A month later, I got a postcard from Sara with an Exeter postmark. She wrote the message that we’d always sent each other in our teens when we were apart: ‘Weather is here, wish you were lovely.’ No mention of the leaflet that I’d sent to her parents’ address.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sara
Present day, February
‘Welcome to the big city,’ I said to Jo when I picked her up from Paddington Station for our day visiting psychics. It was a few days after our Manchester visit and Lauren had lined up three mediums for us to visit in London. On the passenger seat was a carrier bag which I handed to Jo when she got in the car. ‘For you.’
She looked in the bag and drew out a black and cream Jo Malone box. Her eyes teared up. ‘Oh Sara.’
‘I didn’t know what scent you’d prefer, so I got one with five little colognes. You can try them all and see which one you like best.’
Jo opened the box, pulled out one of the bottles and applied the cologne to her wrist. ‘Oh my god, that’s divine,’ she said as she sniffed and looked to see which scent it was. ‘Dark amber and ginger lily. Hell, this beats bubble bath at £2.99. Thank you so much. This means a lot.’
‘You’re welcome, and I wish you many more gifts like this.’
‘I might even buy some for myself,’ said Jo. ‘All those years of denying myself so that the kids had what they needed; from now on, I’m going to let myself have the occasional luxury.’
‘Good. As you said, sometimes you have to learn to be your own best friend. I’ve added that to the list of rules.’
‘So Ally’s been staying with you since our trip up north?’
I nodded.
‘I feel jealous,’ she said. ‘You’ve been having sleepovers without me.’
‘Well you’re joining us now. We can do our hair and nails and talk about boys like we used to.’
‘And make a plan for my future,’ said Jo. ‘A bucket list. There’s nothing like a near-death experience for focusing the mind, I can tell you. You and Ally can do the same if you like. I mean, not wanting to be miserable, but after being confronted by my own mortality, it’s made me think – who knows how long any of us have got left, so let’s aim to make the most of it.’
‘I’m with you on that. You’ve been running around after your family, I’ve used work as an escape from the emptiness in my life so yes, let’s think about what we’d like to do.’
‘My “to do” list was so boring – clean bathroom, buy new diet book, weed the garden, etc. I want my new “to do” list to be fabulous, luxurious, expansive. I want to experience life and all it has to offer.’
‘Any ideas?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure. Er … watch a sunset in a gorgeous location. Go to a smoky jazz club in Paris. Wear my pyjamas to go to the supermarket. Visit the meerkats at the zoo. Have filthy debauched sex with a man who worships me.’
‘Spa weekends together.’
‘Definitely together, all of it together. Travelling with friends. And classes, I want to keep learning, maybe go back to my art. I’ve barely picked up a paintbrush since art college.’
‘Painting weekends,’ I suggested.
‘Somewhere gorgeous, like Tuscany,’ Jo added.
‘Or Florence. We get a place to stay in some lovely old building, get up in the morning for a cappuccino and croissant in a café looking out on Ponte Vecchio—’
‘Where we will eye up the local talent—’
‘Then head off to a drawing class. Sounds bliss. I’m in, though I can’t draw.’
We spent the rest of the journey chatting happily about what we’d like to put on our ‘to do’ list as we drove to our first port of call.
*
We arrived on the street in Kilburn where Ajay, the cameraman from Little Dog Productions was waiting for us. He waved when he saw us pull up.
‘Do the psychics know you’ll be filming this?’ asked Jo as she got out her make-up bag and a mirror, applied red lipstick then twisted her shoulder-length dark hair into a knot at the back of her head.
‘They’re psychics. If they’re any good, they’ll have foreseen it. Joking. Yes, we’ve let them know. You always have to get permission on trips like this,’ I said as I got out of the car. ‘It will all be edited and some of it might not make the final programme, but all the people we’ll be seeing were more than keen to be on TV. It’s free advertising for their services.’
‘Course,’ said Jo as she followed me up the steps to the terraced house.
‘Just act as if I’m not here,’ said Ajay as he got out his camera and filmed us waiting for the door to open. ‘Everyone inside has been briefed so just ignore me and carry on as normal.’
A pale gangly young man opened the door and flushed pink when he saw Ajay and the video camera. He introduced himself as Stevie then ushered us into a room where there were three people sitting with closed eyes. They were either asleep or in rapture after their session with Doris, the ninety-year-old medium we were meeting. The house stank of cats and on every surface was a crocheted doily or antimacassar. Jo and I sat down and waited in silence. After a few minutes, we were called to follow Stevie into a back room where a tiny old lady with her hair in a white bun sat at a table. Miss Havisham from Great Expectations came to
