The Bride and other short stories

Baby

The little kids always harrassed their mother. A boy and girl, both around five, clung to their mom, screaming loudly as she tried to hoard her unruly brood.

Other people in the bus, harrassed from the rigours of their commute, shot the woman with hostile looks.

Nisha smiled at the little munchkins, dug into her red purse and pulled out a candy bar. She addressed the mother, her pale blond hair sticking in all the directions, silently asking for permission to offer her candy.

At her surreptitious nod, she addressed the kids, "Candy?"

The kids pounced on her and she laughed. Their mother cut the bar in half and let them share, urging them to say thanks, but they were too busy wolfing down the chocolate.

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver!" The mother addressed Nisha.

"It was nothing, they must just be hungry," she sympathised with the woman.

"Oh yes, it's close to their dinner time, but I thought they could survive a bus ride. How wrong was I!" The woman said and Nisha laughed.

"This is my stop. Thanks again, you're so good with kids, I'm sure you would be a great mum." The woman grabbed her kids and stepped off the bus with a wave.

Nisha turned to the window, wishing so badly for the woman's words to come true.

Her stop was at an older section of London, deep in the part of Hackney gently bred women like her were warned about.

People were milling about the street as she stepped off the bus, pulling her coat together to ward off the November winds.

The dark pavement was darkened even further by recent rains, but she walked across a few streets and turned left. The street was lined with houses that had clearly seen better days.

Rubbish lined the streets and some of the houses were painted with graffiti.

She walked to house number eleven and rung on the brass knocker. The window had a sign proclaiming "Psychic", which suddenly sprang to life in red colour.

A woman in a housecoat and rollers stuck in her hair opened the door. "The door on the right", she mumbled, her lips not relinquishing the hold on a limp cigarette.

Nisha's nose curled at the cigarette smoke as she stepped inside the house, the interior also reeked of dust and neglect. The right-hand side door opened and a woman wearing a kaftan, who looked like she was in her sixties,  sprung out.

"Come in, come in! Excuse my appearance, I wasn't expecting anyone today!" She chirped, looking happy and exuberant, a turban on her head and her necklace and wrists adorned with beads.

"Or any other day, innit, Phyllis?" The cigarette lady chuckled loudly and Phyllis harrumphed and shut the door.

"So, what can I do for you, nice lady?" She bounded to the centre of the table which, perhaps unsurprisingly, held a dirty looking crystal ball. 

The rest of the room was filled with a paraphernalia of herbs, beads, feathers and other knick-knacks.  A tiny kitchen on the side housed dirty pans in the sink and a roll-up bed was laid in front of the kitchen.

She gingerly occupied a chair at the other end of the round, glass table.

Phyllis held her hand out and Nisha gingerly placed her own hand in it.

"Oi, I need payment before I say anything. This isn't a charity, innit?" Phyllis said and pointed to the sign next to her. It said, "Consultations 20 pounds, 10 pounds for an extra half hour." A small print below read: No Refunds, No Guarantees.