‘Hi hun. Yep, I’ve just got on the train. Yep, St Pancras. I’ll be back in about thirty mins. Can you pick me up from the station? Thanks hun. Can you bring me some ibuprofen? Thanks hun. No, I’m fine now, but I’m going to have a headache by the time I get off. Yep. Well, the woman sitting opposite me is painting her nails and you know how much nail polish stinks. Yep. The whole carriage reeks.’

The whole carriage was now listening to Billie’s bogus conversation with interest, including the nail painter who had ended her own call in favour of eavesdropping on Billie’s.

‘Ha ha! What, take a picture and post it on Twitter under hashtag train etiquette? Yep, I know it’s not very considerate behaviour, but to be honest, I don’t think she’d be bothered. She’s even got her mucky feet up on the seat where some poor soul who’s paid a fortune for a ticket will have to sit.’

The nail painter was looking slightly annoyed, having lost concentration and smudged two nails.

‘Are you talking about me?’ she asked.

Billie continued speaking into her phone, ‘Just a minute, hun, she’s interrupting me now.’

Billie looked up. ‘Excuse me, but this is a private conversation. You shouldn’t be listening. Is there a problem?’

‘Yeah. If you’re slagging me off there is.’

‘Well, please feel free to tell me if I’ve got anything wrong?’

The nail painter got off at the next station, and as she alighted, the man sitting across the aisle caught Billie’s eye and smiled.

‘Bravo!’

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

1972

The Larkins Holiday Park Christmas party was in full swing, and Imelda could hear music and the chatter of excited voices coming from the entertainment lounge along the corridor. She had set up her temporary booth just off the main reception area. With some curtains across the door, a few velvet drapes and cushions, some crystals, a couple of lamps and her gypsy table, the former store cupboard had been transformed, and Imelda had already given several readings. This was a trial run to help her decide if she was prepared to appear here on a regular basis. Shunty-Mae was still set against it, but Imelda was beginning to warm to the idea. The Christmas party had been organised by Ruby at Marty’s request, to generate some income before the refurbished park opened its gates to the first residential guests in the new holiday season. Tickets had been sold to the public, promising an evening of music, dancing and a delicious finger buffet, but many of the newly appointed entertainment staff had also been invited. A chance to get to know one another, Marty had said. But he had also persuaded some of them to perform – for no fee, Ruby had noted. No such thing as a free finger buffet.