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the counter with my purchases, I noticed a fly
poster on the wall that read, BILLY MARTIN’S FANTASTIC FAIRGROUND
EXTRAVAGANZA: FUN FOR ALL THE FAMILY. Listed below were the various
rides and stalls available, and beneath that, Price Reductions for
Children and OAP’s. The fair promised to be in the area from
tomorrow, Sunday, for fourteen days.
    “Highlight of the year,” the shopkeeper said tongue in cheek.
He was around my age, with long black hair pulled into a
fashionable ponytail and wire-rimmed specs, the old National Health
variety, not so fashionable. Embroidered on the breast pocket of
his brown work coat was the word, “Genius”. Below that was his
name, David, printed on a grubby looking name badge.
    “It’s
held on the common, ‘bout fifteen minutes walk from here,” he said
placing my purchases in a bag, and sliding it across the counter.
“Think you’ll be going?” He suddenly narrowed his eyes. “You
wouldn’t be the geezer who’s staying at High Bank by any
chance?”
    “News
travels fast,” I said, disappointed my anonymity was
blown.
    “It’s a
small place. People talk. PC Morgan mentioned we had a celebrity
moving in, said you’re a singer songwriter. Never ‘eard of you
myself, but Morgan rates you; reckons you used to be able to rock
with the best of them.”
    Use of
the past tense had me frowning.
    “What
happened?” David asked, unintentionally twisting the knife. He
raised a hand. “Sorry mate, none of my business. If ever you’re at
a loose end, I drink at The Ship, here in the village.”
    “I’ll
bear it in mind,” I said.
    He
referred back to the forthcoming fair. “You really should treat
yourself.”
    I
re-appraised the poster. Amongst other things the show promised a
strongman, clowns, a high wire and trampoline act, and a
clairvoyant by the name of Madam Lee.
    I
suddenly found myself wondering if the clairvoyant might be able to
explain the unnerving tipper truck episode. Unlike the premonition
in which I’d foreseen the arrival of the brochure and my recent
feelings of déjà vu, all of which I’d pretty much forgotten about,
the thing with the tipper truck continued to play on my
mind.
    “Is Madam
Lee any good?” I asked with forced casualness.
    Dave
nodded his head emphatically. “My better half reckons she’s the
best in the business.”
    “What do
you think?”
    He
hesitated. “I prefer to reserve judgement.”
    “You’re a
sceptic in other words.”
    Resting
an elbow on the counter he said: “Let’s put it this way, if fortune
telling really is possible, then Madam Lee is probably the real
deal.”
    “Then I
might just pay her a visit,” I said with a grin.
    “You do
that, Mr O’Shea.”
    “Call me
John.”
    I grabbed
my groceries, and left.
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Gentleshaw was perched halfway up a ladder fixing a down pipe
when I returned from the village. He looked frozen. I offered to
make him a hot drink. He declined, saying he wanted to finish the
task before the light faded.
    “Procrastination is the thief of time,” he said quoting
Browning.
    “Let me
know if you change your mind about the drink,” I said, trying not
to shiver.
    He nodded
and continued working.
    I hurried
into the kitchen with Lennon shadowing me, switched on the kettle
and started unpacking the groceries. As I was doing so, I happened
to glance through the window and did a double take.
    A child
was out there, sitting in the gazebo at the bottom of the garden: a
little girl; no more than five or six, with angelic features and
pretty blonde hair. Dressed in a tailored brown coat, pale blue
skirt and matching bowed shoes, she cradled a thick grey blanket in
her young arms.
    I waved
to get her attention. She appeared not to see me. I started for the
back door with the intention of going outside to find out who she
was, but was distracted by the sound of the house phone ringing out
in the hall. It was Michelle calling.
    “Well if
it isn’t the great