped two more. “The King of Diamondsa young manand you, close. Many pairs. Rare.” Then her face clouded.
“What? What is it?”
“Alls well. Dont rush. Clubs mean worries ahead.” She met my eyes. “But lifes *made* of worries. No joy without loss. Lose one thing, gain another.”
Her voice soothed as she spoke. I clung to every word.
“Gran, can I ask”
“Enough. Got what you wanted, eh? Love, wasnt it?” She swept the cards up. “Put the kettle on.”
Over tea, I pestered her about the King.
“Works for the Crown, young. Thats all.”
“And the worries? Youll be alright?”
She patted my hand. “Ive lived my life. Yours will be happy. Thats all you need.”
Next morning, I floated to uni. Let them snicker at my clothesGrans words warmed me. Love wasnt about fashion.
After lectures, I lingered in the sun until I saw the police car outside our building. Neighbors clustered. Auntie Mabel from downstairs clutched a hankie.
“Emily, love, such awful news”
“Gran?!” I sprinted inside.
My heart hammered as I took the stairs. The flat door stood ajar. Drawers gaped, belongings strewn. A uniformed man rose.
“Emily Whitmore?”
“Yes. Wheres Gran? *Gran!*” But I knew.
“Sergeant Reynolds. Your grandmother, Margaret”
“Is she ill? Whys everythingjust *tell* me!”
“She was strucknot hard. The heart gave out.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Sit.” He guided me down, fetched water. “Did she collect her pension in person?”
“Y-yes. Hated cards.”
“Anything valuable missing? Jewelry? Cash?”
I scanned the room. “Her ring. Gold, with a yellow stone. Worthless, reallyGrandads. She meant to pawn it today.”
“Neither was on her. Likely spotted at the post office or pawn shop. Too crowded to rob her outside. Followed her home”
“So her *pension* killed her?” Tears splashed my jumper.
“Seems so. Well find who did this.”
“Was it *Mick*?” I whispered.
“Mick?”
“Flat 21. But hed never” Sobs wrecked my voice.
He asked about parents, my studies. I answered mechanically.
“Ill return tomorrow. Rest.”
Auntie Mabel helped tidy, took me in. But at night, I crept back. Gran would fret if I wasnt homeher heart. Then I remembered.
Wed only had each other. Mum and Dad died years backa minibus ran a red light. Front seat. Mum died instantly; Dad lasted a day.
Morning came. I cried again. How would I manage? I spotted Grans glasses on the telly, tucked them away. Always misplacing them.
Sergeant Reynolds returned at eleven.
“Collected money for the funeral,” he said, laying a pile of notes on the table. “Come with me. Bring her a dress, underthings.”
I picked the navy one shed once said shed be buried in. Id scolded her then. Thought shed live forever.
The next days blurred. At the funeral, even Grans face in the coffin felt unreal.
I returned to uni, then switched to part-time. Got a job at Tescostocking shelves, cleaning. The till girls knew Gran, murmured condolences.
Reynolds visited sometimes. One day, he said theyd caught the thiefconfessed, but the ring was long sold. No comfort. Gran was gone.
“Emily, I fancied you from the start.” He cleared his throat. “If you need anythingheres my number.”
I studied him as he typed it in. Handsome in uniform.
“Day off?” he asked.
“Friday.”
“Fancy the cinema?”
I shrugged. Home was torture now. We went. Walked after. He spoke of his mum remarrying, a baby sister, his law studieshoped to be a detective.
I liked him. Safe. When he proposed, I said yes.
That evening, talking to Grans photo, I remembered the reading. The night before she died. Her frown. Those odd words about loss.
*Gran, did you know? You said you couldnt tell fortunes. I like Daniel, but not at this price. Why didnt you warn me? Id have never let you leave.*
In the frame, she smiled backwarm, alive.
