17th February
Theres something about the sales department at TechPro, tucked away in the cramped basement of our London office, that always reminded me of a shared kitchen in a shabby old flat. The air was thick with gossip, perhaps even more than the perpetual smell of instant coffee and those little space heaters clicking away under every desk. The job itself was routine and uninspiring: ringing up clients, printing invoices, endless cups of tea. To stave off boredom, we all found our own little ways to keep entertained.
Leading the charge in office theatricsand simultaneously ruling over the team with tyrannical flairwas Natalie Brightly. Pushing fifty, with bright auburn hair tightly curled and a mountain of costume jewellery that jingled with every stepa walking Christmas tree if ever you saw one. Natalie was convinced life had been uniquely cruel to herhusband gone, son lounging about at home, and the wage of a mid-level manager barely stretching to cover bills, let alone any sort of excitement. But a year earlier, after a mysterious trip to some distant village in Somerset to visit an old wise woman, Natalie declared shed finally found her purpose. My channels opened, she told us.
I see everything now, girls, shed whisper conspiratorially, her voice dropping low. My energy is off the charts. The wise woman said, Natalie, youre a conduit. Now Im like an X-raypeople are transparent to me.
At first, we all thought it harmless, if a little eccentric. Shed make pronouncements to poor Linda, our accountant eternally on a new diet, Linda love, your livers a bit dodgy, I can see it. Linda would scoff, My livers just fine, Natalie, thanks. But Natalie needed witnessesan audience. It was never enough for her to keep her insights to herself.
This morning, she was especially enigmatic. After sweeping the room with her long navy anorak and adjusting her enormous spider-shaped brooch, she settled at her desk and shot a laser-eyed stare straight at Margaret, our indomitable Head of Salesa formidable woman with nerves of steel, running the team for nearly a decade and never one for nonsense.
Whats the stare for, Natalie? Margaret asked, not looking up from her computer. Any luck with clients today?
Margaret, Natalie intoned, her voice full of tremulous significance, forgive me, but I cant keep quiet. I can see itthe accident. On the motorway. Its your car, isnt it? That little Ford? Total write-off. Theres blood, loads of blood. Youd best be careful this weekend, if youre driving anywhere.
The room fell utterly silent. You could hear the ancient fridge humming by the filing cabinets. Margaret slowly set her keyboard aside and shot Natalie such a look, the older woman actually flinched.
Listen, you phoney Pythia, Margarets tone was calm but razor-sharp, if I hear one more word about my family or my car out of that mouth, Ill wring every last bit of your energy out the window. Understood? Just get on with your work.
Natalie pouted and fussed with her paperwork, her brave spell lasting all of ten minutes before she homed in on Emma.
Emmajust Emma to us allwas new to the office. All of twenty-three, with a face as cherubic as a childs and messy blond hair that never quite stayed tidy. Seven months pregnant, she waddled about, glowing and gentle, always cradling her belly and talking softly to her unborn. Her husband was a lorry driver, and Emma counted the days till hed return so they could head to the hospital together. Everyone doted on herbiscuits slipped her way and the sort of kindness reserved for expectant mothers.
Natalie, sensing her moment, fluttered as soon as Margaret went for her cigarette on the steps.
Emma darling, she cooed, Ive been thinking about you all morning. Pop over here, take a seat.
Emma hesitated, but politeness is hard to refuse in the face of older authority.
Yes, Mrs Brightly?
Dont be alarmed Natalie took Emmas hand in both of hers, shut her heavy-lidded eyes and sighed deeply. Oh, the light around youits pink, lovely really. But there, a patch of darkness. A black vortex, Emma. Twisting around your middle.
Emma snatched her hand away, cheeks flaming red.
What are you saying? she stammered, voice small and scared.
Just the truth, pet. Whens your due date? Natalie put on her most tragic expression. Itll be hardvery hard. I see itthe doctors wont save your baby. Prepare yourself. Wear a cross, have a blessing said for you.
This was beyond eccentricity. It was simply cruel. Tears welled up in Emmas eyes as she wrapped her arms protectively about her bump.
How can you say such things? Youre just mean!
Im not mean, Im honest, Natalie snapped back.
And who asked you, you old bat?! Linda couldnt take it anymore, slamming her folder onto the desk. Are you trying to give the poor girl a heart attack? What if she falls ill?
