Inside her booth, Imelda laid a velvet cloth over the table and placed her crystal ball onto its golden stand. She removed three packs of tarot cards from their silk pouches and sat down to await her first client. Grisha circled the booth as though he were checking that everything was in order, and once he was satisfied, he settled at her feet. Her thoughts returned to Cillian Byrne. The evening she had found him staring out to sea, he had walked back with her along the beach. As they walked, a connection had arced between them. It crackled and flashed through the salty air. It couldn’t be seen or heard – but it was palpable. Imelda was certain that they had both felt it. They had exchanged pleasantries, but mostly they had strolled in silence. And when they parted, Cillian had simply smiled at her and walked away.

A nervous cough came from the other side of the curtain draped across the doorway.

‘Come in.’

Imelda’s first client was a large woman with red hair and a very pink face. She had clearly been making the most of the glorious weather on the first day of her holiday without the protection of suntan lotion or a shady hat. She looked sticky and uncomfortable in her going-out dress, but perhaps she was simply nervous at the thought of having a reading. Imelda tried to make her feel more at ease. She invited her to sit down.

‘How can I help you? Would you like me to read your palm, the crystal ball, or perhaps you would like to ask a question of the cards?’

The woman wriggled a little on her chair.

‘Can I ask anything?’

Imelda smiled at her and nodded. ‘Choose one pack from the cards on the table, and as you shuffle them, ask your question out loud.’

The woman pondered for what seemed like an age and Grisha sighed heavily, as though urging her to get on with it. At last, having made her choice, she shuffled the cards as expertly as any poker player.

‘I want to know who keeps stealing my undies from the washing line.’

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