wonder at their daughter's conviction that she truly was conversing with a real person. She would say something in her little girl way, then become silent as if listening to a reply, and then she would respond to that. It made Gabe and Eve chuckle on occasions until they had to creep away, hands over mouths, lest they be heard. Not that it would have made much difference to Cally: she believed what she believed.
Evidently, his daughter was having a fine old time with her imaginary playmates, for giggles interspersed the chatter and songs. Gabe moved out onto the landing and leaned over the balustrade, trying to peer into her room from that angle. He couldn't see her through the open doorway, but her voice was clearer. Where many young children might answer themselves by assuming another voice, Cally never did. Replies were always inside her head.
Intrigued as always, Gabe pulled back from the balcony and tiptoed along the carpetless landing, quietly taking the turn, slowing his pace as he drew nearer to her bedroom because he didn't want to interrupt her.
When he was within a step of the doorway, a floorboard creaked beneath his foot and it was loud enough to announce his presence.
Cally stopped talking.
Discovered, Gabe stepped into the doorway, a smile on his face, a greeting on his lips.
His jaw stayed open but no sound came out. He blinked in surprise. And in that blink, the tiny bright lights that hovered around his daughter vanished.
•
As was to be expected, the inside of the crafts shop was narrow, but the ceiling was high and two switched-off paperball pendant lights hung low from it. A lamp on the small desk at the far end of the shop was on, though, and its glow brightened the blonde hair of the woman whose head was bowed as she worked on something sparkly on her desk.
Like the display window, shelves and solo stands in the long room were crowded with things to buy. Original paintings adorned the walls, most of them watercolours and all of landscapes or fishing boats; some were excellent, others merely adequate. Sheer but colourful scarves were draped round the necks of white headless busts on the shelves, while more clay and stone figurines along with bric-a-brac and glass vases filled the spaces around them. There were two hat trees, both with straw hats and straw baskets hanging from them. On the solo display stands were pendants, bracelets and brooches, most made of plain or coloured metals; there were rings and more bracelets of coral and seashells, as well as copper and pewter emblems fashioned into signs of the zodiac.
Without even pretending to be interested in the goods on show, Eve walked the length of the shop to where the blonde woman was absorbed in her intricate labour. Eve saw that she was working on a crystal necklace, passing thin black thread through minute silver links pressed into the tops of the stones, all of which were of soft, various-coloured hues. The lamplight glinted off the crystals.
The blonde woman raised her head as Eve approached. She was strikingly pretty, Eve thought at once, her yellow hair shortish but flicked out at the sides, her fringe tethered by a thin leather thong she wore as a headband. Even sitting, she appeared petite, almost fragile, her shoulders narrow, her neck long and finely curved. Her face was pale, her nose small but nicely defined, and her lips were a delicate pink. But it was her eyes that struck Eve most of all, for they were of the palest green flecked with brown, with full dark eyelashes framing them. As interesting as those eyes were, they stared up at Eve impassively, as if deliberately guarded.
Her voice was soft but direct when she spoke. 'Can I help you?'
Eve could not help but feel it was not a sincere offer. She held out the small card she still had in her hand. 'I'm looking for this person,' she said. 'Ms Lili Peel.'
Those lovely but somehow brittle green eyes went to the card. That's old.' She looked up at Eve again. 'It's out of date.'
'I know,' Eve replied. 'It's been in a shop window for the past two years.'
She noticed that the woman at the desk wore wide wristbands of small different-coloured beads on both wrists, the sleeves of the soft-knit top she wore only reaching her elbows.
'Are you Lili Peel?' Eve asked.
The green eyes hardened. 'I don't do psychic readings any more.'
Eve felt the disappointment drag at her. 'I'm willing to pay more than your usual fee,' she tried.
'No. I mean it. I don't do readings.' Lili Peel picked up the crystal necklace and resumed threading it as if Eve had already gone.
But Eve knew the blonde woman was still conscious of her; her hands shook a little as she drew the thread through its link. 'Ms Peel, I really need your help. Something is happening and I have nobody else to turn to.'
Still not looking up, Lili Peel said, 'Try the local weekend newspaper, you'll find small ads for spiritualists, clairvoyants, whatever you need.'
'This can't wait 'til the weekend. I have to do something now. Won't you at least listen to me and then decide?'
Lili laid the necklace down and regarded Eve, the hardness still there in her eyes, a lack of compassion that seemed so wrong for such a pretty girl.
'I'm sorry, but I can't do anything for you.'
'You're no longer psychic?' Eve only asked the question because she wanted at least to engage Lili Peel in conversation, take it past the stranger-on-stranger stage.
'You don't choose to be psychic,' Lili said, her voice softening only a little. 'Neither do you choose not to be.'
'But if you can help people…?' Eve let the question hang.
'It doesn't always work that way. Sometimes it does more harm than good. Please, I don't mean to be rude, but there really isn't anything I can assist you with.'
'Hear me out, that's all I ask. If you still can't help me—if you don't
She couldn't stop them. Eve had tried to stay in control, but the tears just came unbidden. She had put too much hope into something that might only have been a dream or illusion. She dug into her pocket for a handkerchief.
'I'm sorry,' she said, at least containing her sobs. 'I didn't mean to…'
Lili Peel still eyed her coolly, but said: 'There's a chair by the wall. Why don't you bring it over to the desk.'
•
Gabe didn't want to frighten Cally; he kept his tone light. 'Hey, how y'doing, Sparky?'
''Lo Daddy.' She went on positioning her little plastic people around the little plastic house. A yellow Bart Simpson was somewhere among them.
He went over to his daughter and squatted by her. 'You having a good time there, honey? Is ol' Bart in trouble again?'
'He's bin good.'
Gabe watched her as she manoeuvred the teeny plastic people around the miniature house whose whole front wall was swung open.
'Who were you talking to, Cally?' he ventured cautiously. To these guys?' He motioned towards the plastic Lilliputian figures.
'Nowah.' The negative had two syllables, rising at the end as though she was impatient with his dumb question.
'Really? Oh, who then?'
She shrugged. 'My friends.'
'Your friends? The ones you make up?'
'Nowah.' Two impatient syllables again, now uttered with disinterest.
'Well, who then? I can't see anybody.'
'They've gone now. Gone away.'
