Petra started awake, the cooling coffee in her mug slopping dangerously. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’ve just… I haven’t been sleeping well lately. But I’m fine.’

Both women were training worried looks at her, and Petra squirmed under Ida’s scrutiny. Evading their eyes, she checked the time on the clock on the mantel. 10:45. She only had to be at the shop at noon today.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Ida asked. ‘I can tell that you’re troubled.’

‘Ida’s clairvoyant,’ Helena said.

Oh, God. Not Helena too now. Petra opened her mouth, about to say something but not sure what it should be.

But Helena started laughing. ‘Look at her face!’

Ida cackled along. ‘We got you, alright.’

‘You really thought I was being serious!’ Helena said. ‘You think I’ve finally gone soft.’

Petra shook her head. ‘Not funny, Mom. I’ve had a weird week. People have been trying to convince me of all sorts of rubbish.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just last night I crossed paths with a conman. He was pretty good at his job. He was taking advantage of a friend of mine, who’s grieving.’

‘Those guys irritate the hell out of me,’ Helena said. ‘The ones who pretend to talk to the dead. Offer fake comfort to poor grieving people as if they could ever talk to their dead loved ones.’

‘Ja, that’s exactly what this guy last night was doing.’

Ida tutted as Helena said, ‘Bloody vultures. Remember that guy who tried to rip us off after Dad died? He was really good too, wasn’t he?’ She turned to Ida and explained. ‘After Rod died, this shyster came to our door, said he was from the wills department of the bank and we just needed to sign some papers. He was perfect in the role – the cheap suit, the comb-over, just the right amount of sweat; he knew so many details about Rod’s accounts, his work, everything. Turns out he was a crook, and I only found out in time because I phoned the bank to find out Rod’s account number to fill in on his form. I still don’t know how he knew all that stuff about Rod.’

‘There was nothing magical about it,’ Petra said, a little too vehemently. ‘Dad wasn’t great at internet security – anyone could have read his emails. Or the guy could have gone through his trash and collected his bank statements. This guy I met last night was a different level. Made himself out like a showman, a magician. Like those TV psychics.’ Helena and Ida nodded, leaning forward towards her, something in Ida’s face jarring – where did she know her from? ‘It’s all cold reading, of course.’