Psychic Space

Emma sat in the darkened room, elbows on the small table before her, head bowed with her fingers massaging her temples. Renacer was on her shoulder, scanning the space around him, and occasionally ruffling his feathers. Her last client had been difficult. It was not that, she had been an unpleasant person, it was that, Emma had had to tread carefully about the messages she gave her. There had been a lot of that lately. She was seeing things, which she didn’t understand, or futures, which were too painful to reveal in advance.

           Emma’s ‘gift’ had been with her ever since she could remember, but she had soon learnt to hide it. Born to ordinary, working class parents, living in a council house and attending a state school, her ability to see things, which others could not, had initially been viewed by those around her as an over active imagination. As she grew older, she became aware that, her down to earth mother discouraged, even dreaded mention of the shadowy people, who visited her daughter. At some point, it was suggested that she should see the family doctor. Dr Gibson gently asked the child about who she played with, and who her friends were. Emma answered confidently, giving detailed accounts of people who she could not have physically met. The doctor was concerned that, she might be suffering from a mental illness, and so made a referral to a child psychologist. Tests were carried out, and the consultant declared that he had found ‘nothing untoward, merely an extremely sensitive child.’         

           Initially, she had been puzzled when others could not see or sense the things that she could. Her playmates had taken to calling her ‘Batty Emma’. Sometimes, she spoke of things to come, and when events unfolded as she had predicted, she was baffled that her close associates were subsequently surprised. In consequence, she became guarded about what she said, always testing the water to ensure that, the majority around her were aware of the same things. As a child, she often felt lonely, and others perceived her as a solemn, thoughtful little girl. Things had improved for her when Renacer had descended from the sky, circled around her, and eventually settled, weightlessly on her shoulder. He had given her his name, and told her that he would be there for her if she was troubled, and that he was there to guide her. Nobody mentioned the large bird that often perched on her shoulder, so Emma assumed that, he was another of those things, which only she could see and so must not be spoken about.

Emma was now forty-eight years old. She was a petite, attractive woman with a mass of unruly blonde hair, wavy and streaked with grey, which surrounded her face like an aura, and tumbled down, onto her shoulders. Today, she wore brown leather trousers, matching ankle boots, a thin brown polo necked sweater, topped with a fawn, knitted tunic top. Early on, she had decided to resist the temptation to dress according to stereotypes. There were no flowing skirts, cheesecloth tops, hooped earrings and jangling bangles for her. Outside, it was a dull, bleak, cold January day, and she had chosen her current warm, attire from her fashionable wardrobe.

It was needed. Although, her room had central heating, it was in an old building, circa seventeenth century, and it was a challenge to keep the house up to temperature. Downstairs, the front door opened directly onto the pavement, and the bustling town centre street. The building’s receptionist sat behind a desk on the ground floor, and Emma wondered how she survived the cold draughts, at this time of year. Three professionals rented rooms in the property: a sports physiotherapist on the ground floor, Emma and a counsellor on the first floor. When giving a reading, Emma kept her room in semi-darkness, by closing a bamboo blind over the single window. She burnt nag champa incense sticks, giving an exotic perfume of sandalwood and frangipani to her space. Along with the small card table and chairs where she sat with her clients, the area also contained a high, narrow table, similar to the examination couches found in doctors’ surgeries, or treatment beds in beauticians. She used this when delivering healing and she had placed her brass Tibetan singing bowl and its wooden stick on it. One wall was covered with shelving, which housed her books, sets of tarot cards, rune stones, crystals and other paraphernalia, reflecting her lifelong interest in all things mystic. A lap top also sat on one of the shelves. Emma had her own website, which gave information about her background and services, and enabled her to take on-line bookings. Recently, she had ventured into delivering virtual consultations. She did not find these as successful as meeting an individual in person, but it increased her number of potential clients.           

           When Emma foresaw something, it surrounded the subject, appearing out of thin air. The best description which, she could give was that, she saw a translucent, moving picture, a little like a torch shining through old fashioned projector slides, but with movement, and occasionally sounds and smells also. The tarot cards, and sometimes the crystal ball, which she used were props. They helped her to focus, and the client to relax. She also saw spirits, and could communicate with these departed souls. However, she advertised herself as a ‘psychic’ rather than a spiritualist, preferring to work with predicting the future, than attempting to talk to the dead. It was emotionally draining working with grieving individuals, who were desperate for news of someone who had died. The weight of their grief oppressed Emma, leaving her deflated and exhausted. Nonetheless, often spirits would follow people into their appointment, and insist that she impart a message. Her clients were predominately female, a mixture of regulars and occasional visitors, some firm believers, others sceptics. Their motivations were equally varied, for instance: curiosity, needing hope or guidance, seeking a novel experience.

Her last client had been a regular, a local hairdresser whose salon was situated around the corner from Emma’s building. The initial image, which appeared had been the salon, deserted and shut. The vision shimmered and changed to the stylist’s home, and she was there with her husband and two grown up sons. They were all engrossed in varying activities: the hairdresser was doing yoga, the husband gardening, the boys playing computer games. Another shift and she was standing outside a front gate, talking to an older woman who stood inside the gate. There was a marked likeness between the two. Emma was tentative:

           ‘I wonder if you and Ray are considering taking a sabbatical from work?’ The answer was a definite ‘no’, followed by an explanation of why finances would prohibit this, Emma tried again.

           ‘I expect you and the family look forward to spending time together at the weekends.’ This was greeted with a snort of derision, followed by.

           ‘The boys are always round their girlfriends, and Ray spends most of his time on the golf course.’ Another try.

           ‘I can see a lady here, she looks very like you. Could it be your Mum?’

           ‘Everyone says we’re alike, so could be.’

           ‘You’re both standing, having a chat over the garden gate.’

           ‘No, that can’t be me and Mum. I always let myself into her house’

           Other consultations were even more puzzling, Emma had seen school aged children, sitting at home, apparently engaged on zoom calls with their teachers, a gym owner tidying away equipment and looking despondently around his empty premises, and a local bistro owner delivering meals to houses. More worryingly, she had been shown images of clients, who were currently sitting opposite her and apparently healthy, lying in hospital beds, surrounded by equipment, fighting for breath. Another session with a retired nurse, showed her in a large hall, giving queues of people injections. And a supermarket cashier’s reading took on a nightmarish quality, when it revealed a shop where staff and customers’ faces were all obscured by surgical masks, and customers were standing outside, forming a queue with their trollies, which snaked around the car park. She wondered if a major environmental disaster involving pollution was imminent. She asked Renacer what it all meant. He told her that the skies and roads would be quiet, that humans would be confined to their homes, and that wildlife would flourish. This was the disadvantage of having a kestrel as a guide; he gave a bird’s eye view of things.          

             Emma gave up trying to figure it out, shook her head, lowered her hands, pressed them on the table and stood. She went around her room, snuffing out the incense burners and checking that everything was unplugged, before shrugging on her coat and heading to the gym. She lived alone, and so there was no rush to go home. Her apparent ‘strangeness’ and the habit of keeping herself apart from her peers, had prevented her from finding a life partner, and also meant that she had few friends. This lack of close relationships left a void, which she filled by finding hobbies that, brought her into the proximity of others, but did not require intimate interaction with them. Tonight’s gym class was kick boxing. Other evenings, she joined the circuit training group, body pump class and used the gym’s pool.      

           Later that month, press reports began to appear of an emergent virus, which was killing people in China. In February, it became evident that the disease had spread across borders to other countries. The following month, the fatal consequences of the virus prompted several nations to order their citizens to stay at home, and the phrase lockdown was coined. Emma began to understand the meaning of her premonitions, and finally towards the end of March, the British government announced that, it was placing the country in lockdown. In practice, this meant that only essential shops were allowed to open, other businesses and schools closed, people were urged to work from home wherever possible, and were told to leave home only once per day for an hour to exercise. People were prohibited from meeting others except for crucial reasons, as specified by the Government. Financial support was offered to individuals and companies who were unable to work because of these measures. Emma looked into this, and realised that she would soon lose her home, business and be declared bankrupt if this remuneration was all she had to live on. Instead, she decided to continue to offer zoom consultations. She could check her work emails from home, but opted to continue to give the consultations from her room. Her reasons for this related to keeping work and personal life separate, her space in the house being set out to convey a definite, professional identity to clients, and being there enhanced Emma’s concentration. After a quiet start, the virtual bookings kept her busy. She believed that people were seeking reassurance about the future. Also, many were spending more time at home, which led to an increase in free time for appointments with her.         

By early July, England returned to a semblance of normality, non-essential shops, beauticians, pubs and restaurants reopened, albeit with rules around wearing masks and maintaining a two metres distance between each other. Emma and her colleagues resumed seeing their clients at the house. Hand sanitisers were placed strategically around the building, and the receptionist was instructed to only allow one person at a time through the front door. Emma recommenced face to face consultations alongside her zoom bookings. Later that month, she had a virtual appointment booked for the name of Dan. She put the laptop on her table, and sat down. Renacer appeared and perched companionably on her shoulder. She logged on, and a man’s face appeared on the screen. He was approximately ten years younger than her, with a spider’s web tattoo completely covering his shaven skull. The little that, Emma could make out of his surroundings, made her glad that she always used her room for professional sessions. His room was enclosed by pale grey walls, poorly emulsioned in a flaking, cracked gloss finish. There were a few posters of heavy metal bands sellotaped directly onto the paintwork. In places the adhesive tape had become yellow and brittle, and come unstuck, curling up, taking the corner of the poster with it. He appeared to be sitting on a tattered recliner, with the laptop, perched on his knee. He spoke with an Estuary accent.   

           ‘Lovely bird, kestrel ain’t ‘e?’ Previously, very few people had been able to see Renacer. Amazed, Emma could only nod in response, and then he said.

           ‘It’s alright girls, you can show yourselves.’ Immediately, his screen was filled with a whirling mass of colour. It took Emma a few seconds to realise that she was seeing butterflies. There were at least twenty, filling the screen, at times completely obliterating Dan’s face. They circled around the room like rose petals blown in the breeze. Gradually, one by one they came to rest, settling about Dan’s person, some on his arms, two on the spider’s web and a few on his chest.

           ‘Are these your guides?’

           ‘You could call ’em that.’ And then nodding towards Renacer. ‘You’ve ‘eard of bird brain ‘aven’t you? Well, you can imagine what this lot bring me.’ There was the sound of dry autumn leaves being gently moved by the wind. It was the butterflies rustling their wings, as if offended by Dan’s remark. Renacer also roused himself in indignation. Emma replied tactfully.

           ‘I sometimes think that I would find it easier to understand what a Red Indian Guide brought to me.’

           ‘Nah, all they’d show you is worries about where the water buffalo are, and white men with fire sticks.’ Their eyes met on the screens, and they laughed.  

           ‘I’m not quite sure why you need to talk to me, if you’re a seer.’

           ‘Cos, I’m seeing things and I can’t always trust what I see.’ With that he raised his left hand, revealing the unmistakable bruising of intravenous drug use on his inner arm. A cabbage blue rose up, flying so close to his face that, her wings brushed his cheek, almost like a lover’s fingers tenderly caressing their beloved. He did not need to explain in words what he had seen. Emma had also been visited by images of rows of ambulances waiting outside hospitals, unable to unload their seriously ill patients, presents lying unopened under Christmas trees, and care home residents sadly waving from their windows to relatives outside.

           ‘Do you think it’s coming back?’ She nodded disconsolately in response, and they exchanged a serious look. There was nothing more to be said, and so she moved the conversation on by asking.

           ‘So how long have your butterflies been with you?’ He answered by telling her that ‘the girls’, as he referred to his guides had joined him when he was a young boy. He went on to tell her how their appearance had led to him being labelled with a mental health diagnosis, which he had accepted until a friend had taken him to a spiritualist church. In turn, Emma recounted some of her past experiences. They chatted until it was nearly time for her next consultation. Finishing their conversation, they agreed to meet again. It was unusual for Emma to be able to connect with someone, and the encounter left her feeling satisfied, as though an unacknowledged need had been met.

Exactly a year after their previous meeting, the hairdresser again consulted Emma. In December, England had been returned to lockdown, and so from necessity this session was a virtual one. Emma and the laptop were in their usual positions A shimmering image of an attractive woodland area appeared, dotted amongst the trees were several log cabins, bunting and balloons decorated the area. Strung across the doorway of one of the cabins was a broad ribbon, and the hairdresser stood with scissors in hand, ready to cut it. Emma carefully began.

           ‘I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing, but it’s you in the countryside…’ She continued and described the vision in detail. The hairdresser was ecstatic.

           ‘That’s what I’ve been doing in lockdown. I’ve been looking for a piece of land to buy. My dream is to build a holistic retreat, where people can come and have their hair done, do some yoga, learn how to meditate, all things like that.’

When the hairdresser’s session finished, Emma decided to confer with Dan. They looked out at each from their respective screens. Renacer had taken up residence on Emma’s shoulder, and today had chosen to preen her hair. Dan’s girls had formed a colourful mosaic across his chest. 

           ‘’ow’re you doing?’

           ‘Yes, good, you?’

           ‘Yeah. Alright ta.’

           ‘I wanted to check in with you, ask what sort of things you’re seeing?’

           ‘Better stuff, but not until it’s warm and sunny.’

           ‘Me too.’   

And so Emma was reassured, she was not the only seer receiving hopeful premonitions.