JANUARY 1ST

There must be quite a few people celebrating their birthday on January 1st...

It was the first of January in the year twenty-twenty four and Bella Fossingham shivered and sighed and shivered again.
It was years since she had consulted Fairy Mary in her booth at the fairground. Fairy Mary was the best fortune teller the world had ever known, according, that is, to the woman herself after a customer had paid a silver sixpence for her magic. She was getting on in years, but not so old as to be geriatric (according to Bella, who judged people by their potential for senility) and she had made pronouncements after examining the contents of a tea cup and then pausing her contemplations to set out a few cards on the tray in front of her, then frowning, examining the sixpence Bella had paid and then shaking her head.
Then Fairy Mary had adopted a funereal expression, shook her head again and sighed deeply as if she was inflating an actual spirit guide sitting on her shoulder
“It’s good and bit’s not so good,” she pronounced at length. “The good bit is you’ll die when you’re sixty two, some time during that year, so by the look of you there are a tidy few years in front of you, and the bad bit is the love of your life… Daniel or something like that…”
“Derek,” corrected Bella, “Derek Fossingham, and the kindest soul who ever walked the earth…”
“Well, the bad news is he’ll pass before you do,” concluded Fairy Mary, “It’s written in the tea leaves, and look here at this card… it’s the death card and that portends… death.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Bella, secretly quite pleased that she’d outlive the kindest soul who ever walked the earth because they’d had cross words that very morning, cross words on the subject of putting too much faith is the idiotic pronouncements of fairground fortune tellers.
Then she bade Fairy Mary a heartfelt farewell and went to Gregg’s on the High Street and bought a Cornish pasty which she munched on her way to the library where she worked.
So know-it-all Derek was going to be six feet down before she was, was he? She loved him, of course she did, they were married and that meant she loved him, but he was such a know-it-all. But he was kind, she’d best not forget that, because hadn’t she told Fairy Mary exactly that?
But she was going to make it until she was sixty two. Or, to make it sound better, for another eighteen years…
And that eighteen years was up. It was twenty-twenty-four and as the calendar would have it, being the first of January it was also her birthday. Two years ago she’s retired from the library (though she still haunted the place twice a week looking for the latest slightly naughty romances. She liked books like that because when she read them a sort of rude thrill made her quiver. It was the same sort of rude thrill that Derek had created in her quivering flesh when he’d been in the mood, but then it was five years since he’d passed on and it was only slightly naughty romances that did anything for her any more.
And he’d died before she did, hadn’t he? Fairy Mary had got that right in her reading of tea leaves and tarot cards. She was a good one, was Fairy Mary, so good that she’d been promoted from putting in annual appearances at the fairground to having a little booth all of her own round the corner from the library.
Bella was worried, though. She was sixty two and fully accepting that she was treading the last few steps of her life, but how many steps might that be? Might she live right until the end of the year, the end of December and then pop her clogs, or might she get mowed down this very day on the way home? Such things can happen. Fairy Mary hadn’t specified exactly how long she’d be sixty two before the grim reaper put in his macabre appearance.
Maybe she still had a whole year (all but a day, that is) of lovely life in which she could quiver to the thrills of slightly naughty romance novels?
She did hope so!
Maybe Fairy Mary would tell her. She hadn’t been to the booth from which the fortune teller now operated, not once even though it was so close to where she had worked, but maybe she’d accept a silver sixpence for old time’s sake and examine Bella’s year in more detail.
Yes! That’s what she’d do! And why not? A silver sixpence might ot be that easy to find, not in these days of modern money, but… hey! What’s that?
It was like a message from the gods! On the pavement just by the sign that pointed to the Borough Library was a glittering something, a coin, and by golly there could be no doubt, she’d recognise one of those as if she still handled them every day, which she didn’t of course, it was a silver sixpence! On the path in front of her at the very moment she’d thought she might want one!
It was clearly a sign from the Heavens. Maybe Fairy Mary herself had willed it into existence!
She bent down and picked it up, half expecting some magical power to prevent her from touching it. But no, in seconds there it was, in the palm of her hand, shining and beautiful and magical!
Right! To the fortune teller’s booth and Fairy Mary! She wanted as long a life as the woman could promise her.
And she hadn’t far to go. Round this corner, past the library entrance and down a narrow passage, and there it was. She’d retrace her footsteps on her way back, when Fairy Mary had put her mind right, and go to the library in the hope there was a new-to-her title in.
A bell clanged as she opened the door to the booth and looked around for the familiar figure of her favourite provider of future truths.
But it wasn’t Fairy Mary sitting behind the paraphernalia of magic and knowledge. It was someone very much younger.
“I want Fairy Mary,” she told the young woman, “she told me something and I want it clarified.”
“She’s been dead this past two years herself, sighed the girl, “I’m her grand daughter and I have inherited the gift from her, so you’re in safe hands.”
“Dead?” queried Bella, shocked that something as simple as the demise of a fortune teller should seem so wrong.
“Poor soul. She didn’t see it coming,” sighed the girl, “a truck hit her. The driver went to jail for killing her, but she was still dead. Look my dear, what is it you want?
“She told me… this year, when I was sixty-two, I’d pass away…” stammered Bella, “but not which month.”
“Nah,” laughed the girl, “she wouldn‘t have known that any more than she foresaw the truck what killed her! But if it’s any use, and because you remember the old fraud, I’ll mention something… does September mean anything to you?”
“September? Nine months, that might be long enough,” she whispered, “and you say she didn’t know she was going to be knocked down by a truck?”
“Had no idea, the poor soul,” sighed the granddaughter, “just like I reckon you’re getting my wisdom for free!”
“No, take this,” gabbled Bella, and almost flung the silver sixpence that she was still clutching in her hand at the grinning young woman.
“Hey! what’s this?” she demanded, and then she examined the shining silver coin.
“You’re giving me this for saying one word, September?” she asked after several moments of frowning and gurning and frowning again, “this sixpence? It’s mine?”
“Well, that’s what you charge, isn’t it?” Bella was confused, “I’m paying you for your gift…”
“A sixpence… dated 1948… no, dear I can’t take it. Not and be able to live with myself. Here, take it back… It’s worth a whole lot more than sixpence. My granny only did her business, charging a tanner, so that she could get her hands on a 1948 silver sixpence! And she never found one, though she did make a living from a few worth a lot less but still more than what you’d expect from a sixpence…”
Confused, Bella left the booth holding what she’d beent old was a precious coin.
And couldn’t wait until September.
It was a chimney-pot dislodged from the library roof that hit her a second after a builder on the rook shriek “Look out!”
And her very last thought had to do with nine months, naughty romances and the shining silver sixpence still clutched in her hand.
© Peter Rogerson 01.01,24

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

Beautiful writing. Enjoyed reading 👍

[Peter Rogerson]

Gee thanks.