Читать книгу The O’Hara Affair - Kate Thompson - Страница 8

‘It is quite possible for the gazer to be able to see things in the crystal at one time and not at another. This being so, you should not be discouraged if such images fail to appear at the gazer’s command.’ Dr R A Mayne

If Madame Tiresia fails to detect your aura, there will be no charge for your consultation.

Bethany regarded the disclaimer on the placard outside the fortune-teller’s booth. It was a bit like that terms-and-conditions-apply-share-prices-may-go-down-as-well-as-up stuff that voice-overs rattled off at the end of bank ads on the radio. In other words: let the buyer beware. Still, it was worth a try. Her horoscope had told her to heed the advice of a wise woman this week, and since Daisy de Saint-Euverte had been raving about Madame Tiresia on Facebook, Bethany had to assume that this was the wise woman in question. Bethany believed in horoscopes, even though she pretended to be cynical about them.

Although they had never met in real life, she had been thrilled when Daisy had accepted her as a friend on Facebook. It didn’t matter that Daisy had thousands of friends, it still felt kinda cool. Bethany’s friends numbered just over a hundred now, but she had to admit that she was a bit indiscriminate about the friendships she’d acquired. What must it be like to be as popular as Daisy de Saint-Euverte? Bethany had never been popular at school: she hadn’t been bullied as such – just ignored. She had been in awe of those girls who seemed so effortlessly confident, whose hair swished like something out of a shampoo commercial, and who spoke in loud D4 accents. She’d never been part of a crowd that screamed and hugged whenever they met, and who threw pink pyjama parties where they necked vodkatinis and watched the singalong version of Mamma Mia while texting their boyfriends. She’d been invited to one of those dos by a cousin, and she had screamed and giggled and sung along on cue, but she had felt like a complete impostor. She had been glad the next day to return to the fantasy realms that lay beyond the portal of her Xbox.

The other reason for Bethany’s low self-esteem was the fact that she had never had a boyfriend. She reckoned it was because her boobs were too small. She’d been going to ask her parents if she could have a boob job for her eighteenth birthday, but she knew they would have pooh-poohed the idea. They’d tell her not to be so stupid, that she was beautiful as she was. They didn’t understand what it was like to be a teenager. They didn’t know that it was horrible.

A gang of girls was coming along the promenade now, a phalanx of linked arms and GHD hair and blinging teeth. Bethany knew that if they saw her vacillating outside the fortune-teller’s, she’d be subjected to their derision. And there was nothing more lacerating than the derision of teenage girls. She’d never forgotten the snorts of mirth that had erupted in the classroom when the careers guidance teacher had announced that Bethany wanted to be an actress (‘Sure after all, girls,’ the teacher had chortled, fanning the flames of her peers’ ridicule, ‘isn’t Bethany O’Brien a fine name for a thespian? With a grand alliterative name like that, you wouldn’t be after needing any talent at all, so you wouldn’t.’) At least today she had somewhere to hide: there’d been nowhere to hide in the classroom that day. Pulling aside the curtain, she ducked into the booth.

It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The tented space was lit by a single, crimson-shaded lamp. At a table covered in a star-spangled chenille cloth, a veiled woman was sitting gazing into a crystal ball in which Bethany could see herself reflected in miniature.

‘Erm, hello, Madame Tiresia,’ she said, feeling awkward. ‘My name—’

‘Sit down, Bethany,’ said the woman.

‘Oh! How did—’

‘I know your name? I saw it in the crystal. I’ve been waiting for you.’

Well, so far, so impressive. What clever trick had Madame used to get her name right? She’d try to work it out later, the way she and her parents did after watching Derren Brown on the telly. Moving towards the table, she sat down opposite Madame Tiresia.

‘Before we start, I must ask you to cross my palm with five euros.’

‘Oh – of course.’ Bethany pulled out her purse and handed over a five euro note, which Madam Tiresia slid into a manila envelope. The envelope was bulging: business must have been brisk. Bethany wondered how many of Daisy’s Facebook friends had taken her advice and sought a consultation with the fortune-teller. She’d check Facebook out later, and see what the consensus was.

‘Let me see what else the crystal has to show,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘You sat exams recently, Bethany. You think you did quite well, but you’re scared that you may not have done well enough.’

‘You’re right.’

Hmm. Bethany guessed that that could apply to virtually every girl her age who came into the booth, since most teenagers this summer would have taken exams, and most would be feeling insecure about results.

‘What else do I see in the crystal?’ continued Madame Tiresia. ‘I see…a fish. Two fishes. What does that signify?’

‘Um. I don’t know. Maybe my mum’s going to do some kind of fish for supper.’

Madame Tiresia gave a low laugh. ‘No. The crystal is telling me that you were born under the sign of Pisces. Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are a talented young lady, Bethany. Artistic.’

Bethany shrugged. ‘I – I suppose I am.’

‘I see a keyboard. Do you play the piano?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘And you love to act. It is your dream career. Have you applied to theatre school?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Isn’t it about time you did?’

‘I guess so. They’ve actually extended the deadline to the school I want to go to, but I keep putting it off.’

‘I see. You’re putting it off because you’re scared of rejection?’

Bethany nodded.

‘The crystal ball is telling me that you shouldn’t procrastinate any longer,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘If you want this thing badly enough, you must take action now.’

‘Oh.’ Bethany looked dubious. ‘OK.’

‘The ball is telling me too that you’ve had a reason to be unhappy lately. What is the reason for your unhappiness, Bethany?’

‘I – I guess it’s just…I’m eighteen and I’ve never had a boyfriend.’ Oh! What was she doing, blurting out personal stuff like that! It was a fortune-teller she was talking to, not an agony aunt!

‘You badly want a boyfriend?’

‘Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but I feel like a loser without one.’

‘But you are a special girl, Bethany.’

Bethany shook her head. ‘No way! I’m not special!’

‘You are a special girl, Bethany,’ repeated Madame Tiresia. ‘And special girls have to be particular about the kind of boy they allow into their lives. You must not settle for just any Tom, Dick or Harry.’

Bethany drooped. ‘It’s just that nearly all the other girls I know have boyfriends.’

‘Ah – but they probably have settled for any Tom, Dick and Harry. They think that by surrounding themselves with friends, it proves to the world how popular they are. But they’re indiscriminate. You, Bethany, being special, must wait for that special boy. He is out there somewhere, waiting for you. But you must be patient.’

Funny. That’s what her mother always said to her. Bethany had always pretended to her mum that she didn’t care that she didn’t have a boyfriend, that she was perfectly happy without some punk hanging around, cramping her style. But the real reason she told her mum this was to reassure her, because she didn’t want her to know how badly she was hurting. She’d never told anyone how badly she was hurting. Until now…

‘I know it’s hard, Bethany,’ continued Madame Tiresia. ‘It’s hard to be different. And it’s even harder when you’re beautiful, because beautiful girls are expected to be carefree and fun-loving. You do know that you are beautiful, don’t you?’

‘Me? Are you—’ Bethany had been about to say, ‘Are you mad?’ but, realizing how rude it would sound, stopped herself and changed it to, ‘Are you serious?’ Nobody apart from her parents had ever told her that she was beautiful. At school, she felt so ordinary next to the glossy girls who spent a fortune on their appearance. Plus, she was always being asked for her ID.

‘You’re beautiful, Bethany. You’re a natural beauty. Trust me.’

‘But everybody picks on me and calls me pleb and loser!’

‘You’re neither of those things, Bethany.’

‘Oh – I’ve been a pleb and a loser for as long as I can remember.’ Bethany gave a little laugh, as if she didn’t care that people called her names – even though in reality it hurt like hell. ‘I remember when all the girls in my class were getting confirmed and boasting about the frocks they were going to wear, and I pretended that I had a frock with lace petticoats and pearls sewn on and in fact there wasn’t a frock at all because I wasn’t getting confirmed. My parents are atheists, you see and have no truck with religion. And when the other kids found out I was lying they gave me such a hard time.’

‘I can imagine. Children can be very cruel.’

‘They’re even worse when they grow up. I’ve had so much grief since people found out that I want to be an actress.’

‘But haven’t you always wanted to be an actress?’

‘Yes – since I was a little girl. But I never told anyone. I just used to act out scenes all by myself in my bedroom.’

‘So you’ve never acted in public?’

‘No. I used to help out with the drama group at school, but I didn’t have the nerve to audition. I just used to fetch and carry for the stage manager, and sit on the book in the prompt corner during shows. And then when people found out that I had – well, aspirations – they decided I’d got too big for my boots. They started sniggering and saying things like, “Got yourself an agent yet?” and, “When’s DiCaprio coming to find you?” And I’d have to laugh and pretend I can take a joke. I’ve got pretty good at pretending. Maybe that’s why I identify so much with Laura in The Glass Menagerie. They’re doing it in November, in the Gaiety School. I’d give anything to play Laura. In my dreams!’

