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The Psychic

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By Stephen O’Riordan

 

“Come on now Gráinne, give me something good.”

“That’s not how it works Deirdre. Psychic readings are complex. I can’t control what the universe sends me.”

“Yeah yeah. It’s €50 per reading. I want to get my money’s worth. Get on with it,” she grabbed Gráinne’s hands.

“What aspect of your life would you like me to look at?”

“The oul love life if you don’t mind.”

“At your age? You must be joking.”

“Excuse me I’m still in my prime. I’ll have you know there’s a good few men from the bingo who’d be glancing my way.”

“Alright.” Gráinne sighed as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

“Well don’t fall asleep. I want my reading.”

“Shhhh.” Gráinne furrowed her eyebrows, swayed and gasped. “I’m getting something. He will knock four times. The man you’re meant to be with will knock four times.” She opened her eyes.

Deirdre smiled. “Well he better last in bed longer than that.”

“Oh Jesus, God forgive me.”

“All I’m saying is if he’s meant to be my true love, then he better be carrying a heavy package.”

“The language coming out of your mouth.”

“Ah you’re no saint now Gráinne. I heard about you and Seán the butcher. It’s not pork sausages you’re going in to buy every Saturday morning.”

“How dare you. Throwing around idle gossip like that.” There came four knocks on the door. A handsome, young gentleman came in.

“How about that Gráinne? Four knocks, and he’s easy on the eyes as well.”

“The cheek of you, that’s my son. Keep your dirty paws off him.”

“Well I guess I should start calling you Mammy from now on so.”

“Deirdre I swear to God, you’ve some neck on you.”

“I know, and guess who’ll be kissing it tonight?”

“Get out!”

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