I Never Fancied Him Anyway by Claudia Carroll

nose. ‘That last guy could have bored for Ireland at Olympic level. I was this close to wrapping it up by saying, “OK, time to check out of this yawn-fest.” Frankly, it’s just not good enough.’
    All of a sudden I’m nervous again, not only at her appalling rudeness, but at the mere mention of Jack Hamilton’s name . . .
    Come on, Cassie, hold it together
.
    Anyway, before I even have time to dwell on it, the studio goes deathly quiet and the floor manager is over. ‘OK, ladies, we’re back on in five, four, three, two, one . . .’
    ‘And welcome back,’ beams Mary. ‘Now, we have a lovely treat for any readers of
Tattle
magazine who might be watching. Their resident psychic columnist is here with us this morning for a nice little chat. Cassandra, you’re very welcome and thank you so much for coming along.’
    ‘Emm . . . hi!’ I say, trying my best to sound all chirpy and relaxed.
    ‘Now, tell us, I understand that you were born with this very special
gift
,’ Mary goes on, stressing the word ‘gift’ as if it were something that came wrapped in a big blue bow from Tiffany’s.
    ‘But then, it’s a bit like the weather report, isn’t it?’ Maura chips in. ‘I’m not interested in what today was like, tell me about tomorrow.’
    There’s an awkward pause as they both just look at me.
    Shit. This must be the part where I’m expected to perform.
    ‘Emm . . . well, you see,’ I stammer, doing my very best to sound confident, ‘as I always say, being psychic isn’t something that’s on tap twenty-four hours a day. I just sometimes get these very strong visions about things that haven’t happened yet, but . . . you see . . . I can never actually tell when I’m going to get a flash.’
    ‘Well, that’s convenient,’ snipes Maura and I swear to God I want to die.
    Another silence. I can hear someone behind the camera coughing, loud and clear. Oh God, all this awful scene needs is tumbleweed rolling through it.
    ‘So your gift is a sort of
force of nature
, then, is that what you mean?’ Maura continues in a tone I can only describe as disparaging. ‘Like Niagara Falls.’
    ‘Yeah. Or a fifty-per-cent sale at H & M.’ What the hell, she’s being so rude I might as well try to lighten things up a bit.
    I can see Lisa out of the corner of my eye sniggering beside a studio monitor and silently giving me the thumbs up, bless her.
    ‘Mmm,’ says Maura. ‘OK, I accept that you may not perform to order, but you do go around calling yourself a psychic, don’t you? So come on then, make a prediction.’ She’s glaring at me, almost challenging me and there’s a very long, very awkward pause. Which probably only lasts for a minute, but, oh my God, it feels like half an hour. I must have been deranged to agree to do this. Never, ever again as long as I live . . .
    Then Mary obviously gets a frantic instruction in her earpiece about filling in the silence because she starts twittering inanely, which only gives me a fresh bout of nerves. ‘Well, maybe you could help me with this one, Cassandra. For the life of me I can’t decide where to take my son on holiday after he’s finished his college exams. He’s turned Buddhist now and wants to go to Tibet, but I’d be more of a Lanzarote woman myself. So I said to him last night that if he worked hard and got good grades, maybe we could reach a compromise. Like Gran Canaria. Well, you can’t go wrong in the Canaries, now can you?’
    And then I get a flash.
    It’s a tabloid paper, with a grainy picture of Maura – yes, it’s definitely Maura, I’d recognize that pinched-looking face a mile off. She’s falling out of a nightclub, looking the worse for wear and kissing an older-looking man, with a banner headline that reads ‘BREAKFAST CLUB
STAR’S MARRIED LOVER’ . . .
    ‘So come on then,’ says Maura, almost goading me. ‘Are you seeing anything now, or is there some kind of roadblock in the cosmos this morning?’
    Another flash.