“Tell Me My Fortune, Grandma”
“Whats the matter, my love? You look so sad,” Margaret Wilson murmured, settling across from her granddaughter and studying her face. “Dont you like the soup? I can make you some bangers and mash instead.”
“No, Gran. Im not hungry,” Emily mumbled, barely glancing up before stirring her soup absently with the spoon.
“Somethings bothering you. Talk to me. Maybe I can help,” Margaret said gently.
Emily sighed and set the spoon down.
“All the girls at uni dress so nicelyso trendy. And I look like something out of a charity shop. They dont laugh at me to my face, but Im not stupid. I can tell. The lads dont even glance my way,” she admitted, her voice tight.
“Because of your clothes?” Margaret asked.
“Thats part of it. Im frumpy. Outdated.”
“Who told you such nonsense? Youre the loveliest girl I know. Theyre just jealous. As for clothesIll get my pension tomorrow. Well go shopping, get you a nice dress.”
“No, Gran,” Emily shook her head. “I want proper jeans, designer ones. Do you know how much they cost? And what would we live on? I shouldve gone part-time. Got a job. Wed manage better.”
Margaret frowned. “Dont be silly. While Im alive, youll study properly. What kind of education is part-time? Youll have plenty of time to work later. The ones who laugh are small-minded. Clothes dont make the person.”
“Who even cares about a good degree these days? Youre so old-fashioned, Gran. Maybe I could still find a little job?” Emily ventured.
“Dont even think about it,” Margaret said firmly. “Theyll stop my pension top-up if you switch. Every penny counts.”
Emily dropped her gaze. It was pointless. Gran didnt understand how humiliating it was at nineteen to wear her mums old skirt and a reshaped blouse. They were finejust not fashionable.
“Eat up. Ill think of something. Got an idea,” Margaret said, rising and heading to her room.
Emily heard the rustle of fabric, the creak of the wardrobe door. When she finally peeked in, Margaret was sitting on the bed, staring out the window.
“Gran, Im sorry,” Emily whispered, sinking beside her and wrapping her in a hug.
“For what, love? Youre right. You need a proper coat, some boots…” Margaret sighed.
“Gran, dont you dare borrow money. Wed never pay it back,” Emily pleaded.
“I wont. Ive got Grandads ring. The one with the yellow stone. Doubt youd wear it anyway. Ill take it to the pawnshop tomorrow. You still havent eaten?” Margaret fretted.
“Ill finish later. Just… tell me my fortune?”
Margaret turned sharply. “What nonsense is this? Im no fortune-teller.”
“You are, Gran,” Emily insisted softly. “Mum said you predicted Dad for her.”
“When did she tell you that?” Margaret blinked.
“She did,” Emily pressed.
“You young ones always want to know everything beforehand. But why? Fates written at birth. She doesnt like being tricked or spied on. And fortunes? Even if I saw something bad, I wouldnt sayyoud worry and draw it to you.”
“Then tell me something good,” Emily coaxed, smiling.
“I dont need cards to know youll be fine. Just wait a bit.”
“Come on, Gran, whats the harm?” Emily nestled closer, eyes wide.
“Oh, you little fox. Fine.” Margaret fetched a fresh deck from the drawer. “Sit at the table.”
She smoothed the lace tablecloth, shuffled the oversized cards with practiced ease. “Think hard about your hearts desire,” she instructed.
Emily held her breath, watching as Margaret laid the cards face-down, then flipped them one by one, pausing to study each. Finally, she smiled.
“See? Two sevens side by side. Youll meet your true love soon. Very soon.” She tapped two more. “The young King of Diamonds and you, together. So many pairsthats rare.” Her smile faltered.
“What? What is it?” Emily urged.
“Its fine. Dont rush me. The clubs… troubles ahead. But what life hasnt got those? No joy without sorrow. Lose one thing, gain another,” Margaret murmured, her voice steady.
Emily listened, memorizing every word.
“Gran, can I ask”
“Enough. You got your answer, didnt you? Loves comingyou saw it yourself.” Margaret swept the cards away. “Put the kettle on.”
Over tea, Emily kept circling backwhat about the king? What troubles?
“He works for the government, young. The cards dont say more,” Margaret deflected.
“The worriesyoure not in danger, are you?” Emilys voice cracked.
“Dont fret. Ive lived my life. Yours will be happythats all you need to know. I warned you Im no good at this.”
The next day, Emily walked to uni lighter, ignoring the snickers about her clothes. Love wasnt about fashionGran had said so.
But on her way home, the police car outside her building sent her sprinting.
“Emily, love, such awful news” Mrs. Harris from downstairs blocked her path, dabbing reddened eyes with a handkerchief.
“Whats happened? Wheres Gran?” Emily shoved past.
Her heart pounded as she took the stairs two at a time. The flat door hung ajar. Inside, drawers gaped, belongings strewn. A uniformed officer stood.
“Emily Wilson?”
“Yes. Wheres Gran?”
“Detective Sergeant Collins. Your grandmother, Margaret Wilson… A neighbor found her. She was struck, but lightly. It was her heart that gave out.”
Emily clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Sit.” He guided her to the sofa, fetched water. “She collected her pension in cash?”
“Y-yes. Hated cards,” Emily whispered.
“Was anything valuable taken? Jewelry? Money?”
Emily scanned the room. “No. Last night, Gran mentioned pawning Grandads ringgold with a yellow stone. Not worth much. She was getting her pension today…”
“Neither money nor the ring were on her. The thief likely followed her from the post office or pawnshop. Too many witnesses outside, so he came up…”
“So she died for a few quid?” Emilys tears splashed onto her shirt.
“Well find him,” Collins vowed.
“Was Gran… did she argue with anyone?”
Emily shook her head violently. “Everyone loved her. Even that drunk, Mikeshed give him beer money.”
“Mike…?”
“Flat 21. But he wouldnt” Emily broke into sobs.
The questions blurredparents? studies? She answered mechanically.
Mrs. Harris helped tidy up, took Emily in, but she returned to the flat that night. Gran would worry if she wasnt home. Then she remembered.
Theyd only had each other since the crashher parents on the front seat of the bus that ran a red light.
At dawn, Emily woke to the crushing truth. She spotted Grans glasses on the telly and automatically tucked them into their case. Always misplacing them.
Collins returned at eleven. Neighbors had pooled money for the funeral. He guided her through arrangements.
At the wardrobe, Emily froze. The navy dresslast year, Gran had refused to wear it to a friends birthday. “Save it for my funeral,” shed said. Emily had scolded her then.
Now she folded it carefully into a bag.
The funeral passed in a haze. The next day, she attended one lecture, then withdrew to part-time studies. She took a job at the corner shop, stocking shelves. The cashiers all knew Gran.
Collins visited often. One day, he caught the thiefbut the ring was long sold.
“Emily, I… fancied you the moment I saw you. I know the timings rotten, but… Im here if you need me.” He saved his number in her phone.
Handsome in his uniform.
They went to the cinema on her day off. He talked about his mum remarrying, his little sister, his law studies.
She said yes when he proposed.
That night, Emily stared at Grans photo, recounting the newsthen remembered the fortune. The frown. The warning about loss.
“You knew, didnt you? Said you couldnt tell fortunes. I love him, but not at this price. Why didnt you warn me?”
In the frame, Grans smile was soft, knowing. Alive.
