The One After

I had always been something of a cynic. Whether it was religion, superstition, or a theory about aliens, I just found a lot of things hard to believe. When my friend phoned to tell me there was a psychic night being held in our local pub, and asked if I wanted to go, I assumed he was joking. 

‘Very good, mate. Nice try.’ I said.

‘Seriously, Steve. We’re all going. We’re sorting the tickets today.’ Tony insisted.

‘It’s all mumbo-jumbo. I don’t want to hear some face message supposedly from my grandad.’ 

‘It will be a laugh. A few beers and a message from the other side, what’s not to like?’ Tony said.

‘Nah, count me out.’ I said. 

‘Everyone is going. You’ll miss a decent night out.’

I took the phone away from my ear and sighed. Tony knew what buttons to press. I didn’t subscribe to anything that you couldn’t see, and a psychic night was my worst nightmare, but all the lads were going. Would it be worse not to be there? And I suspected Tony was right, it would be a good night, especially if the psychic was rubbish. It could end up being one of those nights that goes down in legend, and would be spoke off for years to come. Did I really want to miss out? We still spoke of a Michael Jackson tribute act we’d seen a few years ago. The guy looked like Jackson, moved like Jackson, but he couldn’t sing. He had a female singer stepping in and hitting the high notes, while he posed and pranced around, and did his best Moonwalk. With a bit of luck, this psychic night would go down the same way. 

‘Go on, then.’ I said. ‘Put my name down.’

‘Good lad.’ Tony said and hung up.

One the day of the psychic evening, I really wasn’t feeling it. As far as I was concerned, these so-called mediums and clairvoyants exploited people and preyed on their grief and emotion. There were people who had lost close relatives, who attended these events in the hope of hearing from their departed loved ones. It just didn’t seem right.

I arrived at the pub, telling myself that if the night was too bad, I could always sit at the bar and have a few whiskey chasers with my usual pints of beer. All my friends were already there. The place was packed. I hadn’t seen the pub this busy since England had played in the World Cup Semi Final.

Just before nine o’clock, the music was turned down and a woman stepped to the front of the room. She held a microphone and had an air of authority about her. She was somewhere in her forties with shoulder-length dark hair. 

‘Good evening, my name is Janet. Thank you for joining me tonight. This will be an experience you will never forget.’

I hid the smirk on my face behind my beer glass and took a swig of lager. 

As the room full of people fell silent, watching and waiting, eager to see what happened next, Janet placed a finger to her temple, in a theatrical gesture. She closed her eyes for a moment, nodding, before casting a knowing gaze at the crowd.

Janet stepped forward, pointing to a guy in his twenties sitting on a stool at a high table. 

‘Could I as your name, love?’ she said.

Surely, I thought, if she was psychic, then Janet would have known his name already. Hadn’t her spirit guide told her even the guy’s name?

‘I’m Ben.’ the guy

‘Ben, yes. And you’ve got a big decision to make about your future, haven’t you?’ Janet asked.

Ben looked surprised at her accuracy as he explained that he had been offered a place at Oxford University but wasn’t sure he was ready to make the move away. Janet nodded and turned her head as if she was listening to voices we couldn’t hear. She then focused her gaze on Ben once again. 

‘The spirits are telling me that you should make the move. You will not regret it. You will go on to have a long and happy life. You just have to be bold.’ 

Long and happy life? As vague as that. Utter rubbish. I grumbled. My friend shushed me. I glanced around. Everyone was enrapt, hanging on her every word. How could they believe this claptrap. I was cynical, admittedly, but surely a certain level of cynicism is healthy. This lot were lapping up her drivel. 

Janet crossed the room, stopping beside a couple in their sixties. The man put down his pint of beer and crossed his arms, while his wife leaned forward, eager to hear what the medium had to say. Clearly she had dragged her husband along this evening. I was glad I wasn’t the only one who what been roped into attending. 

‘Your name starts with V, am I right?’ Janet began.

‘I’m Joy, but my middle name is Victoria.’ The woman said.

‘Yes, that’s it. The messages from the other side aren’t very clear when they come through.’ Janet said, before pausing again, as though in communication with another realm.

‘You lost your mother recently, didn’t you?’ Janet continued. 

‘Mum died just over five years ago.’ Joy said.

‘That is recent for losing a loved one, isn’t it?’ Janet said.

Joy nodded. 

‘She wants you to know she’s happy. She’s at peace. She says you’re to live your life.’ Janet said. 

