An Unhappy Medium

Tony Carter had a busy Saturday ahead of him. His first port of call would be the Trafford Centre shopping mall, to collect his suit from the dry-cleaners. After that, he was booked on the golf course for 12 noon. Following an afternoon on the golf course, he would be dining out with his wife and her parents. Lots to do, he said aloud, on the drive to the shopping centre, lots to do.

He swung into the Trafford Centre car-park, heading for the front of the parking lot. He spotted one empty space on the first row. Perfect. In a shopping centre this size, you could walk for ten minutes from your car to the shops. He didn’t have time to spare today. This space was perfect.

Before he could manoeuvre into the space, a small beat-up car, came speeding into the car park, and darted into the vacant space. A woman in her forties got out and locked her car, in what was rightfully Tony’s space. She had a long, flowing, flowery dress, and beads around her neck. She reminded Tony of the 1960’s hippies. 

How dare she pinch his space? He shook his head. No, just no, I’m not having this, he said to himself, as he unbuckled his seat-belt. 

Tony was a successful, important man. He hadn’t got to where he was, as regional manager at the office, by letting other people walk all over him. He climbed out of his car.

‘Excuse me,’ he called out. ‘I was about to park there.’

The woman, half-turned towards him, and shrugged.

‘You’ll have to find another space, won’t you? There’s any overspill car-park over there, right at the back.’ She said.

Overspill car-park? He wasn’t about to park miles away in the overspill. His company car was a top of the range BMW. He loved the car and he wasn’t about to dump it in the overspill. This was his space, he was here first. He marched over to her, leaning in close, as he raged.

‘Look, love, move that heap of junk now. I’ve got a busy day today.’ He said.

‘A busy day? I’ve actually got work, now if you don’t mind-’ 

‘Work? What do you do here? You’re not on the beauty counter, are you?’ He laughed. 

‘I’m a fortune-teller, actually.’ She replied, glaring at him. ‘I have a booth near the food court.’

‘Oh, you’re one of those crack-pots. I should have guessed.’ Tony said. 

She raised her hand, two fingers pointing at him, and whispered, chanted, in a language Tony didn’t understand. 

‘Oh, what now? Have you cursed me?’ He laughed. 

‘You will see. You reap what you sow, Tony.’ She said.

‘How do you know my name?’ Tony said, startled. 

‘There’s a storm brewing.’ She said.

Leaving Tony reeling from the altercation, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and walked away, towards the entrance to the mall. 

By the time Tony reached the golf course, he had forgotten all about the incident with the fortune-teller. He was more focused on the round of golf, and making sure he bested all his friends. Life was all about the competition, if you were not competing against everyone else, then what the point? As the game of golf got underway, his mobile phone rang. Anne, his wife’s name, flashed up on the screen. He rolled his eyes. Could she not give him five minutes to himself? She knew he had golf with the lads that afternoon. 

‘Hello? Yes? What is it?’ He said as he picked up the call.

‘Hi love, my mother isn’t feeling too well so we’re not going out tonight. I’m going round there now, to see how she is. I just hope it’s nothing serious.’ Anne said.

‘What are we doing for dinner then? I was looking forward to a nice meal out.’ He said, ignoring the concern in her voice. 

‘It depends how my mum is, Tony. If she’s in hospital, then we’ll be visiting her.’ 

‘Sounds like a great Saturday night.’ He sighed. ‘Let me know, yeah?’ 

‘Will do. Have a good afternoon, love.’ She said.

Tony hung up. He stuffed his mobile phone in his back pocket and tried to forget about Anne and her problems. There was always something. 

As he was driving home from the golf course, Anne called him. He answered on his hands-free system. She explained that her mother was feeling a little better, but not 100%. She would be going around there for the evening, if he wanted to join them. 

‘I’m not going round. What would I say to my poorly mother-in-law? You go over, I’ll get a takeaway and put a film on.’ He said.

‘Okay, love. I’ll see you when I get back.’

‘Fine. And,’ he said, adding almost as an after-thought, ‘I’m glad she’s feeling better.’

That night Tony had the strangest dreams. He dreamed of creepy circuses, of terrifying clowns with black and white make-up dripping from their faces. He was running through a dream-scape of big top circus tents, with all kinds of strange people and creatures chasing him. He dashed through the flaps of the tent entrance and emerged in the dark countryside, the only light was the glow of a bonfire. He was suddenly surrounded by weird fortune-tellers, in flowing dresses. These psychics were like witches in a Shakespeare play. They cackled and taunted him, clawed out with their long fingers. 

He woke with a start. Blimey, the run-in with the woman at the shopping mall must have been playing on his mind more than he thought. 

His wife lay beside him in the dark bedroom. 

‘Are you awake?’ He whispered.

‘Yes, I can’t sleep, worried about mum.’

Tony said nothing, turning away on his side, closing his eyes, and tried to get back to sleep.

Tony marched across the office on Monday morning, like a mixed martial arts fighter on the way to the cage. The way he saw it, business, like life in general, was a battle, a fight, full-contact. He had to be victorious. He did keep the five people that worked for him on their toes. He ran a tight ship. He demanded results and if that meant kicking people’s backsides, then so be it. He was there to run the department as best he saw fit, he wasn’t there to make friends. As usual, when he entered the chatter ended. Unless you were talking about work, then Tony didn’t encourage conversation. If you were chatting, then you were not working. 

His working day was going pretty much the same as most days, clearing his emails, meetings with clients and customers, and making sure his staff were pulling their weight. He did have to tell one of his workers up over a mix-up with a delivery. Technically it was a warehouse error, but his team-member, a man in his twenties called Christy, should have double checked. Christy explained how the mistake had happened and that he was doing all he could to correct. Tony jabbed a finger at him.

‘You’re on thin ice, son.’ He yelled. ‘If that pallet doesn’t get delivered today, I’ll swing for you.’ 

Tony flung the file at Christy, the papers falling to the floor like confetti. Christy looked close to tears, as he scooped up the papers and tidied back into the file. 

Just before five o’clock, the branch manager Stewart, poked his head out of his office. He waved at Tony.

‘Can I have a word, Tony?’ 

Tony wondered what clanger his team had dropped now. Another botched delivery? Would he have to crack the whip even more? Maybe he’d have to let one of them go. That wouldn’t be the end of the world. They could always get a trainee, a young person, and pay them less than they were paying the current employee. That would actually be a good thing, all things considered. Maybe he should suggest it.

As he took the seat across the desk from Stewart, Tony jerked a thumb at his team outside.

‘Go on, what have that lot done now?’ He asked. 

‘There have been complaints from several members of your team.’ Stewart said.

‘What are they complaining about, the job, the hours? I let them make a cup of tea in the morning and one in the afternoon. What more do they want?’ Tony asked.

Stewart shifted awkwardly in his seat, then leaned forward, fingers linked.

‘The complaints are about you. There have been words used such-as bullying, and threatening behaviour.’

‘That’s just not true. I manage the department, and there are times when I need to set people straight, that’s all. I expect the best from my team.’

‘I’m afraid H.R. are looking into this. There will be an investigation and this has gone on record. Until this is resolved, Susan will take over the running of your team. You can carry on with your other duties until the investigation is completed.’ Stewart said.

‘Come on, mate. You know what this job is like. I’m passionate, but a bully? That’s ridiculous.’

‘I’ll let you know when I have more information from head office.’ Stewart said. ‘And I’m afraid we’ll have to take the company car from you with immediate effect. Depending on the outcome of the investigation, the car may be returned to you. If I could have the keys.’

Not quite sure what was happening, Tony placed his car keys on the desk.

Stewart turned away to his computer. That was it, the meeting was over. Completely lost for words, Tony got to his feet and headed back to his desk. As he sat down, he noticed the knowing glances between his team. These snakes had made complaints about him. Well, they would see, he would be exonerated and they would rue the day. The image of Christy picking up the papers Tony had flung at him came back to his mind. Okay, maybe he’d gone a little bit far, but they’d had it coming. 

In the taxi ride home, he tried to process what had happened at work. The idea that he was a bully was outrageous. That was what was wrong with the world these days. Tell somebody off at work and it’s bullying. The world had gone mad. Hopefully it would all sort itself out. Head office would look into, and, worse case, they would tell him to go easy on the staff. That would be all, wouldn’t it? 

Anyway, he said out loud, and forced himself to think of other, more pleasant things. He had a bottle of wine in the fridge. Maybe he’d open that this evening. Goodness knew, after a day like this he needed to chill out on the sofa with a glass of good wine. 

As the taxi cab turned into his street, Tony leaned forward from the back seat, telling the taxi driver that anywhere here is fine, mate. 

He arrived home to find Anne in the hallway. She was shrugging into her coat and had a suitcase at her feet. Tony sighed, what now?

‘What’s all this? Is it your mum? Is she sick again?’ He asked.

‘No, Tony, nothing like that. The last few days have been awful.’ Anne said. 

‘It’s not been great for me either.’ He replied.

‘It’s actually made me realise a few things, about you, about us.’ She said. 

‘Such as?’ 

‘I’m leaving. I can’t have this conversation right now, Tony. I need to clear my head. I’m going to stay with a friend for a while.’ Anne said. 

‘Really? You are really doing this? Leaving me?’ 

‘You reap what you sow, Tony.’ She said.

‘What did you say?’ Tony stammered.

‘I said, you reap what you sow, Tony.’ Anne repeated.

Tony reeled at the words, as though he’d been struck. He leaned out a hand on the wall, to steady himself. Those words, that tone, it was exactly what the fortune-teller had said to him. He suddenly knew what was happening, why his life was falling apart. Tony now realised that it was the curse coming to take away the things he loved dear. 

The next morning, he goes to the shopping mall. He dashed through the shopping centre, glancing all around him, looking, searching. Then he saw it. The small wooden hut, with silk curtains in the tiny windows, and a sign above the door. Esther The Fortune Teller. He opened the door and peered inside. The psychic, Esther, was sitting at a small table, opposite a man in his twenties. He had his hand on the table, palm facing upwards, in front of the crystal ball. He pulled his hand away, as Tony intruded.

‘I need you to lift the curse.’ Tony said.

Esther shook her head.

‘Please. I’m begging you.’  

‘I didn’t curse you.’ She said.

‘But everything has fallen apart. My wife has left me, I’m in trouble at work.’

‘I did not place a curse on you.’

‘Then why is all this happening to me? It must be the curse.’

‘Perhaps if you treated people a little better.’ She replied.

‘What? You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I’m guessing the ranting, angry person I saw in the car-park the other day, was just a glimpse of the man you are. There is no curse. Any problems in your life are purely of your own making. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my customers.’

‘Hang on a minute, you called me Tony. How did you know my name?’

She smiled.

‘From your personalised car number plate.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom