Was Izzy about to meet the man of her dreams?
BY MEG STOKES
OH, come on, Izzy. It’ll be a bit of fun.” From under her umbrella, Isabella looked around at the lights of the funfair.
They blurred in the steady rain.
Music blared from the nearby waltzers, as the empty cars trundled round and round.
Izzy read the sign over the tent in front of them:
Madame Zaza will reveal your future.
Down the sides of the tent opening were pictures of celebrities.
Allegedly, they’ve had their fortunes told by Madame Zaza herself.
Izzy didn’t believe in anyone being able to tell the future.
But she was sure the slight tickle at the back of her throat hinted at a cold.
Her friend, Emily, had suggested a trip out to the funfair.
It was a way of cheering her up after her break-up with Jack, who had decided he wanted “more space”.
It wasn’t Em’s fault the weather was so awful.
Izzy sighed.
“It’s all rubbish, you know, Em.”
A brief gust of wind blew the rain sideways against her legs.
Yes, her new shoes were definitely leaking.
“Oh, all right,” Isabella replied. “At least we’ll be out of the weather.”
Inside, the tent was gloomy.
A single incense stick burned slowly, releasing a patchouli scent.
Madame Zaza was nothing like Izzy had expected.
She wasn’t wearing any robes, nor did she have a crystal ball in front of her.
The fortune-teller was an ordinary-looking woman.
She had curly, greying hair, and was wearing a thick, green jumper.
She looked a little like Izzy’s aunt Bridget.
She was gazing intently at the playing cards she was placing before her.
Was she playing Patience?
With a swift movement, she scooped up the cards.
She put them to one side and greeted them both with a smile.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Madame Zaza said. “Come in and sit down.”
Thirty minutes later, Izzy and Emily left the tent.
They came out, blinking, into watery sunshine.
“Well, your fortune was better than mine,” Emily complained.
The two friends began to walk through the fair.
“She said your career prospects were good,” Izzy pointed out. Emily grunted. “Nothing about and sort of romance, though.
“No tall, dark and handsome stranger in my future.”
“That doesn’t mean there won’t be,” Izzy assured her friend.
She stopped and pointed.
“Look, the waltzers are filling up. Let’s get on.
“We’ll enjoy the rest of the day, now that the rain has stopped.”
There was no mention of a tall, dark stranger in Emily’s fortune.
But in Izzy’s there was a definite promise of romance.
Madame Zaza had seen the colour blue, and straight lines – whatever they meant.
Somebody would give Izzy her heart’s desire.
Somehow the prediction had lightened her heart a little.
She screamed as the waltzers car twirled faster and faster, spun by the boy on the ride.
A few weeks went by. The fortune-teller’s prediction had more or less faded fro