Joy nodded again, wiping the tears from her eyes. I couldn’t believe people were taking this in. The mother was at peace? What a cliché. I would have been impressed if her mother had come through from the other side to say she hated the extension on the house or something, but the usual cliched platitudes were just so predictable. Janet was like every bogus psychic I’d seen on television. 

Janet went around the room, picking another four victims and coming out with more vague comments, much to the wonder of the crowd.

I had just come back from the bar with a fresh pint of beer when it happened. I should have seen it coming really. 

Janet came towards our group. Then she pointed a painted fingernail at me.  For a moment she just stared at me. I felt sick. I didn’t want this charlatan conducting her mumbo-jumbo at me. I held her gaze, not wanting to make eye-contact with my friends. I knew at least one of them would have whipped their mobile phone out and would be recording this excruciating moment.

Again Janet paused, while checking with ‘the other side’. Then she gave me a look that I couldn’t quite read. 

‘It’s Steven, isn’t it?’ 

I nodded. My friends had been talking loudly all evening so Janet could have quite easily heard the lads addressing me by name. Perhaps she sensed that I was a cynic and wanted to teach me a lesson. 

‘Your job is quite manual, isn’t it?’ Janet asked.

While a lot of people worked in offices, behind desks these days, there were still a lot of people working manual jobs out there. Maybe I didn’t look like a pen-pusher. 

‘I work in a warehouse.’ I replied.

‘Do you drive a forklift truck?’

‘I’m the warehouse supervisor.’ 

Janet tilted her head once more, like a Labrador waiting for treats. Then her glare focused on me completely. The glint in her eyes said she had something.

‘And how do you get to work?’ 

‘I get the bus.’ I said.

‘You don’t drive?’

I shook my head and explained that there were enough idiot drivers out there without me adding to their number. Everyone laughed at my reply. I turned to my friends with an Am I right? shrug. Janet studied me like a prosecuting lawyer who has the defendant on the ropes.

‘And you get the bus back home from work too. Have I got that right?’

‘Yes, obviously.’

Pointing at me to emphasise her words, Janet went on.

‘You finish work at five o’clock and then get the bus home.’

‘Yes.’ I said, not entirely sure what she was getting at.

Was she going to suggest I cycle to work instead?

‘I want you to do me a favour. On Tuesday do not get that ten past five bus. I want you to get the one after.’

I laughed, unable to quite believe I was discussing my public transport arrangements with a psychic in my local pub. 

‘So, you want me to get the next bus, that’s half an hour later?’

‘Please, listen to me. It’s vitally important. Whatever you do, get the later bus home, your future depends on it.’

I didn’t know what to say. I said nothing.

‘Please, Steven.’ Janet insisted.

‘Fine. I’ll stay on at work and get the later bus.’ I agreed, telling her what she wanted to hear, just to end this awkward exchange.

While Janet moved on to a few more people, I downed my pint and ordered another. 

Eventually, the psychic evening was over and Janet bowed and left the room. The juke box kicked in, playing a 90s indie banger, and the pub returned to normal. 

My friends patted me on the back, describing how uncomfortable I had been. 

‘Can you blame me? It was just so bizarre.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Tony asked.

‘About what?’

My friends looked at me as if I’d just said Charlie Chaplin was the Prime Minister. 

‘About Tuesday. You’re not seriously thinking about getting that bus home?’

‘Absolutely. It was all a load of rubbish.’

‘Mate, you can’t dabble with stuff like that.’ Tony said.

‘Tont, I didn’t even want to come tonight. I have no intention of dabbling, as you call it, but I’m going home as usual on Tuesday regardless.’

‘Think again, Steve.’

‘I will.’ I snapped. I had no intention of changing my plans because of the random mumblings of a so-called psychic.

The following afternoon one of my friends phoned me.

‘I heard about the psychic night. Are you okay?’

I swore under my breath. 

‘Steve, you’re not going home as normal that night, are you? Not after what you’ve been told. I’ll come and pick you up if you like.’

I replied that he didn’t finish work until gone six o’clock and then had to fight his way through rush-hour traffic. I could be home by then.

‘The offer is there. I just don’t want you getting that bus.’

While now unsure exactly what I was going to do, I promised my friend I would not get the usual bus. 

I should never have gone to that silly evening in the first place. That had been where I went wrong. Now my friends were all suddenly superstitious and were pushing me to heed the ridiculous advice. It was a lot of nonsense. Don’t get that bus, there would be repercussions if you get that bus. What rot! I was certain that if I caught the bus as usual, I would be fine. I would make it home in one piece. No disaster, no tragedy would befall me if I made my way home as usual. 

