‘He’s stopped talking to you. He’s not letting you in. Something bad happened, maybe at school, and now he’s struggling with his emotions and afraid he’s not good enough.’

Ruby nodded. ‘Something did happen at school, but he won’t tell us what. What can we do?’

‘Ask the cards,’ said Imelda, picking them up and handing them to Ruby to shuffle once more. Imelda placed the second spread on the table.

‘Hang in there,’ said Imelda, pointing to the Temperance card. ‘Give him some time and space to sort himself out, but don’t try to force him to talk to you. He’s stronger than you think.’

Ruby pointed to the Death card that Imelda had turned over for a second time.

‘Isn’t that really bad?’

Imelda shook her head. ‘It doesn’t always mean death. It can mean a new beginning, a fresh start. Don’t worry about Treasure. The cards say he’s going to be just fine.’

A little of the tension seemed to have been smoothed away from Ruby’s face. She checked her watch.

‘Thank you so much, Imelda. I must get going. I’m due at work in a bit. How much do I owe you?’

‘You can buy me a drink next time I’m at Larkins,’ Imelda replied, gathering up the cards. ‘It’ll be a large one mind you!’

There was a loud ‘tut’ from behind the curtain at the back of the booth, but fortunately Ruby didn’t notice it as she was being enthusiastically bid farewell by Grisha.

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ added Imelda. ‘Don’t be surprised if Treasure gets a dog from somewhere. They’ll rescue each other.’

Once Ruby was gone, Shunty-Mae’s head appeared from behind the curtain like a puppet in a Punch and Judy show.

‘What have I told you about doing readings for free? That’s not the way to do it! If you don’t value your gift, then no one else will.’

Imelda pulled back the curtain so that her mother was fully revealed.

‘And what have I told you about coming down here and poking your nose into my business. For heaven’s sake, Mother! You’re supposed to be retired. Haven’t you got anything better to do? Can’t you get a hobby, like making jam or playing bingo?’

Shunty-Mae waved her hand dismissively at her daughter. ‘Your papa rules the kitchen. He won’t let me so much as boil a potato.’

‘That’s because you can’t even peel a potato, let alone cook one.’ Shunty-Mae’s culinary ineptitude had resulted in numerous blackened saucepans and several small fires before Alexei had declared himself sole chef for the safety of his family’s home and digestive health.

‘I have talents that he appreciates far more than root vegetable preparation.’

‘What about bingo, then?’