What? All I did was warn her, Natalie tried to wriggle from the moment. She should have had a termination, while it was early. Too late now, its in Gods hands.
That was the last straw. Emma, who had only been crying before, straightened her back. The tears still shone on her cheeks, but now her eyes flashed with fury. She glared up at Natalie, and for maybe the first time, Natalie shrank.
Well, have you nothing to say? Natalie muttered.
You know what, Mrs Brightly, Emma began, trembling but no longer with fear, Ive some talents of my own, it turns out. Since Ive been pregnant, happened quite suddenly. We see things, you know. And now, staring at you, its clear as anything
What exactly do you see? Natalies voice, usually so shrill, cracked.
I see you, Natalie Brightly, growing very, very old. Into your nineties, easily, if not more, Emma replied. So dont worryplenty of life ahead.
Well, thats good, Natalie forced a weak smile, uncertain.
It is, Emma said, stroking her belly. But your son, Michael, I see a different fate. Far darker than your black vortex.
Natalie went pale. She leapt up, fists clenched.
Youhow dare you?! Stop this!
No, its your turn to hear the truth, Emma advanced. I see Michaelyour darling boydying young, not from illness, not from an accident but, oh, foolishly. Youll have no grandchildren, no legacy. Youll end up alone. Sorry, but thats how it is. Just the truth, as you insist.
The explosion that followed could have been heard at Oxford Circus. Natalie shrieked, her spider brooch bouncing with the force of her distress. You witch! How dare you curse my Michael?! Ill!
She lunged at Emma, hands balled into fists, but Margaretreturning from her smokeswung into action, grabbing Natalie by the arm.
Enough! Both of you! Margaret roared, and the glass partitions trembled.
Margaret, did you hear her? She cursed my Michael! Right to my heart, she did! Shes mad, shes pregnant, how can she say such things about my only child?
Margaret took in both womenEmma, standing defiant but pale, and Natalie, sobbing and dramatic.
And did you not hear her curse me and my baby? Emma said, her voice shaking. She told me Id lose my child, that Id have a hard birth, that the doctors couldnt help. Thats not a little thing.
Thats different! Natalie shrieked. I meant fate, she meant a living personmy boy!
Doesnt matter, Natalie. You said what you did about Emma, and her child is as precious as your Michael. Linda butted in. Stop playing favourites.
Margaret tried to regain control, but the room had split. The men, usually keep their heads down, poked from behind their monitorssome with grim humour, some clearly supportive of Emma.
Oksanaskinny, sharp-tongued, and Natalies constant echosniped, Well, Emma, that was a bit much. I mean, of course Natalie went too far, but youre pregnantshouldnt you be the kinder one?
It served her right. Always running her mouth, muttered Victor, our senior programmer, who couldnt stand Natalie. And shes always had a nasty word about someone elses children. Or has everyone forgotten already?
Arguments flared. Margaret banged the table and shouted, Enough! Natalie, go sort yourself out. Emma, sit down and drink some water.
Natalie snivelled, demanding apologies, that her aura had been torn and shed have to pray for her son all day, but Margaret was implacable. If you dont shut it, youll see the managing director before lunch.
Defeated, Natalie tried to save face but the spell was broken. Emma sat shivering, clutching her water glass, Linda beside her.
You alright, love? Do you need the doctor? Want to go home? Linda asked gently.
Emma shook her head. I dont know what came over me. I barely realised I was speaking. I never meant that about Michael, it was awful…
Its not the worst thing. She put a curse on your child, you gave her back what she deserved. Means: mirror curse. Sometimes, people need a taste of their own poison, Linda concluded.
But Michael hes just her useless son. I feel ashamed now.
Hell survive. Five years living off his mum, apparently. Maybe your prophecy will only come true if she stops feeding him! Linda quipped, but softened when Emma gave her a worried look.
By the afternoon, Natalie sulked at her desk, ringing Michael up dramatically for all to hear: Its Mum. Are you alright? Promise me youll stay home! Someones cursed you. Ill send you enough for a takeaway, just dont leave the house.
Somebody suggested she buy him a bulletproof vest, just in case. Natalie told him where to go.