‘Dream building is a good starting point. Tell me this. Assuming your application is successful, how are you going to put yourself through school? Will your parents finance you?’

‘I’ll live with them, because I can’t afford to rent anywhere. But I’m going to have to get some kind of a part-time job.’ Bethany gave a mirthless laugh. ‘That’ll be a challenge, the way things are in the employment market.’

‘So you’ll be looking for work when you go back to Dublin?’

‘Yeah. I’d much rather stay here, though, until term starts. I love it here.’

‘Why don’t you try and get a job in Lissamore, then?’

‘I’ve tried. There’s nothing going.’

‘You’re wrong. There are jobs going. Did you look for work on The O’Hara Affair?’

‘As an actress? Are you – serious? I wouldn’t have the nerve.’

‘Not as an actress, no. As an extra.’

‘I’d have loved that, but somebody told me there was no point. Apparently hundreds of wannabes like me applied. Oh – that’s an awful word, isn’t it! Wannabe.’

‘No. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something. Wanting something is proactive. Apathy is far, far worse. That’s why your classmates made jokes at your expense. They don’t have the courage to dream.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said an interesting thing earlier. You said that people decided you’d got too big for your boots. That’s because you have a dream, Bethany, and maybe they don’t. And because they’re jealous of your dream, they want to destroy it. Seeing you fail will make them feel better about themselves. Think about it.’

Bethany thought about it, and as she did, she felt a creeping sense of relief that what she’d always suspected to be true had been put into words by someone so much older and wiser than her. Was that the reason she was confiding all her secrets in Madame Tiresia? ‘That’s horrible, isn’t it?’

‘It’s human nature. But a much easier way of feeling better about yourself is to have a positive mantra. You lost your phone recently, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. How did you – oh. The crystal, of course.’

‘Of course,’ echoed Madame. Was Bethany imagining it, or was there a smile in her voice? ‘And when you lost your phone, what did you say to yourself?’

‘I told myself that I was an idiot.’

‘You see? You told yourself.’ Madame shook her head. ‘If you are telling yourself that you’re an idiot, Bethany, you are simply giving other people a license to do the same. If your self-esteem is rock bottom, you can hardly expect other people to respect you. So next time you lose your phone, don’t tell yourself you’re an idiot. Say, instead: “Oh! I have lost my phone – but hey, that happens to everyone from time to time. Losing my phone doesn’t mean I am an idiot. In fact, I think I’m pretty damned special.”’

Bethany wrinkled her nose. ‘But isn’t that kind of arrogant?’

‘Not at all. I have never understood why people think it is an insult when someone makes the observation, “You think you’re so great.” Tell me – how would you respond if someone said that to you?’

‘I’d tell them no way – I don’t think I’m great.’

‘You see! How negative is that? The correct response is, “That’s because I am great!”’

‘I’d never dream of saying that!’ protested Bethany.

‘You don’t actually have to articulate it. Say it to yourself. Say it now, Bethany. Say, “I think I’m great”.’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘Say it!’

‘I think I’m…great,’ said Bethany, without conviction.

‘There you are! Say it to yourself every time you want to call yourself an idiot. Say it over and over. “I think I’m great, I think I’m great, I think I’m great!” Let it be your mantra. Picture that little girl who pretended she had a confirm ation dress with petticoats, the little girl who could only act a role in the privacy of her bedroom. She’s afraid – she needs reassurance. Get to know her, make her your friend. Give her the respect she deserves, and I can guarantee that people will start to respect you, too.’

Bethany’s mind’s eye saw herself as a child, standing in a circle of little girls all comparing notes on their confirmation dresses. They’d been insecure, too, of course, with their bragging about how much their dress had cost and where it had been purchased. As for those girls she’d seen earlier – the ones with the swingy hair and orthodontic smiles – maybe they too sought help from internet sites or cried hot tears while updating their blogs? Maybe even Daisy de Saint-Euverte suffered from the blues, or the mean reds, like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

‘The crystal tells me you should try for work on the film.’ Madame Tiresia’s tone was authoritative.

‘What?’

‘The crystal is certain that if you try, you will succeed. Go home now, and send off an email application for work as an extra. You’ll find it on The O’Hara Affair website.’

‘You really think I should?’

‘I do. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

Bethany smiled. ‘That’s what my mum always says.’

‘Mums can be pretty wise women.’ Madame Tiresia passed her hands over the crystal, setting her bangles jingling. ‘Alas, Bethany, your time is up. The crystal’s gone cloudy.’

‘Oh. Well – thank you for your advice, Madame. I’ll send off an application right away. I’ll send off two! One to the movie people, and one to the Gaiety School! My horoscope said I should heed the advice of a wise woman.’

‘Do you believe in horoscopes?’

‘No,’ she lied. ‘But I believe in you.’

‘That’s the spirit, beautiful girl. Shoo.’

Bethany rose to her feet. But before she lifted the flap of the booth she turned back to Madame. ‘D’you know something? I kinda feel more like I’ve been talking to a counsellor or a shrink or something rather than a fortune-teller. You should be an agony aunt – no offence!’ she added hastily. ‘You’re a really good fortune-teller as well.’

‘I know I am,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘Give your cat Poppet a cuddle from me when you get home.’

‘Wow!’ said Bethany. ‘How did you—?’

‘How do you think?’

Utterly mystified, Bethany shook her head, gave a little smile, then left the booth. Outside, the gaggle of girls was sitting on the sea wall, swinging their legs.

‘I think I’m great,’ she murmured to herself as she plugged herself into her iPod. ‘I think I’m great. I think I’m great!’

She smiled as the Sugababes told her how sweet life could be, how it could change. Nothing ventured, nothing gained – that’s what Madame had told her, that’s what her mother told her, and really, the old clichés were the ones that always made the most sense. She could change her life around, and she was going to do it today because, after all, she was great – wasn’t she?

It was lucky for Bethany that the strains of the Sugababes drowned out the small arms fire of snide remarks that came her way from the sea wall as she headed for the narrow road that would take her home to Díseart.

As soon as Bethany left the booth, Fleur scribbled a ‘Back in five minutes’ sign and stuck it on the tent flap. Then she phoned Corban. ‘Lover?’ she said. ‘Can you do me a favour?’

‘That depends. Run it by me.’

‘There’s a girl who’d love to work as an extra on the film. Do you think you could organize it for her?’

‘That’s not my department, Fleur.’

‘I know. But I told her that it would happen.’

‘You mean, Madame Tiresia told her it would happen?’

‘Same difference. Surely you have some influence in the casting?’

‘I had some say in casting the leads, yes. Extras are a whole different ball game.’

‘Please, Corban. I really like this girl.’

‘What makes her so special?’

‘She’s vulnerable. She’s desperate to be an actress, but she’s not going to make it without a leg-up and some kind of experience.’

‘What age is she?’

‘Eighteen. But she looks younger. She could easily pass for a child. And didn’t you say that most of the extras were too well-fed-looking to be famine victims? This girl’s a skinny little thing. Very pretty, though, in a – um…What’s that word you use for “growing into”?’

‘Nascent?’

‘Nascent! That’s it. You can tell that she’s uncomfortable with the way she looks. I remember going through that stage when I was her age. It’s horrible – really horrible. You don’t realize that you’re turning into a swan. You think you’re going to be the ugly duckling for ever.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Bethany O’Brien.’

‘Easy to remember. OK. Leave it with me. I’ll have a word with the casting assistant and ask her to look out for your Bethany.’

‘Thank you, darling. She’ll be sending through an email application this afternoon. How did your meeting go?’

‘Not great. We’re over budget. It looks as if this is going to be the most expensive movie ever made in Ireland.’

‘Oh. Then what can I say but – enjoy your lunch.’

‘Thanks. How’s your fortune-telling lark going?’

‘It’s fun.’

‘Maybe you should take it up full time. Predicting the future could be a lucrative way to earn a living in these uncertain times.’

‘Only if you get it right. I hope people don’t come looking for their money back.’

‘Well, it’s unlikely that your Bethany will.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The casting assistant’s just come in. I’ll pull some strings and get your girl a job, starting asap.’

‘You star! Oops! I’d better go. Someone’s put their head around the tent flap. Time to have my palm crossed with more euros.’

Fleur stuck her phone in her bag. It wasn’t seemly for a fortune-teller to be caught chatting on a mobile. And as for the device under the tablecloth? Well, nobody need ever know about that. She called to the next girl to come in, then started to scroll through Daisy’s very useful list of Facebook friends.

‘Hello, Madame. I’m Gina.’

‘Gina. Sit down. Might your surname be Lombard?’

‘That’s amazing! How do you—’

‘I don’t know. But the crystal does,’ said Fleur, with a smile.