By Monday morning, I’d had dozens of text messages from other friends, pleading with me not to get the normal bus. This was getting beyond a joke. One guy asked if I’d seen Facebook. I was never one for scrolling through social media and used these apps more to keep an eye on local events and music gigs than following what my online friends had been getting upto. 

Before leaving for work I checked on Facebook. There were so many posts about my run-in with the psychic, as well as direct messages, all insisting I take her advice. Avoid that bus at all costs, Steve. One friend had even uploaded the video from that night. I wished they would all just leave me alone. The posts had hundreds of comments. 

By the end of Monday, I had decided to go along with the crazy world I was living in. It would be easier all round if I did as they all wanted, and took the later bus, the 5.35pm bus, rather than the earlier one. 

And so, just wanting the whole thing to be over, I stayed late at work on the Tuesday afternoon, and headed out into the winter’s night for the 5.35pm bus. 

There were several people gathered at the stop, waiting for the bus. As the bus pulled up to the stop my heart sank. The bus was rammed. Miserable commuters crammed into every seat and standing space, their expressions gloomy. A couple of people managed to squeeze on but the rest of us were left stranded. The driver called out that nobody had caught the earlier bus, everyone had waited for the one after. All down to some Facebook rumour, he added.

As I watched the bus head away down the street, I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Janet had told me to avoid the five o’clock bus and get the one after, and it looked like everyone had taken her advice. The others left at the stop started to drift away, calling friends or ordering taxi cabs or crossing the road to catch the bus into the city centre, and would make their way home from there. There was myself and another person left waiting at the bus stop. She was in her late twenties, a similar age to me, and her dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. She shook her head in disgust.

‘I can’t believe this. I wonder why the bus was so busy tonight.’ She said, adjusting her scarf to keep out the cold.

‘I have no idea.’ I lied, not wanting to get into all that. 

The next bus was due in thirty minutes, and the buses were rarely on time. Thanks to everyone heeding the advice Janet had given me personally, I was stuck in the cold and dark, in the middle of the industrial estate, waiting for an even later bus, for at least half an hour. I should have just stuck to my guns and got the five o’clock bus. It would have been empty by all accounts, thanks to the rumours on social media. I would have been able to have a seat and read my book. I zipped my coat right up to my chin in an attempt to keep warm. 

The lights of the coffee shop over the road seemed to glow enticingly. Rather than loiter in the dark for the next half an hour I could have a cup of tea and read a few pages of my book. Yes, that seemed like the better option.  

‘I’m gonna get a brew and wait in there for the next bus. Might even treat myself to a muffin or a cookie. It’s better than waiting out here.’ I said, pointing to the coffee shop.

She glanced over the road at the coffee shop. 

‘I think I’ll join you, if that’s okay?’ She asked.

‘Yeah, sure. I’m Steve.’

‘Becky.’ She said, shaking my hand. 

As we sipped our hot drinks and munched on chocolate chip muffins, we chatted. The conversation flowed easily. The time passed so quickly. As the time wore on, something occurred to me. The psychic had told me to get the later bus, and that my future depended on it. I had initially dismissed it, and assumed, like everyone else, that she had been hinting that something bad would happen if I got the 5pm bus. If I dared catch that bus, I would fall and break my leg, or the bus would crash or something. But what if I’d understood the message incorrectly?  

As Becky and I chatted, I wondered if Janet had been suggesting something else. What if she’d meant that something good, something beneficial, would happen to me, if I caught the later departure? What if Janet had seen the meeting of Becky and myself, who would never have met, if I’d have caught the usual bus? 

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I’m just gonna put it out there, but could I see you again?’

‘You mean like, on a date?’ Becky asked, an amused smile on her face.

She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no and laughed in my face. I decided to go for it, show my hand. If she said no, I could go back to getting the usual bus, and she’d carry on getting the later bus. Our paths need never cross again. With that in mind I nodded.

‘Yeah, why not? We could go for a proper night out, rather than a tea while we’re waiting for the bus.’ I said.

‘Yes, that sounds like a plan.’ Becky said. 

Grinning like a couple of teenagers on their first date, we swapped phone numbers. As she handed me back my phone, I noticed the time.

‘Our bus is due in a minute.’ I said, getting to my feet.

‘We could always get another drink and catch the one after.’ Becky said.

As I headed to the counter for another round of tea and cake, I knew that this was exactly what Janet had foreseen.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom