The air in the small, cluttered kitchen hung heavy with the scent of tea and something boiling on the stove. Edith Whitmore, her silver hair knotted into a loose bun, settled across from her granddaughter, her eyes sharp despite their age.
“What’s troubling you, my love? Youve barely touched your soup,” she murmured, nudging the bowl closer. “Shall I fry up some bangers and mash instead?”
“No, Nan. Im not hungry,” Emily muttered, stirring the spoon absently.
“Somethings eating at you. Out with itdont bottle it up.”
Emily exhaled and set the spoon down.
“All the girls at uni, theyre so put together. Designer jeans, proper coats. I look like Ive raided a charity shop. The lads dont even glance at me.”
“Clothes?” Nan frowned.
“Partly. Im behind. Frumpy.”
“Whos filling your head with such rot? Youre lovely. Theyre just jealous. Tell you whatmy pension comes in tomorrow. Well get you something nice.”
“No, Nan.” Emily shook her head. “I want proper denim, the real stuff. Do you know how much that costs? Wed be skint for weeks. I shouldve gone part-time. Got a job.”
Nans face hardened. “Nonsense. Youll finish your degree proper. Evening classes? Not for my girl. And those laughing at you? Small-minded, the lot. Clothes dont make the woman.”
“Who even cares about degrees now?” Emily muttered.
“Dont you dare think of dropping out. The council stops my top-up if you do. Every penny counts.”
Emily slumped. Pointless. Nan didnt get how humiliating it was at nineteen, wearing her mums old skirt and a jumper shed sewn up herself. Decent, yesbut not *now*.
“Eat. Ill think of something.” Nan rose and shuffled off, the floorboards creaking underfoot.
From the other room came the rustle of drawers, the thud of a cupboard door. When Emily peeked in, Nan sat by the window, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Nan, Im sorry” Emily sank beside her, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders.
“For what, pet? Youre right. You need proper things. A coat. Boots.”
“Nan, dont you dare borrow money. Well never pay it back.”
“I wont.” Nan patted her knee. “Got Grandads ring. Youd never wear it. Ill pawn it tomorrow. And finish your dinner.”
“Later.” Emily swallowed. “Tell my fortune instead.”
Nan stiffened. “What rubbish is this? Im no fortune-teller.”
“You are. Mum said you predicted Dad for her.”
Nan blinked. “Whend she tell you that?”
“She did.”
“You youngstersalways wanting to know whats ahead. But fates written, love. It doesnt like being cheated. Divinations dangerous. Even if I saw ill, I wouldnt saydwelling on it makes it real.”
“Then tell me something good.” Emily grinned.
“Without cards, Ill say this: youll be alright. Patience.”
“Go on, Nan. Whats the harm?” Emily nudged her, eyes glinting.
“Oh, you little fox. Fine.” Nan heaved herself up, fetched a fresh deck from the sideboard. “Sit proper.”
She smoothed the lace tablecloth, shuffled the cards with practiced ease.
“Think hard on your hearts desire,” she instructed.
Emily held her breath as Nan laid them outslow, deliberate. The cards were larger than usual, gilt edges catching the light.
Nan studied them, then smiled.
“See here?” She tapped two. “Two sevens side by side. Loves coming, and soon.” Her finger moved. “Young king of diamondsthats him. And you, right there. Pairs everywhere. Rare, that.” Her brow furrowed.
“What? What is it?”
“Nothing dire. Just spadessome trouble ahead. But lifes not all roses, is it? No joy without sorrow. Lose one thing, gain another.” Her voice was steady, almost chanting.
Emily listened, memorising.
“Nan, can I ask”
“Enough. Got your answer, didnt you? Loves coming. Soon.” Nan swept the cards up. “Put the kettle on.”
They drank tea, Emily pestering about the king.
“Works for the Crown, young. Thats all theyll say,” Nan deflected.
“The troubleits not you, is it?”
“Whats got you spooked? Ill be fine. Lived my life. Yoursll be happy. Thats all you need to know.”
Next morning, Emily floated to uni. Let them sneer at her thrift-shop skirtshe knew better now. Love wasnt about labels.
After lectures, she dawdled home, basking in the rare sununtil she saw the police car. Neighbors clustered like startled pigeons.
“Emily, love, terrible news” Mrs. Higgins from downstairs clutched a damp hankie.
“Nan? Wheres Nan?” Emily shoved past, heart hammering.
The flat door hung ajar. Inside, drawers yawned open, belongings strewn. A policeman stood.
“Emily Whitmore?”
“Yes. Wheres my Nan?”
“Sergeant Lewis. Your grandmother, Edith Whitmore”
“Is she ill? Whys everything? Nan!”
“A neighbor found her. Struck on the head, but lightly. Heart gave out.”
Emily clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Sit.” He guided her down, fetched water. “Did she collect her pension in cash?”
“Y-yes. Hated cards.”
“Anything valuable missing? Jewelry? Money?”
Emily scanned the room. “Her ring. Grandads. Gold with a yellow stone. She meant to pawn it today.”
“Neither was on her. Likely marked her at the post office or the pawnbrokers. Too many witnesses outsidefollowed her home.”
Emilys tears splashed her lap. “For her pension?”
“Seems so. Well find him.”
“Nan never hurt anyone. Even old Mickshed give him beer money.”
“Mick?”
“Flat 12. But he wouldnt” Her voice cracked.
Later, Mrs. Higgins helped tidy, took her in. But Emily returned to the flat at nightNan would worry if she wasnt home. Then she remembered.
Theyd been alone since the crash. Parents gonea minibus ran a red light, plowed into a lorry. Front seats. Mum died instantly; Dad lingered a day.
At the funeral home, Emily chose Nans navy dressthe one shed refused to wear last year, saying, “Save it for my coffin.” Emily had scolded her then.
Now she folded it carefully, numb.
Sergeant LewisDanielchecked in often. Brought groceries. One day, he admitted theyd caught the thief. Confessed everythingbut the ring was long sold.
“Emily,” he blurted once, “Ive wanted to sayI like you. Since that first day. If you ever need anything” He saved his number in her phone.
They went to the cinema. He talkedstepdad, a little sister, studying law. Wanted to be a detective.
He was steady. Kind. When he proposed, she said yes.
That night, whispering to Nans photo, Emily recalled the fortune. The frown. The warning.
*You knew, didnt you? Said you couldnt tell fortunes. Id have kept you safe.*
In the frame, Nans smile was soft, knowing. Almost alive.
