Saturday had arrived and bright sunshine reflected Finula’s spirits as she scurried about her bedroom preparing for the big date. She reprimanded herself for being so excited, but she really couldn’t help it. She felt like she had waited quite long enough for a date with Marcus and now it was finally here she was finding it hard to contain herself. Megan had helped her decide on her outfit. Casual, yet stylish was Megan’s advice, so Finula had opted for skinny jeans tucked inside brown suede boots and a cream V-necked jumper revealing just a slight hint of cleavage, and which prettily showed off her mother’s heart pendant necklace that she’d decided to wear for moral support. Her brown three-quarter-length woollen jacket finished it all off nicely.
Marcus was in the bar waiting for her, chatting to Dermot.
‘Ah, here she is,’ Dermot said with a smile. He was pleased his daughter was taking some time off and couldn’t have approved more of her company.
‘Ready to go?’ asked Marcus. Finula’s eyes flicked over his black, fitted jeans and thick, black jumper and she thought how dark and swarthy he looked. Her heart once again started to thump.
‘Yep, let’s go,’ she replied, trying to sound as calm as possible, when inside she was flapping with anticipation.
‘Now, you two, have a good day,’ chipped in Dermot, ‘and don’t worry about this place, Fin.’
Finula cast him a withering look, ‘I won’t, Dad,’ she replied, making Marcus laugh. He turned to Dermot.
‘And don’t you worry, your daughter is in safe hands,’ he said with a grin.
‘I’m sure she is,’ Dermot nodded.
Once inside Marcus’ Range Rover, Finula relaxed a little. He seemed very calm and she reflected that he was probably used to taking charge, being a director and producer. It made her feel reassured in some way. Being the curious kind, Finula looked for clues that could tell her more about Marcus, but she struggled to find any. There were no CDs scattered about the car, indicating his taste in music, no wrappers telling her what he snacked on. In fact, apart from a few folders on the back seat, everything was pretty bare.
He saw her glancing about his car and laughed to himself. Was she trying to suss him out?
‘I usually just listen to the radio,’ he supplied, ‘if I listen to anything.’
‘Oh,’ she frowned, trying to picture him sitting in silence driving. Surely everyone belted out their favourite tunes in the car?
‘So, tell me,’ he interrupted her thoughts, ‘what would you usually be doing on a Saturday?’
‘To be honest, if I’m not working, not a lot really.’ Then realising how boring she sounded, she quickly added, ‘I’m usually that tired, I’ll have a good lie-in and probably call at Megan’s in the afternoon, or go into town.’
Marcus frowned: for someone as young as Finula, it sounded all work and hardly any play.
‘When was the last time you took a holiday?’
Finula was surprised by the question and had to think hard. ‘Do you know, I can’t actually remember.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Finula, everyone needs time out. When we’ve finished filming you should visit where I live. You’d benefit from the peace and tranquillity.’
Again, she was surprised. Was he inviting her to his house, that gorgeous Tudor cottage she’d seen on the internet?
Then he completely changed the subject. ‘So where would you recommend we have lunch in Oxford?’
‘There’s a few good pubs there. I’ll let you choose.’
Within an hour they entered the city of dreaming spires, rich in history and culture. After parking, they walked together through the busy pathways, with bicycles weaving in and out, until they reached a small pub tucked away down an alley. After ordering food and drinks, they sat down in a quiet alcove.
Finula noticed a flyer on the table. She picked it up. ‘“Lola Burrax, clairvoyant extraordinaire”,’ she read out loud.
Marcus rolled his eyes. ‘Load of bollocks, more like,’ he scoffed.
Finula laughed, but carried on reading. ‘She’s on tonight, at The Bear.’
‘Really?’ replied Marcus flatly. Did people actually believe that stuff?
‘Let’s go, it’ll be fun.’ Finula’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
Marcus stopped mid-sip. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh, go on.’
‘Finula, it’s all a con.’
‘I know, but it’ll still be interesting,’ she cajoled.
It was hard to say no, so full of enthusiasm and cheer was Finula, and he felt himself being persuaded.
