Miss Manners (6 page)

‘
Fortune teller, spiritual healer and voodoo priestess,’ she interrupted.

‘
Voodoo?’ I panicked, suddenly feeling uneasy. ‘You mean like Satanism, zombies and voodoo dolls?’

Mojo laughed, waving a chubby finger.
‘I think someone’s been watching a
few
too many horror movies.’

‘
So what’s with the monkey skull, then?’

‘
It’s a juju.’

‘
A juju? What’s a juju?’ I asked, feeling slightly on edge.

‘
It is a blessed object used for protection from evil and negativity. A talisman. Now, come. Take a seat,’ said Mojo, gesturing towards the chair.

I stared at the monkey head for a moment, walked over cautiously and sat down. Once Mojo was seated, she took out a small, black bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Splayed across the table were tiny little bones.

‘Are… are those human bones?’ I felt a sudden chill run down my spine.

‘
No, of course not.’ There was a slight pause. ‘They’re monkey bones. Now, let us continue.’

‘
Monkey? Did you kill a monkey?’

‘
No. These objects have been passed down from my Haitian ancestors,’ she said proudly, throwing me a stern look. ‘Now, shall we?’ Mojo moved the creepy bones around with her index finger.

‘
So, uh, what are you doing?’

‘
Hoodoo.’

I looked at her
, none the wiser.

‘
Bone reading,’ she explained, pouting like a fish before resuming her bone stirring. ‘I will now summon a spirit guide.’ Mojo closed her eyes and began chanting in a foreign language, like Mola Ram in
Indiana Jones and the
Temple of Doom
.

I thought about leaving sneakily whilst her eyes were shut, but was too scared to go through with it. Anyway, before I had a chance to summon the courage, it looked as though she had already summoned a spirit guide.

She opened her eyes, scooped up the bones and rattled them in her caged palms. ‘Oh, spirit guide, speak your mind,’ she chanted, throwing the bones onto the table.

At this point, I was pretty creeped out.

‘The spirit guide has spoken.’ Mojo closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again. ‘Interesting. The formation of the bones suggests that you are going through some difficulties at the moment. You will fall like Icarus, then rise like the Phoenix.’

‘
Well, cheers. I’ve learned a lot. But I’m afraid I’d better be–’

But, as I stood up to leave, Mojo
put her large palms on my shoulders and sat me back down, a serious look on her face.

‘
Wait!’ Mojo pulled out another small bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Spread across the table were objects that looked like pieces from a
Jumanji
board game.

‘
What are those?’ I asked nervously.

‘
Ice rune stones. A symbol of struggle, conflict and achievement. Now,’ she commanded, ‘I want you to repeat after me, “Holy Goddess, mother of earth, mother of us all, guide my hand as I cast the rune stones, guide my mind as I interpret their meanings, guide my soul as I take them into my life.”’

I repeated
it awkwardly, hoping no one I knew was watching.

‘
Now,’ said Mojo, ‘I want you to turn the rune stones over and stir them around clockwise whilst concentrating on a question.’

I did as I was told.

‘Now, pick a rune stone.’

I picked a rune
stone.

‘
Interesting. Very interesting. You have picked a blank rune stone.’

‘
What does that mean?’

‘
It means one of two things: either the question is not ready or able to be judged or you are better off not knowing the answer,’ she clucked.

As I stood up to leave, Mojo sat me back down again with the strength of a giant.

‘Wait!’ she demanded, taking out a deck of cards, shuffling, cutting, then stacking them.

‘
Snap?’ I guessed.

‘
Tarot,’ she corrected, gimlet-eyed. ‘I want you to pick three cards from the deck, then lay them out.’

Once again, I did as I was told.

‘Now, turn over the first card,’ she instructed.

I turned over the first card.

It was Death.

I swallowed hard.
‘Death?’

‘
No, it is good.’

‘
How is death
good
?’

‘
Death symbolises major change, transition, detachment and release. Now, turn over the second card.’

I turned over the second card.

It was The Fool.

‘
What does The Fool mean, then? It doesn’t mean I’m an idiot, does it?’

‘
Of course not. The Fool symbolises beginning, new start, spontaneity and taking a chance or risk. Now, turn over the third one.’

I hesitated for a moment.
‘Uh, hang on. Can I swap it before I turn it over?’

‘
As you wish.’

I swapped it with another card from the deck,
then turned it over.

‘
Ah, yes. Wheel of Fortune symbolises destiny, fate beyond individual control, good luck and opportunity.’

I sat in silence for a moment,
then stood up. ‘Well, thanks for the experience, Madame Mojo. It was very... uh... interesting.’ But before I had a chance to move she asked invitingly, ‘But don’t you want to know what it all means?’

I sat back down.

‘You are going through some major changes at the moment,’ she explained, ‘but don’t worry. When one door shuts, another opens. You need to take the opportunities that come your way. But remember to stay true to yourself.’

I sat in silence.
‘Okay, thanks,’ I said, attempting to stand, only to be stopped in my tracks once again. I might as well have been doing squats. I must’ve lost at least fifty calories.

‘
Wait!’ Mojo raised a hand. ‘There is more.’

‘
More?’ I asked, as if I were auditioning for a part in
Oliver
.

There was a mystical silence.

‘Love,’ she announced, lengthening every letter.

‘
Love?’ I crinkled my nose.

‘
Yes. The third card you swapped – The Lovers. It symbolises relationship, connection, union and attraction. You may go now.’ Mojo smiled with a twinkle in her eye, tilting her head to one side and letting out a final deep laugh.

I traipsed out of the tent,
then paused for a moment. ‘Love?’ I repeated to myself
,
feeling a smile wash over my face.

6

Secret Diary of a Socialite

‘You’ll never guess what happened,’ I said to Tara on the phone, sipping my usual mug of Earl Grey in the kitchen. ‘I just went to see a fortune teller called Mojo. And guess what? She turned out to be a voodoo priestess as well! I know, freaky! It was all high jinks and hokum. She had, like, this monkey skull and bones and a lantern on the table – all inside this massive Bedouin tent and–’

There was a faint knocking at the door.

‘Hang on, someone’s at the door. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it when you get back. Oh, by the way, Felicity called me to say that she’ll be moving in at seven this evening. Anyway, I’ll see you later for a full catch-up.’

I hung up
and walked over to the door. The moment I opened it, silver rails full of colourful clothes flew past me, one after the other. I just stood there goggling at all the jackets, dresses, suits and scarves. It was as if an entire shop floor were entering the flat. Then, amidst all the commotion, Felicity popped her head around the front door.

‘
Hi,’ she said with a cheeky smile.

‘
Hi,’ I replied pointedly, wondering what on earth was happening. ‘You have a lot of stuff.’

‘
I know. It’s for my grad show in three weeks. I
did
tell you I was a fashion student,’ she said, smiling. ‘But most of it is material, though. I have to make three dresses in the space of three weeks!’ Felicity raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows worriedly, walking over to me.

‘
How many dresses have you made so far?’ I asked.

‘
None,’ Felicity replied, a look of mild panic sweeping across her face. ‘Oh, by the way, allow me to introduce my parents, Bob and Michelle. They’re helping me move my stuff in today.’ Felicity turned to face her parents. ‘Thanks, Mum and Dad.’

‘
Yeah, thanks, Mum and Dad,’ I repeated playfully.

Bob and Michelle flashed me two matching, bright
white grins, before heading back out to the car.

‘
I got your text, by the way.’ Felicity raised an eyebrow. ‘So, what’s all this I hear about the House of Mojo? Did anything interesting happen?’

‘
Oh, you know. The usual. Bone reading, rune stone reading, tarot reading. At one point, Mojo asked me to concentrate on a question while I picked a rune. I ended up picking a blank one, which apparently meant that either the question wasn’t ready or I was better off not knowing the answer.’

‘
What was the question?’ asked Felicity, her eyes widening with curiosity.

‘
I can’t remember.’

‘
Well, in that case, the question wasn’t ready, which probably explains why you ended up with a blank rune stone,’ Felicity concluded.

‘
Or I was better off not knowing the answer,’ I added. ‘Anyway, she had, like, all these freaky wall-hangings, candles, incense and glass bottles and stuff, and I remember her saying something weird like, “Fall like Icarus, rise like the Phoenix.”

‘
Sounds really cool! I wish I’d been there!’

‘
Then she said, “When one door shuts, another opens,” and, “Stay true to yourself”, or something along those lines. But then, just before I turned to leave, she stopped me and said there was more.’

‘
More? Like what?’ asked Felicity, intrigued.

I peered dubiously over my glasses.
‘Love.’

‘
Oooh. Cryptic.’

‘
But do you believe in all that?’

‘
What? You mean superstition?’

I nodded.

‘Well, I don’t know. I’m not super-stitious, but I am a little -stitious. I mean, there’s no way of knowing if God, ghosts or aliens exist. But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.’

‘
Do you need a hand unpacking?’ I asked, almost with regret after casting my eyes around the room.

‘
Sure,’ Felicity said with a smile.

WEDNESDAY, 20th APRIL

The next morning I awoke at 10 a.m., had a shower and got dressed then, remembering it was deadline day for entering Miss Manners, googled how to apply.

Over a bowl of
Cheerios, I filled out the online application form, then clicked the submit button.

I kn
ew I had very little chance of being accepted into Brie’s Miss Manners Academy, let alone winning the contest – not to mention getting an internship – but I had nothing to lose.

T
o take my mind off
Couture
and Miss Manners, I decided to read Pinkie’s diary.

As
I flicked through its perfumed pages, I had yet another light bulb moment. I could write a blog. After all, I had plenty of celebrity juice (not from concentrate). Why should I keep it all to myself? And why should I wait to hear from
Couture
or Miss Manners?

Perez Hilton, eat your heart out
, I thought to myself, a wicked grin spreading across my face.

But
there was a slight problem. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to start a blog.

Tara popped in at around 3.30
p.m., carrying Sainsbury’s shopping bags in both hands. ‘So, how’s it going?’ she asked cheerfully.

‘
Well, since sending off applications to
Couture
and Miss Manners, I’ve been thinking about starting a blog.’

‘
A blog? That’s a great idea!’ she chirped, dropping her shopping bags and skipping over to join me on the sofa. ‘Then you could write whatever you want and just publish it yourself. What are you going to call it?’

I thought for a moment.
‘The Secret Diary of a Socialite.’

Tara looked at me, her eyebrows arch
ed. ‘Catchy. But I’m sure there’s already a book with that title.’

I shook my head.
‘No, there isn’t. I’ve already checked. And anyway, that’s not the problem. The problem is I haven’t got a clue how to start a blog.’

‘
I’ll help you, it’s easy. You know, this could be the first step in creating your own magazine. Or getting a book deal. Or starring in a movie!’ Tara raved, goggle-eyed. She actually clasped her hands as if she were in
Little Women
or something.

‘
Click your heels, Dorothy,’ I joked.

I propped open my laptop and Tara introduced me to Blog
ger, then showed me how to set it all up. You know, it’s true what they say. Every day is a school day. Once I’d familiarised myself with the basics, I started off the blog by backdating my posts to Monday, 18th April – the day I got fired. Tara helped me out for a full hour before leaving to work an evening shift at The Forum.

Now I just needed to think o
f something to write. So, I started with:

Revealed – Pinkie’s Secret Diary

Say goodbye to the Pinkie you thought you knew, and hello to the Pinkie you should know.

At 6 p.m. I checked over my blog then, once satisfied, hit the ‘publish’ button with a scandalous smile on my face and a flutter in my chest.

I was now officially a blogger.

7

No Bees, No Honey

THURSDAY, 21st APRIL

‘No bees, no honey. No work, no money,’ Tara said the next morning before leaving for work. ‘Look, you need to be realistic, chick. I mean, you can’t just wait around for things to happen. You need to go out and
make
them happen. So, forget about
Couture
and Miss Manners for the time being and go job hunting instead.’

Tara was right.
I mean, what were the chances of me actually being accepted for both
Couture
and
Miss Manners? And even if I were accepted for the internship, it was unpaid. There was no use in sitting around and daydreaming about
what ifs
. I needed money, not miracles. I needed to take the blue pill and wake up in my bed, not the Matrix.

‘
I know. And you’re right,’ I admitted, gritting my teeth. ‘But I don’t want another recession-proof job. I want a career.’

Tara slipped on her cardigan and black pumps.
‘You know on Monday when I said to think of this as a new beginning? Well, you need to
begin
. But you can’t be too picky. Not yet, anyway. Times are tough.’ Tara grabbed her bag and opened the front door, letting in the bright morning sunlight which filled up every inch of the room.

‘
But I don’t know where to start,’ I said, sinking back into the sofa like a petulant child refusing to go to bed early.

‘
Sift through newspapers, sign up to head-hunters, search job sites – try everything. You’re bound to find one sooner or later.’ She trundled over to the sofa and enveloped me in a cosy bear hug. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Something will happen soon. I feel it.’ And with that, Tara left me to my own resources.

After a long breakfast, I made it my priority to job search. So I put on my joggers and trainers,
then headed off to the local newsagent to pick up some newspapers.

After browsing through a few magazine horoscopes, I finally walked over to the till and bought a selection of papers. I was greeted by smiling shopkeeper Anil Gupta,
a tall, slim Asian man in his forties who always wore a friendly smile and made you feel at home.

‘
Bad day, Miss Anna?’ Anil asked, concerned.

‘
You could say that,’ I murmured.

‘
Don’t worry, I have just the thing.’ Out from behind the counter, he handed me a bottle of Rescue Remedy.

‘
Thanks, Anil,’ I said, nodding appreciatively.

‘
No worries.’ Anil flashed me a bright white flashbulb smile that reminded me of a toothpaste advert.

I
probably need to drink the entire contents for it to take effect
, I thought to myself.
Although, it was a kind thought
.

Once I
’d arrived home, I lay on my belly on the sofa, circling various jobs with a red biro, yawning loudly to the tune of
The Great Escape
.

By 11
a.m., I had circled the following jobs: receptionist, shop assistant, telesales, store manager, mystery shopper, book keeper. I called for each job, but every answer came back the same. It was either ‘Sorry, the job has already been taken’ or ‘Unfortunately, you don’t have the right skills’. So, I started calling for the jobs I didn’t circle.

After several attempts on the phone, only one job was
still available: waitress.

Great.
So much for a proper job, then
, I thought, crestfallen.

At lunchtime, the phone rang.

‘Good afternoon. It’s Janet Brown, PA to Brie Breckenbridge of the Miss Manners Academy speaking,’ came an automaton voice as if reading a script, which she probably was.

I always thought of Janet as a higher
end secretarial name, whereas something like Tracy would be lower end. Janet had a brusque phone manner and clipped accent, whereas Tracy would probably speak slowly with a wad of gum in her mouth and have a cockney accent.

Clearly, I
’d been exposed to a few too many Hollywood stereotypes.

‘
Am I speaking to Miss... Ba... Bo... Blogstrom?’ Janet stuttered.

‘
Borgström,’ I corrected.

‘
I am calling to inform you that you have been offered a place at the Miss Manners Academy to participate in this year’s Miss Manners contest.’

No way. This was
not
possible.

‘
You will be one of twelve contestants competing for this year’s coveted and prestigious Miss Manners title,’ she continued. ‘Classes start from Monday twenty-fifth of April to Friday twenty-ninth of April. I shall email you over further details shortly. Congratulations, and good luck.’

The phone went dead.

I sat in silence for a few minutes trying to figure out
how
and
why
I had been accepted out of potentially hundreds of applicants, whose applications were likely to have been hundreds of times better than mine. I decided that my brutal honesty in the application may have actually paid off; under the ‘Describe yourself’ section, I wrote: