Benefiting from regular unsolicited advice from Nanna Maria is a daily occurrence (Why do you only wear black? It drains you! Are you at a funeral? Are you mourning the death of your youth?), but on birthdays her teachings are always loaded with extra drama and some sort of made-up pseudo-magic nonsense laced with superstition and ancient family tradition for good measure. Nanna Maria, encouraged by my mother, maintains the belief that the women in our family are descendants of the powerful priestesses of ancient Malta, imbued with a magic older than time. Which, if that was the case, you might think she'd use to solve the world's problems instead of telling Lorna from Scunthorpe that Elvis is not the man for her.
Anyway, I knew she would have something a bit woo and a bit crazy to tell me. After all, what seaside mystic worth their salt wouldn't? Even so, I had no idea how strange, weird, and wonderful things were about to get.
"It's not too late, you know?" Nanna Maria tells me, instructing me to turn my chair with a whirl of her forefinger so that we are sitting knee to knee. All I want is to get this part over and done with ASAP. Don't get me wrong—Nanna Maria is maybe the most magnificent woman I know next to my mum, who is wonderful for all sorts of other reasons. But when you feel like you are at the opposite end of that scale, it can be a bit intimidating to get her quite so full-frontal, if you catch my drift. Also, I know full well that the clock is counting down to the ignominy of "Happy Birthday" and time is running out to exit the premises before it is too late. Nanna Maria has other ideas. Of course she does.
"I said it's not too late, Eugenie," she repeats, taking my hand as if she were about to read my palm, which she definitely is. "No thanks, Nanna," I tell her, gently withdrawing my hand. "You know I don't want to know my future. I like to find out stuff on a need-to-know basis."
"You are never any fun." Nanna Maria sighs. "Give me your hand, Genie. I promise not to read your palm. Can't an old woman hold the hand of her only granddaughter before it's too late?"
Nanna has been threatening her imminent death since I was a toddler. In fact, I think my earliest memory is of Nanna replying to my cheerful "See you tomorrow!" with her trademark melodramatic "God willing!" You'd think she would have had a better handle on the situation, you know, considering she's a psychic and all that.
"Of course you can, Nanna," I say, returning my hand to her, which she immediately turns over and scrutinizes fiercely before looking at me and shrugging.
"Nanna!" I try not to behave like a sulking teenager, really, I do, but it's hard when your family treats you like you are one.
"If you don't want to know, you don't want to know," she says infuriatingly. "All I will say is that there are interesting times ahead."
"Well, that could mean anything," I tell her.
"You know you don't have to believe in something for it to be real, don't you? You are like those flat-Earthers, denying what is right in front of you."
"I am not," I protest. "I believe in science and reason..."
"You know science is simply man's best guess at trying to know the unknowable, and the thing about the unknowable is that—"
"You can't ever know everything," I finish for her with an adolescent sigh.
"Unless you are me," she says. "So, listen to me when I tell you that—"
"It's not too late, I know." I order another margarita, though I suspect that drinking it will make it very hard to leave without assistance. "I know it's not too late. I have never thought it was too late. I'm not sitting at home every night wringing my hands worrying about things being too late. I'm just living my life, and it's fine. I'm fine."
"Fine!" Never one to miss an opportunity for drama, Nanna Maria clasps her hand to her bosom. "When did young people decide that fine is an acceptable state of being?" Her flashing dark eyes fix on mine. "You only live once on this celestial plane, my darling girl. Yes, you faced a great sadness, too early in your young life. But don't just mark time until the end. You must grasp every second!"
"Must I?" I ask gently. "Sounds exhausting. Nanna, please stop worrying about me. I am okay, honestly, I am. You don't have to give me the pep talk. You could give me a birthday present, though. Remember how I asked for vouchers?"
"Pfft, I'm not going to give you vouchers!" She waves her hand as if batting away a fly. "Vouchers are so dull. How can a gift ever be a piece of paper, or worse, a link! What joy can be found in a link?"
