Kate Thompson - The O’Hara Affair

‘You’ve only been modelling for two years,’ Fleur pointed out.

‘Well, I’ve been miserable for a whole year of those two, and that’s a long time to be miserable. I was never cut out to be a model.’

‘You are a brave girl.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m just doing what I’ve always wanted to do, and that’s make a difference. You’ve no idea what it’s like to be surrounded by size zero girlies moaning about putting on half a kilo when there are people all over the world starving.’ ‘Won’t you miss your celebrity status, beauty?’

‘Nope. I’d rather be famous for having a real talent like singing or writing or painting. Being famous for being a model is just embarrassing.’ Daisy cut two slabs of choc olate sponge and plonked them on to plates. ‘Ha! Bye bye, stupid diet. Bring on the calories.’

‘What made you decide on Africa?’ asked Fleur.

‘A friend who’s over there told me I had to come out. She’s recruited a whole bunch of people via Facebook.’

‘How resourceful!’

‘Yep. I’ve been in touch with everyone else who’s going, and they’re all really sound. Facebook’s brilliant for networking. Have you joined up yet, Flirty?’

‘I keep meaning to, but I’ve been so busy lately. Perhaps I will get around to it in the winter, when things have calmed down.’

‘Things will be hotting up for me this winter. I’ll be working in a township in Kwazulu-Natal, building a school.’ ‘Actually physically building?’

‘Yeah. My mate says that she’s completely knackered at the end of every day, but that she’s never felt better in her life.’

‘Well. I am full of admiration – and not a little jealous. I would have loved to have had an opportunity to do something like that when I was your age. When are you off?’

‘Next week.’

‘No! So soon?’

‘Someone dropped out, so I got in like Flynn. If I hadn’t got a place on this trip, I’d be waiting another six months.’

‘Well, bon voyage! ’ Fleur raised her glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to Africa!’

‘And here’s to you, Mystic Meg!’ Daisy took a sip of wine, then gave Fleur a look of appraisal. ‘One question. How are you going to do it?’

‘The fortune-telling?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Río lent me a crystal ball.’

Daisy raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘A crystal ball? Does it work?’

‘But of course! I looked into it earlier and it told me that at half-past seven this evening I would be drinking Sancerre and feasting on gâteaux with my niece. And presto! How uncanny is that? It is now seven-thirty and that is exactly what I’m doing.’

‘So presumably you’re just going to gaze into the ball and come out with mumbo-jumbo stuff about travelling over water and meeting tall dark strangers?’

‘I guess so. I haven’t really thought about it. Río gave me an instruction manual, but it’s pretty useless.’

‘How does Río usually do it?’

‘She improvises – she’s brilliant at it. She has such in-tuitive flair.’

‘I hate to say this, Flirty, but you’re not very good at improvising.’

Fleur shrugged. ‘I’ll just have to try. Río says she raised nearly four hundred euros last year, and Corban has agreed to double the sum I take in. And all the money raised is going to the Hospice Foundation.’

‘But if word gets out that you’re rubbish, no one will want to know.’

Fleur looked put out. ‘It’s only five euros a go, Daisy. And it’s for charity.’

‘Flirty – if you’re not worth it, people are going to spend their five euros on the tombola instead. If you want to double your money, you’re going to have to dream up some way of impressing the punters.’

‘But I can’t be expected to read people’s fortunes, Daisy! That is madness!’

‘Of course it’s madness. But…’ Daisy narrowed her eyes and gave Fleur the benefit of her best sphinx-like smile ‘…but I’m having quite a good idea. Where’s your crystal ball?’

‘Upstairs.’

‘Show me.’

‘OK.’ Fleur got to her feet and eased into a stretch. ‘Ow. I’ll get out of this costume while I’m up there. If I don’t take off the cummerbund I’ll have no room for your cake.’

‘Why did you lace it so tight?’

‘Vanity, of course, chérie .’

Upstairs, Fleur doffed her fancy dress and got into lounging pyjamas. On reflection, she decided she was glad that Daisy had decided to quit her modelling career. She knew that her elder brother, François, was uncomfortable with the notion of his daughter being caught up in such a superficial milieu. Being the father of an only daughter, François was a staunch protector of his pride and joy, and had reared her quite strictly, as is the manner of French fathers. Fleur remembered how François had been sent by her own father to rescue her when she had run off to Dublin. The ironic thing was that her brother, too, had fallen in love with Ireland – more specifically, with a Galway girl – and both siblings had stayed, building businesses on the west coast. Fleur had her boutique in Lissamore, and François had his – a fishing tackle shop – in nearby Galway. Fleur was glad she had family so close: although she and her brother were chalk and cheese (François was into hunting, shooting and fishing in a big way), she was mad about her beautiful niece, whom she treated as her surrogate daughter.

Her phone alerted her to a message: Daisy had forwarded the picture she had taken earlier. Ooh la la – it was quite fun! Her gypsy skirts were all a-twirl around her thighs, the cinched-in waist enhanced her curves, and she was smiling directly to camera. She’d forward it to Corban, for a joke. She composed the caption: Gypsy Rose Lee will tell your fortune for a modest remuneration, then pressed Send. By the time she’d got back downstairs with the crystal ball and Six Lessons in Crystal Gazing , Daisy was checking something out on her iPhone.

‘My idea is inspired , Flirty. Have a look at this.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s my Facebook profile.’

‘Wow. You have so many friends,’ said Fleur, looking over Daisy’s shoulder. ‘But what has this to do with your inspired idea?’

‘Aha! Behold.’

Aiming the cursor at ‘Status’ on the top of her profile page, Daisy typed in, ‘Anyone in the Coolnamara region this weekend? Check out the fortune-teller at the festival in Lissamore. She rocks!’

Fleur gave her niece a sceptical look. ‘Daisy – that’s just inviting disaster!’

‘No, it’s not. Because this is what you are going to do. Watch this.’

Daisy clicked on a name, and another profile appeared on the screen. The person in question was a pretty girl called Sofia. As Daisy scrolled down, Fleur learned that Sofia’s birthday was on the second of October: she was a Libra. Her relationship status was single, she was interested in men. A click told Fleur that Sofia’s favourite movies included Mamma Mia and Disney’s Beauty and the Beast , her favourite book was The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas , she had a brown belt in karate, and she made excellent pasta because her mother was Italian. Her photo album included shots of herself standing against a variety of landmarks: the Sydney Opera House, the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum. Remarks that had been posted on her wall read: ‘See you when you get back from Coolnamara – Club M, Friday week?’ ‘Hmm…I hear you met a cutie in Paris!’ ‘You saw Cheryl Cole in Top Shop? Awesome!’

‘This is most illuminating, my dear,’ said Fleur. ‘But why should you want to share with me the information that one of your friends met a cutie in Paris and has a brown belt in karate?’