And then she turned it over and took to peering up Jim’s sleeve. “Could you draw back your shirt cuff?” she asked.
Jim drew back his shirt cuff.
“Up to the elbow.”
Jim drew his shirt cuff up to the elbow.
“Utterly remarkable,” said Madame Crowley, sinking back into her chair. “I have never seen anything quite like that before.”
“Is it bad?” Jim asked, examining his palm.
“I really don’t know if it is,” Madame Crowley beckoned back the palm of the peering Pooley. “You see,” she continued, pointing at it with her thumb, “you have two lifelines.”
“Two?” Jim leaned forward for a squint.
“Two. Here and here. This one,” and she pointed once again, “comes to a rather sudden halt.”
“Oh dear,” said Jim.
“But this one, this one runs right round to the back of your hand and vanishes up your sleeve.”
“Oh,” said Pooley, without the “dear” this time.
“Remarkable,” said Madame C. “Remarkable indeed.”
“But what does it mean?” Jim asked.
“It means—”
But now a knock came at the door.
“Mrs Crowley,” came a young man’s voice. “Can I come in, please?”
“No, sorry, dear, I’m with a client. What was it you wanted?”
“A clean towel, is all.”
“There’s new ones in the airing cupboard at the top of the stairs. Please take as many as you like.”
“Thank you, Mrs Crowley,” said the young man’s voice.
The mystic listened to the young man’s footsteps on the stairs. “I’m sorry about that,” she said to Jim. “It’s just the young gentleman who’s lodging with me for a couple of days.”
“Tourist?” Jim asked.
“I don’t think so. He says he’s here on family business, trying to locate an ancestor. Trace records, I suppose. He says he has a loose end he needs to tie up. I offered him a reading – I do the past as well as the future – but he said no. He said he had to deal with it himself.
“To tell the truth,” Madame Crowley whispered, “I didn’t much like the way he said it. But he keeps himself to himself, and I do need the money.”
Pooley shrugged an “it takes all sorts” sort of shrug.
“But let us address ourselves to your magical palm.”
“Just tell me what it means,” said Jim.
“It means the impossible,” said Madame Crowley. “It means that you will die very soon. But also that you’ll live for ever.”
Jim shook his sodden head. “That isn’t helping much,” he said. “But can you tell me this? Is it possible for a man to cheat his own fate?”
“Could you be a little more specific, dear?”
“Well,” said Jim, “I have it on very sound authority that I will do something in the future that will affect a great many lives. And not in a good way. Can I avoid doing this?”
“Indeed,” said the mystical lady. “If you have been granted the knowledge of what the thing is, the power is yours to avoid it. Is it something that can be avoided, dear?”
“It can,” said Jim. “But it would mean me giving up my life’s ambition. My chance to be rich.”
“Then if that is the price you must pay, you must pay it. To cheat one’s fate one must pay a heavy price.”
“So I must throw away my dreams,” Jim gave out with a sorry sigh.
“The choice would seem to be yours. The two lines are there upon your palm. The choice of which you choose is yours.”
“But which line is which?” Jim asked.
“I think that will all become clear, dear. I think that will all become clear.”
“All right, then,” said Jim. “If the choice is mine, I will make it.”
“Splendid, dear, then that will be five pounds.”
Pooley left the house of Madame Crowley five pounds lighter, but with head held high. He would make the right choice, he knew that he would. He would give up betting on the horses. It was the only way and Jim knew it. If he gave up betting, he could never win The Pooley. And if he never won The Pooley, then generations of Pooleys yet to come would have no name to live down and one of them would not come back into the past and bugger it all about.
“Dealt with,” said Jim. “And sorted too.”
And off he marched into the night.
Madame Crowley padded up her stairs and knocked upon her guestroom door. “I’m off to bed now, dear,” she called. “Was there anything further you wanted?”
“No thanks,” called back the young man’s voice. “I’m off to sleep myself now. I have to be up early in the morning.”
“Tracing that ancestor of yours?”
“Precisely,” said the voice.
Madame Crowley, her ear to the door, thought she heard a clicking from within. To her it was just a clicking sound and nothing more at all.
To a munitions expert, however, one trained to recognize the distinctive sounds of weapons being cocked, it would have been quite another matter.
Had such an expert heard that click, he (or she) would have recognized it at once as the sound of an AK47 being cocked.
“As long as everything’s all right, then, dear,” called Madame Crowley.
“It will be soon,” the voice called back. “Goodnight, Mrs C.”
“Goodnight, Wingarde dear,” said Mrs C.
The green tweeds of spring, with the first cuckoo’s note.
That calls through his beak, having come up his throat.
And it’s out with the rod and the line and the boat.
The green tweeds.
The bonny green tweeds.
The green tweeds of summer are calling me back.
The green tweeds I share with my brother called Jack.
Who lives in a box and peers out through a crack.
The green tweeds.
The bonny green tweeds.
The green tweeds of autumn, the nights drawing in.
The green tweeds are putrid and make the nose ring.
So it’s down the dry-cleaner’s and Elvis is King.
The green tweeds.
The bonny green tweeds.
The green tweeds of winter and Yuletide and that.
With old Father Christmas, all merry and fat.
And firesides and puddings and cheerful and chat.
The green tweeds.
The bonny green tweeds.
Let us drink and make merry
And raise up a glass.
And laugh and shout “Good-oh” and “Yippee”.
For I’ll wear those green tweeds
As my father before me,
Cos no bugger calls me a hippy!
Mad, yes.
10
“Green tweeds,” said Jim to John. “You’re back to your old green tweeds, I see.”
“They mocked the zoot,” said John to Jim. “So it’s back to the old green tweeds for me.”
It was the morning of the following day and they were in Omally’s kitchen. The kitchen looked much as it had done before. Though possibly just a tad worse.
“I’d offer you coffee,” said Omally, “but, as you know, I have just the one mug and it’s grown a mite furry of late.”
“No matter,” said Jim brightly. “I had a little water from my tap and it’s only an hour until opening.”
John looked his companion up and down. “You seem very chipper this morning,” said he. “Very chipper indeed.”
“I am chipper,” said Jim. “I have made a momentous decision and I want you to be the first to hear about it.”
“I am honoured,” said John. “So what is it?”
“I’ve given up betting on horses,” said Jim.
“Well, that’s highly commendable.” John nodded thoughtfully. “Hang on there, what did you say?”
“I’ve given up betting on the horses.”
John looked at Jim.
And Jim looked back at John.
“Oh, very funny,” said Omally. “You really had me going there.”
“No, John, I’m deadly serious. I’ve really given up.”
“You’ve given up on The Pooley?”