‘OK. We can go there tonight if you really want to,’ he chuckled, loving the way her face lit up when he finally gave in.
*
Located off Oxford’s High Street, the cosy little pub with low ceilings and chestnut-brown wooden panelling was heaving. Its worn oak floor had been weathered by the feet of countless generations. The first thing Marcus noticed was the ties: ties of members of renowned colleges, schools, regiments, sports clubs and long-lost establishments were assembled in serried ranks and placed in glass showcases that covered the walls. Marcus and Finula wrestled to get served at the bar and wove their way through the crowd to the snug.
‘I can’t believe there are so many gullible people,’ remarked Marcus as he handed Finula her wine.
‘Look, there she is.’ Finula pointed out Lola Burrax, sitting at a corner table reading tarot cards to a young girl with eyes like saucers, evidently gripped by what the medium was saying.
Marcus smirked into his glass and suppressed a snigger. The room was crammed full of goths, hippies and long-haired drop-outs, who frankly ought to know better. It beggared belief how much money Lola Burrax would be coining in, given that each of the expectant crowd had paid £15 a ticket to watch her perform. Anticipation mounted and, in spite of not believing in anything remotely mystic or supernatural, Marcus could sense the electric atmosphere.
The young girl having her cards read gasped out loud, causing a lull and wave of whispering amongst the people in the pub.
‘What do you think she’s told her?’ Finula hissed.
‘The price of her reading probably,’ replied Marcus dully. He was rewarded with a contemptuous look.
‘Have an open mind,’ chided Finula.
‘Yeah, and an open wallet,’ retorted Marcus.
The medium stood up from the table, closed her eyes and began breathing heavily. Her hands were held in a prayer-like position.
‘Sounds like she’s connecting with the energy,’ whispered Finula, trying her best not to laugh out loud.
‘Sounds like she’s asthmatic to me,’ batted back Marcus under his breath, making Finula double over with giggles.
Suddenly Lola opened her eyes and the crowd fell silent.
‘I am about to confirm what you already know deep within you, but cannot fully access on your own. Receive higher wisdom and find your direction.’
Her dark eyes roamed over her audience. Her long brown hair was covered with a headscarf and she wore a tie-dyed kaftan. Lola started to circle around the room, creating a stillness, and each person she passed seemed dying to be picked by her. She stopped short in front of a small, grey-haired man in a colourful waistcoat. She took hold of his hand and closed her eyes again.
‘I feel your vibration,’ she announced, causing a faint twitter amongst the bystanders. ‘I detect unrest.’ The man nodded knowingly. ‘You have suffered much injustice.’ He nodded even more. Marcus noticed a faded band mark round his finger where a wedding ring had obviously been removed recently. ‘It is a lonely path you travel, but not for long.’ This seemed to brighten him up no end, judging by the big beam lit across his face.
Then Lola came to a middle-aged lady sitting down at a nearby table. Crouching down, she touched the lady’s forehead with her fingertips. ‘She’s safe, don’t worry,’ Lola claimed, making the lady double over and cry. Marcus’ eyes widened: what the hell was this woman playing at?
Then, as if reading his mind, she spun round to face him. Marcus stared back defiantly. ‘You are in turmoil,’ she said pointing a finger directly at him.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Am I really?’ he answered in a bored monotone.
She moved closer and searched his face.
‘Your revenge will not be sweet.’
There was a stunned silence. Marcus eyed the medium with cool distaste. Speechless, Finula looked from one to the other. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny any more. They both stood their ground, staring each other out. Finula gulped as she took in Marcus’ steely gaze, not flinching a muscle. His hand clenched his glass so hard she could see the whites of his knuckles. Neither spoke. A still silence filled the air. One or two smothered coughs could be heard from the crowd. Marcus remained motionless, his glare challenging. The psychic eventually moved on.
‘Marcus, are you all right?’ Finula could see from the look on his face he wasn’t. For all his dismissive comments, Lola Burrax had clearly hit a nerve to prompt such a reaction.
‘Of course I’m all right, Finula,’ he replied, then gulped his drink down.
Finula noticed his hand shake slightly and regretted her insistence of coming there.