an event that would change her life forever, an event that
would tear it apart and hurl it out of orbit. What it meant more
specifically, Storm couldn’t say, and that was even more unsettling. Did she
really know and wanted to spare Darcy the pain, or was she telling the truth?
The one comfort that she did offer was that Darcy could influence the
outcome herself. The future was not written in stone, she said, and Darcy’s
actions could force any one of a number of futures into being. That much, to
Darcy, seemed obvious. Perhaps, she told herself as her mind ran over the day
for the umpteenth time, she was placing too much stock in something that really
was as arbitrary as what amounted to a pack of laminated, mass produced
pictures with about as much psychic ability as the sausages she was planning to
cook for supper. She tried to focus on the positives of the day: with extra donations
and what the psychic event had brought in, they had made over four hundred
pounds. Amanda had taken it to put into the special bank account they had
opened – Darcy just didn’t trust herself not to lose it or accidentally use
some if it was lying around the house, thinking it was hers. It was
important to keep everything above board, so they had counted their takings in
the presence of the proprietor of The Sugar Cube, and Amanda would return in
the morning with a payment receipt showing that she had paid the whole lot into
the bank account so that it could be witnessed. They had agreed that it was the
way to go for all their events where they could, so that everything was as
transparent as it could be. The bank account couldn’t be accessed without special
permission and proof that the money was needed for something connected to the
cause – like an invoice from the US
hospital where they hoped Sophie would have her surgery. At times like
these, Darcy couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky she was to have Amanda; her
friend was worth her weight in expensive perfume and designer dress jewellery.
Closing the front door behind her
with a sigh, Darcy was about to unset the burglar alarm when she realised that
it wasn’t set. She had either forgotten or someone had beaten her home,
although it was only just gone two. The kids weren’t due to be picked up for
another hour and Ged was
supposed to be at work. She almost jumped out of her skin when his voice came
from the living room.
‘Is that you, light of my life?’
‘ Ged ! You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought we
had intruders.’ Darcy followed the voice and found him sitting in a chair with
his feet up on a stool reading the morning papers.
‘Intruders? Would they get in- tru-der-window ?’
‘Very funny.’ Darcy kicked his feet from the stool and perched on the end of it. ‘What are
you doing home?’
‘That’s a nice welcome.’
‘Seriously. You don’t look ill.’
‘I forgot some drawings so I
nipped back for them.’
‘You’re reading the newspaper.’
‘I know. I thought I’d grab my
break here instead of at work, seeing how I’d come all this way…. so, how was
the psychic?’
Darcy beamed, certain he would be pleased with her first efforts. ‘We made over four hundred
pounds today.’
‘ Yay … only another forty-four thousand, six hundred to go.’ Ged’s voice dripped with
sarcasm.
‘I can count,’ Darcy shot back,
her tone matching his. ‘We have raffle money to add to that, don’t forget. And
we’ve only just started; there’s lots to do over the
next few months.’
‘Hmmm.’ Ged buried his head back in the paper. ‘Some kid
called Harry Simmons phoned here after you.’
‘Oh, Julia’s son,’ Darcy said,
glad that Ged was now
reading the paper. She was certain she was blushing and just hoped her voice
sounded neutral enough not to arouse his suspicion. ‘Julia Simmons… you
remember her?’
‘Not especially,’ Ged replied without looking up.
‘Should I?’
‘I used to have a little bit to
do with
would tear it apart and hurl it out of orbit. What it meant more
specifically, Storm couldn’t say, and that was even more unsettling. Did she
really know and wanted to spare Darcy the pain, or was she telling the truth?
The one comfort that she did offer was that Darcy could influence the
outcome herself. The future was not written in stone, she said, and Darcy’s
actions could force any one of a number of futures into being. That much, to
Darcy, seemed obvious. Perhaps, she told herself as her mind ran over the day
for the umpteenth time, she was placing too much stock in something that really
was as arbitrary as what amounted to a pack of laminated, mass produced
pictures with about as much psychic ability as the sausages she was planning to
cook for supper. She tried to focus on the positives of the day: with extra donations
and what the psychic event had brought in, they had made over four hundred
pounds. Amanda had taken it to put into the special bank account they had
opened – Darcy just didn’t trust herself not to lose it or accidentally use
some if it was lying around the house, thinking it was hers. It was
important to keep everything above board, so they had counted their takings in
the presence of the proprietor of The Sugar Cube, and Amanda would return in
the morning with a payment receipt showing that she had paid the whole lot into
the bank account so that it could be witnessed. They had agreed that it was the
way to go for all their events where they could, so that everything was as
transparent as it could be. The bank account couldn’t be accessed without special
permission and proof that the money was needed for something connected to the
cause – like an invoice from the US
hospital where they hoped Sophie would have her surgery. At times like
these, Darcy couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky she was to have Amanda; her
friend was worth her weight in expensive perfume and designer dress jewellery.
Closing the front door behind her
with a sigh, Darcy was about to unset the burglar alarm when she realised that
it wasn’t set. She had either forgotten or someone had beaten her home,
although it was only just gone two. The kids weren’t due to be picked up for
another hour and Ged was
supposed to be at work. She almost jumped out of her skin when his voice came
from the living room.
‘Is that you, light of my life?’
‘ Ged ! You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought we
had intruders.’ Darcy followed the voice and found him sitting in a chair with
his feet up on a stool reading the morning papers.
‘Intruders? Would they get in- tru-der-window ?’
‘Very funny.’ Darcy kicked his feet from the stool and perched on the end of it. ‘What are
you doing home?’
‘That’s a nice welcome.’
‘Seriously. You don’t look ill.’
‘I forgot some drawings so I
nipped back for them.’
‘You’re reading the newspaper.’
‘I know. I thought I’d grab my
break here instead of at work, seeing how I’d come all this way…. so, how was
the psychic?’
Darcy beamed, certain he would be pleased with her first efforts. ‘We made over four hundred
pounds today.’
‘ Yay … only another forty-four thousand, six hundred to go.’ Ged’s voice dripped with
sarcasm.
‘I can count,’ Darcy shot back,
her tone matching his. ‘We have raffle money to add to that, don’t forget. And
we’ve only just started; there’s lots to do over the
next few months.’
‘Hmmm.’ Ged buried his head back in the paper. ‘Some kid
called Harry Simmons phoned here after you.’
‘Oh, Julia’s son,’ Darcy said,
glad that Ged was now
reading the paper. She was certain she was blushing and just hoped her voice
sounded neutral enough not to arouse his suspicion. ‘Julia Simmons… you
remember her?’
‘Not especially,’ Ged replied without looking up.
‘Should I?’
‘I used to have a little bit to
do with
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