The gypsy’s face was half hidden behind the long scarf. What I could see, was wrinkled and weather beaten. “You will meet your true love soon,” she said. “He is nearer than you think.”
I coughed to disguise my laugh. She went on, “He’s just around the corner. You’ll get married and have six children.”
“Excuse me, got to go,” I choked. Outside the tent, I let rip. I hadn’t had too many laughs lately.
I searched the field, scanning the white elephant stall, the tombola, the kiddy rides. There were families with young children and couples with their arms round each other, but no handsome man, unless you counted the motorcyclist jumping over half a dozen barrels in a roped off area, but I couldn’t see his face under the crash helmet.
I wished Rob was here. We’d been together for six months and I was beginning to think we had a future. He was a sweet guy with a great sense of humour who laughed at my stories, like the time I locked myself out of my flat and had to squeeze in through the bathroom window. He had looked after me when I’d had the flu, too, making me drinks and reading to me when I felt better.
We’d had some laughs, up until I ruined it with one of those silly arguments that start off in a small way and escalate beyond reason. It was all my fault, I knew, but I’d been too stubborn to apologise and he had kept out of my way. I don’t blame him.
***
“You’ve won, darlin’, number sixty,” the man on the tombola stall said, pushing a fluffy bunny into my hand. I stared at the tickets in my hand, unaware that I’d even bought them, I’d been thinking so hard about Rob.
I threw wet sponges at a cub scout, imagining it was me in the stocks. I deserved nothing less. Two women mud wrestling distracted me for a while, before I headed off to the refreshment tent. I was just trying to decide between the orange sponge and the chocolate gateau, when a voice behind me said, “I’ve found you, then.”
I turned round – and came face to face with a large hen.
“Were you looking for me?” I asked.
“The gypsy told me to look for a beautiful blonde,” he said with a squawk. “I’m your soulmate!”
I burst into laughter. “She told me I’d meet a tall, handsome man, not a chicken.”
I bought him a cup of tea and a cake after he explained he had nowhere to keep his money and we made our way to an empty table, with him squawking and flapping his arms.
“I feel we were brought together by fete, don’t you?” he said in his hen voice as he flopped down onto the seat.
Everyone was looking at us – the elderly couple in the corner, the family queuing up and the young couples at the tables. “That wasn’t a gypsy, that was me!”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, “that was an old woman.”
The two children, a boy and a girl, had left their parents at the queue and were hovering around the table. The hen squawked a bit more and produced two chocolate eggs from somewhere beneath his costume. I thrust the fluffy bunny in the girl’s hands and she clutched it to her chest.
When the children had gone, the hen removed his chicken head and smoothed his hair.
“Rob? What – ?“
“I hoped you’d be here, so I offered to help. They had me down for this chicken costume, but when the fortune teller phoned to say she’d be late, they were in a bit of a flap, so to say, so I offered to stand in.”
There was no better chance to put things right. “I’m so sorry about last week,” I said. “It was all my fault.”
He took my left hand and stroked the ring finger. “I don’t know about the six children, but do you think the gypsy might have been right about the rest?”
I coughed to disguise my laugh. She went on, “He’s just around the corner. You’ll get married and have six children.”
“Excuse me, got to go,” I choked. Outside the tent, I let rip. I hadn’t had too many laughs lately.
I searched the field, scanning the white elephant stall, the tombola, the kiddy rides. There were families with young children and couples with their arms round each other, but no handsome man, unless you counted the motorcyclist jumping over half a dozen barrels in a roped off area, but I couldn’t see his face under the crash helmet.
I wished Rob was here. We’d been together for six months and I was beginning to think we had a future. He was a sweet guy with a great sense of humour who laughed at my stories, like the time I locked myself out of my flat and had to squeeze in through the bathroom window. He had looked after me when I’d had the flu, too, making me drinks and reading to me when I felt better.
We’d had some laughs, up until I ruined it with one of those silly arguments that start off in a small way and escalate beyond reason. It was all my fault, I knew, but I’d been too stubborn to apologise and he had kept out of my way. I don’t blame him.
***
“You’ve won, darlin’, number sixty,” the man on the tombola stall said, pushing a fluffy bunny into my hand. I stared at the tickets in my hand, unaware that I’d even bought them, I’d been thinking so hard about Rob.
I threw wet sponges at a cub scout, imagining it was me in the stocks. I deserved nothing less. Two women mud wrestling distracted me for a while, before I headed off to the refreshment tent. I was just trying to decide between the orange sponge and the chocolate gateau, when a voice behind me said, “I’ve found you, then.”
I turned round – and came face to face with a large hen.
“Were you looking for me?” I asked.
“The gypsy told me to look for a beautiful blonde,” he said with a squawk. “I’m your soulmate!”
I burst into laughter. “She told me I’d meet a tall, handsome man, not a chicken.”
I bought him a cup of tea and a cake after he explained he had nowhere to keep his money and we made our way to an empty table, with him squawking and flapping his arms.
“I feel we were brought together by fete, don’t you?” he said in his hen voice as he flopped down onto the seat.
Everyone was looking at us – the elderly couple in the corner, the family queuing up and the young couples at the tables. “That wasn’t a gypsy, that was me!”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, “that was an old woman.”
The two children, a boy and a girl, had left their parents at the queue and were hovering around the table. The hen squawked a bit more and produced two chocolate eggs from somewhere beneath his costume. I thrust the fluffy bunny in the girl’s hands and she clutched it to her chest.
When the children had gone, the hen removed his chicken head and smoothed his hair.
“Rob? What – ?“
“I hoped you’d be here, so I offered to help. They had me down for this chicken costume, but when the fortune teller phoned to say she’d be late, they were in a bit of a flap, so to say, so I offered to stand in.”
There was no better chance to put things right. “I’m so sorry about last week,” I said. “It was all my fault.”
He took my left hand and stroked the ring finger. “I don’t know about the six children, but do you think the gypsy might have been right about the rest?”