No one was getting anything done. Margaret took Emma aside, and Emma, halting and blushing, confessed everythingbeing told she should have had an abortion, the black vortex, and her angry outburst. I know I was stupid, Margaret. But when she started, it just snapped inside me. I didnt realise the words till Id said them.
Margaret sighed, lighting a cigarette by the window. It was stupid. But shes even stupider. Truth is, shell play the victim now, tell everyone youre the villain who buried her son, and half this lot will remember only what you said about Michaelbecause everyone has a child. You cant beat Natalie at her own game, shes been playing for years.
Emma began to sob. Margaret gave her a brief, awkward pat on the shoulder. Enough crying. It isnt good for the baby. Go home. Say your blood pressure spiked. Ill cover for you.
As Emma put on her coat, Natalie was lurking by the corridor. Leaving already? Guilt got to you? she spat. My Michael will live, but your brats doomed! Ill make sure of it, I see just as much as I always have.
Emma squared her shoulders and tried to keep her voice steady. You need help, Mrs Brightly.
Oh, youll need help soon enough! Natalie hissed, shaking her finger.
Standing under the freezing February sky, Emmas shoulders finally slumped. She felt rotten, full of guilt she knew she didnt deserve, but Margarets warning stung the most: people would remember her words, not Natalies.
The next morning, the atmosphere had curdled. The Natalie camp, led by Oksana and two other bored, gossipy sorts, loudly ignored Emma. They gathered at Natalies desk, their whispers rising in deliberate waves meant to reach Emma.
I went to church last night, lit a candle for Michael, Natalie orated. Told the vicar everything. He said it was a grave sinto wish death on the living, especially while pregnant. Her baby wont be born, mark my words.
Quite right, Mrs Brightly, Oksana stoked her. Shes young and thoughtless. If only shed apologiseyou should forgive her.
Forgive her? I cant sleep! All I see is something terrible happening to Michael. I ring every hourhes getting annoyed but I cant stop!
Linda finally snapped, Oh, come off it, Natalie! Forgotten what you said to Emma? Or are your talents giving you amnesia?
Wasnt talking to you, Linda! You always take her side, youre as cold-hearted as she is.
Emma handled calls with professionalism but her hands kept trembling. By lunch, she felt faint and her belly started to ache. Phoned her husband, but he was somewhere up near Manchester on delivery. Eventually, she went to Margaret, pale as a ghost.
Margaret, I think I need an ambulance. Somethings wrong.
Margaret leapt into action. Linda! Call 999! Emmas in trouble! The office scrambled, getting water, opening windows. Only Natalie stayed rigid at her desk, an unmistakable look of satisfaction flickering across her face. Linda caught it and lost her temper.
What are you so pleased about? Got what you wanted? Happy now?
Natalie stammered denial, but there was panic in her eyes. I only said what I saw.
Shut up, Natalie! Margaret barked.
Paramedics arrived after fifteen minutes: threatened miscarriage due to severe stress. Emma was in tears as they carried her out, hands clutching her bump.
After the ambulance left, nobody spoke. They all drifted back to their desks, attempts at work futile. The next call was from Emmas husbandEmma was admitted to hospital, bleeding, but, so far at least, her baby had been saved.
Natalie wandered in teary-eyed and exhausted the next day, trying to play for sympathy and saying, I only meant well, how was I to know she was that fragile? You all come for me, but Im still a person
Youre not a person, Natalie, Linda replied levelly, Youre poison. You sit here and slowly rot everyone with your gifts. Remember Laura in accounts? Predicted her husband was cheating and she nearly jumped out the window? Or that Vitaly would break his leg, and he actually ended up in A&E a week laterwhat was that for?
I just predict! I cant be blamed if it comes true! Natalie gasped.
Margaret emerged. Just got off the phone with Emmas husband. Hes threatening to suefor threats and causing physical harm. Well all be witnesses. About your remarks regarding abortion, the childs deathall of it.
Natalies face drained of colour, her fiery hair now only a beacon of shame.
A lawsuit? This is madness! I was being friendly
You ruined lives in friendship, Margaret said coldly. Pack your things. The managing director already knows. Collect your pay, but dont let us see you here again. Tell your tales in court if you want.
She tried to make a scenenobody watched. Even Oksana ignored her, pretending to check order forms. For the first time in her life, Natalie Brightly was left without an audience, without a stage. Her gift had finally backfired.
