Page 22 of Out of Control

“This might not fit with the way your brain works, but it helps some people focus on their goals, personal or professional. Using playing cards in this way is called cartomancy and it’s seen as a simpler form of Tarot. It’s been around since the fourteenth century — there must be something in it or it wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

Fiona held her hands up in mock surrender; things must be really bad for Meeko to have stooped this low. She should keep an open mind and be there for him. “OK. How does it work?”

“You ask the cards a question, take a card and allow the subconscious to guide you. It won’t tell you about tall, dark, handsome strangers or the likelihood of you walking under a bus tomorrow.”

“And how do you intend to monetise this?” She was trying hard to be open to the positive possibilities of cartomancy.

“On the internet using video meeting apps. Loads of people are already doing it. Are you on board with me?”

“What?” For a second, she had a vision of herself as a glamorous magician’s assistant in a sparkly leotard assisting with card tricks. It wasn’t a good look.

“The expression on your face!” Meeko’s eyes lit up with the mischievous sparkle she loved him for; she realised now that spark had been absent for some time. “I need somebody to practise on and you’d be ideal, given all the upheaval and decision-making going on in your life right now.”

She hesitated. Airy-fairy mumbo jumbo wasn’t her thing. Even her own gut instinct was hard to follow without logic backing it up. If there wasn’t a project plan embedded in a spreadsheet or, at least, a typed list of pros and cons, then she couldn’t make a significant decision. “Even if I don’t believe?”

“It’s not a religion but it might make you think differently.”

The decision to let Joe and Adele stay felt as though it had been forced upon her, and look how that was teetering with no pre-planned ground rules. How was the random turning over of cards going to help? But Meeko was a friend in need and she could disregard whatever the cards said. “OK, but I probably won’t act on the outcome. Do you want to do it now?”

Meeko glanced around. The guests in the hotel restaurant had thinned out and there was a thick red, white and blue rope across the doorway, indicating breakfast hours had finished. The staff were collecting empty plates, wiping tables and resetting them with napkins, wine glasses, cutlery and lunch menus.

“They won’t appreciate us taking up table space any longer. Come to mine for breakfast tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring the food.” Fiona emphasised her words and made a mental note to bring far too much — buying food was obviously a big issue for Meeko.

Chapter 18

Meeko’s plight lingered in Fiona’s mind as she walked home. She’d wanted to envelop him in a hug but couldn’t risk a repeat of the unrequited sparks that would generate. Sparks that had flared only since he’d split with Lynn. Had her subconscious put up a barrier while Meeko was spoken for, then let that barrier tumble as soon as he was available, even if he’d indicated that he wasn’t looking to meet anyone new? Her new-found attraction to her best friend was just something else that she couldn’t control and which, for the sake of her sanity, had to be pushed to the back of her mind.

Her shoulders sagged with relief at finding the house empty and her private space private again. She could put things back to how she liked them, but first she needed tea to power her through the next part of the day.

“What the . . .” Fiona’s muscles quivered as she reached the threshold of the kitchen. A chimps’ tea party couldn’t have left a worse mess. As a single person who liked to clear and clean immediately, she didn’t possess a dishwasher. A mug left neatly beside the sink was the most she could bear. The state of the kitchen told her that Adele and Joe preferred someone else to clean up after them. Poor Rose must have spent years doing that.

On the table, under a half-full bowl of milk-saturated Weetabix, was a scribbled note:

Adele — please wash up after breakfast. Remember we are guests here!!!! Destroy this note after reading. Dad.

A smiley face inside a wonky heart shape followed the word ‘Dad’. The cereal packet was on its side, with one of the white inner packages ripped to allow the crumbly biscuits to escape onto the table. A knife, glazed with marmalade, was plantedin the open carton of low-fat spread. A second bowl exhibited artwork in the medium of dried-on porridge, and a glass measuring jug in the middle of the table contained evidence of how the oats and milk had been cooked. The crusty edges from a slice of toast and jam sat on a plate in the bottom of the sink. Fiona followed scarlet splodges to find the unlidded jam jar nestling in the cupboard alongside her tins of tomatoes, kidney beans and coconut milk.

Gritting her teeth, Fiona donned rubber gloves and filled the bowl — she couldn’t settle to anything, not even tea, until everything was clean and back in its place. She put the radio on. Swore under her breath as loud, thumping music with no distinguishable words filled the room. She felt like an interloper into a teenager’s lair or a squatter’s den. Adele was an adult, an almost-mother, she should have more consideration and empathy for the woman whose house she was in. And the porridge stuff meant Joe didn’t get off scot-free either. Fiona saw an image of Rose sprinting down the road with a suitcase and no backward glance. In another world they might have been friends.

Thirty minutes later, with the teapot full and her favourite mug warming, she heard noises above. Fiona’s perceived privacy had been an illusion. Footsteps on the stairs. Had Adele deliberately waited until she’d heard the sink fill and empty again and the kettle boil before she decided to show her face?

The girl did have the grace to look ashamed as she shambled into the kitchen. Her hair was unbrushed and she was wearing leggings and a baggy top that looked like they’d been slept in.

“Adele, I’d really appreciate it if you could clear up after eating.”

“Oh, Fiona! I’m really, really sorry.” Adele spoke with sincerity and sheepishly screwed up the note that Fiona hadpointedly left on the table. “I thought I had plenty of time before you’d be back. I must have fallen asleep again.”

Fiona wanted to point out that she wasn’t running a hotel and that she wasn’t an unpaid housekeeper, but she bit her tongue. Adele looked genuinely contrite and pale with tiredness. Fiona needed to cut her some slack. “Don’t worry, it’s done now.”

“I promise I’ll do it next time. You haven’t got children, have you?”

Fiona shook her head. “No.” There was a familiar prickle in her eyes and she had to look away. Adele didn’t know she was being tactless.

“Being pregnant is like having an alien inside of you trying to punch its way out.” She rubbed her extended belly. “It uses up your energy so that all you can do is sleep or flop. Dad doesn’t understand — he still thinks I should function like the old me. But I think the old me might be gone forever.”

Fiona reached out and squeezed Adele’s hand. The girl was spot on with that last sentence. Whatever the outcome of a pregnancy, the mother’s outlook on life was never the same again. “Don’t grieve; you might love the new you better.”

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