She left in silence, and only as she reached the door did Linda call after, Natalie! Better get yourself checked outI see a disease so bad, even the doctors cant save you!
The door slammed. Someone tittered nervously. Margaret shot Linda a look.
Not your finest, Linda.
I just told her the truthwe all have our own third eye now! Linda shrugged.
Oh, enough, you sound like a market fishwife, Oksana sniffed, but her bravado was rattled. Without Natalie, even Oksana was lost. Fifteen years working here, and youre celebrating.
You could always go after her, Oksana, Linda shot back. Shell tell you your Robs a scoundrel and that youll soon go bald with worry. Fancy that?
Oksana muttered something and hunched lower over her keyboard.
Margaret gazed out the window at the drab, snow-dusted court. She thought of Emma in hospitalhow close things had come, how fragile the calm could really be. Forty years old, a heart complaint, and running a team of overgrown children not much fun after all. She turned to the team.
Right. Everyone: work. Only phones and typing for the next hour. Any complaints, keep them outside. Any problemmy office. Understood?
Mumbled assent. Somehow, the air felt cleanerperhaps scrubbed of all those swirling resentmentsand work resumed. Even Oksana dove into her calls with shocking energy.
Late in the day, news came through Emmas husband Nick: Doctors cleared Emma, baby safe, home tomorrow bed rest mandatory. He sent greetings to all, except well, you know who.
Thank God for that, muttered Auntie Jean, our elderly cleaner, as she mopped the floor. Had enough of all your fortune-telling in here to send my ticker wild.
Later, once nearly everyone had left, Linda lingered. Margaret stopped by.
Not going home?
I hated her, MargaretI did. Really hated her, right here, she tapped her chest. But now? I just feel sorry. Shes an idiot, of course. Lost her husband, her sons workshy, had nothing left but her gift and her gossip. Where will she go now, fifty years old, and like that? Another office? Theyd have her marched out before the week was up.
Margaret sighed. Dont waste your pity, Linda. Natalies of the world arent sad because life mistreats them. They cant live any other waythey need to hurt someone to feel better themselves. She pitied herself enough for all of us.
Linda nodded. Maybe so. Still feels rotten, though
Go home, Linda. Theres always tomorrow.
* * *
The next morning, Linda gathered a few of usEd, Victor and a couple of othersand we clubbed together for a huge cake. We headed over to see Emma. As for Natalie Brightly, we simply chose not to mention her much anymore. If someone from upstairs asked what happened to the red-haired lady, wed just exchange knowing looks: Her third eye opened. So they closed it, along with the door.Emma answered the door in her slippers, her eyes still tired but lighter, arms instinctively drawing over her belly as we sang out an off-key surprise! Linda presented the cakepink icing, thick as plaster, with wonky letters spelling WELCOME HOME EMMA & BUMP. Emmas laugh, small but genuine, filled the cramped front hall and for a moment, we all remembered the world wasnt just beige walls and copier toner.
Inside, Nick bustled about making tea, hovering as if he might shoo us out if we overstayed her strength. Theyre a daft lot, Em, but good people, he said, half-gruff, laying out chipped mugs. No one mentioned the office, or curses, or anything to do with second sight. Instead, we talked about names for the baby and the way the daffodils had started pushing up through the frost in the allotments.
Before we left, Emma said quietly, When I was lying in hospital last night, I started to think maybe all that bad feeling just needed stopping. Not fighting it, not cursing back justending it right there. She smiled, pale but steady. So Ive decided: when I go back, I want to start over. I want my baby surrounded by kindness. I dont have room for any more darkness.
Linda squeezed her hand, choking up. Well keep you safe. Promise.
As we walked back to the station, the evening light slanting gold on wet pavements, Margaretwhod come along at the last minute, coat thrown over her office suitpaused at the crossing.
You know, she said, looking at each of us in turn, I always thought it was Natalie who brought the thunder with her gloom. But it only ever thundered because we listened. She smiled, rare and sincere. Emmas right. Time for a new kind of weather.
And it was. By the time we left, the city air had shed a little of its weight, and as we walked on, clutching our empty cake box, it felt just for a moment as though spring might finally reach the basement at TechProone kindness, one stubborn hope, at a time.
