1 Budapest Szia," says a woman with a throaty Hungarian accent. "Hiya," I say as I push the fringed bloodred velvet curtains aside. The room is dark, filled with strung beads, rich blue fairy lights, and candles. I feel a thrill coursing through my veins as I move toward the small wooden table in the center of the room. I can't believe I'm about to have my fortune read by a proper clairvoyant. I touch the red velvet tablecloth and peer at the worn deck of tarot cards and an almost burned-out candle in one of those bronze candleholders with the finger hole. "Tarot or palm?" my fortune-teller asks, her back to me as she lights another candle. The golden glow around her adds to the mystique. "Umm . . . palm," I say hesitantly, "if that's okay? There's always a risk of death with the cards, isn't there." "Death," she whispers, "death can sometimes mean rebirth." And then she slowly turns to profile and I see the most, and I mean the most, enormous, bulging baby bump. I gasp. "Oh yes. I see! Rebirth, because . . . because you're . . ." I flap a hand in the direction of her belly and then I giggle, but it's a nervous giggle. "Do you need a hand?" "No," she snaps as she struggles toward me. As I wait the long moments it takes for her to make her way to the table, I note the purple satin and gold lace enshrouding her, the thin gold chains around her neck, and wrists full of jangling bangles. Her face is obscured by the fall of a net veil, and I can just make out thick black eye makeup, the flash of gold hoop earrings, and not much else. "Ten thousand forint for a full profile, which includes relationships, fortune, and . . . love." "Yes! A full profile!" I nearly shout it, my heart thumping almost loudly enough for me to hear it over the Eastern European folk music plucking away in the background. "Sit," she commands. As I slide onto the little brown stool, she stops moving suddenly, her breath quickening. She is still for a moment, her shrouded face tilting up to the ceiling, then a moment later she seems to visibly relax. Is reading my fortune causing her discomfort? What does that mean? Is my energy strong? Am I vibrating? I look down at my trembling hands. "Sit," she says even more sharply. "I'm sitting, I'm sitting," I say as she finally breathes out and moves toward the table. "Are you . . . okay?" "Full profile, you said? Pass me your hand." I reach across and lay my hand in hers, palm facing up. Her fingers are clammy and warm. "Are you ready?" I feel almost giddy with excitement. "Oh yes," I say as I straighten myself up. "I should tell you, I'm kind of an amateur astrology enthusiast. I'm a Sagittarius, by the way, Aquarius rising." I cannot believe I stumbled upon this place. It feels like I was meant to be here. Maybe after this the road ahead will no longer be an endless, nerve-racking mystery, but rather a future to be moved toward. A future I can believe in. Oh, my heart sighs, the quiet peace in that. There is a moment of silence before she turns her head down to inspect my palm. "What is your name?" "Mara." "And where are you from, Mara?" "England," I say brightly, and then: "Technically I'm from a small town just north of Newcastle on the Scottish border, but I'd need to get out a map-" "Well, Mara," she interrupts, "this is your lifeline. There is a very long line here, long and unbroken. Very general, nothing of note. Some signs of trauma here, but since then, very plain and unremarkable." I hold my tongue. Plain and unremarkable . I already know that. I'd tried and failed to stand out from the crowd, and so I have found it safer to stay in the shadows. I don't need to hear where I am now; I want to know where I'm going to be next. I need her to confirm what I feel in my bones: that something big is coming. "Are you here on holiday?" "Yes," I say. "I was supposed to be here with my best friend. Her first 'post-baby' getaway, but she pulled out because, well . . . babies are a lot of work." And then I glance down at her belly and swiftly add, "I'm sure you'll be absolutely smashing at it, though. Nothing to worry about. I suppose you already know that, being a clairvoyant-" "Shhh," she hisses. She seems uncomfortable, I notice, as she moves slightly in the seat. "Sorry," I say meekly. Shut up, Mara. "Although your life is small, you seek adventure," she continues. I frown. This was true once, as an eighteen-year-old leaving home with two suitcases and a head full of dreams. Now? I am not so sure. If there's still a part of me that is adventurous, it's only a whisper. So quiet, I almost can't believe it was ever there. This long weekend away with my best friend was supposed to be an adventure. Charlie, a seasoned globe-trotter, chose Budapest because it was the coolest destination on the planet. Hip new cafés, famous "ruin bars" built into the shells of crumbling buildings; it was the European creative, fashion, and art community's new industrious home. She sold it to me hard. Then Charlie pulled out abruptly. She was stressed about leaving baby Sophie, who'd had a fever two nights running, and she called me as I was trying to make every clothing possibility fit into a tiny hand-luggage-only backpack. It was a mere sixteen hours before the flight. It wasn't the first time she'd canceled on me since becoming a mum, but I was so sure this trip was actually going to happen. Charlie and Mara: the Flirty Thirties. The brilliant sequel to our Tipsy Twenties. Charlie's return to the world. The long-anticipated reboot to our friendship. I was so deflated I cried. Then she cried and apologized, and I felt guilty for crying. And then, to alleviate my guilt, I put on the bravest brave face I could, and told her I would go anyway, have a fantastic time, and she shouldn't worry at all. "It will be good for you, Mara," she'd said. But I've struggled for two straight days. Charlie prepaid for this incredible hotel in the heart of Terézváros, the very coolest district in the city. The Stories Hotel has an enormous glass-ceilinged atrium filled with huge plants, trees, and hanging vines where you could sit for a cocktail or breakfast. My hotel room was also enormous, with dark-plum walls and mid-century styling, an actual record player, and a minibar with full 750-milliliter bottles of tequila, and there was a roaming bartender who could come to your door to shake you a margarita at 2 a.m., apparently. If ever a room was there to remind you that you were traveling alone, it was this room. Every time I looked across at the two ornate champagne coupes atop the bar, I plunged into a renewed sulk. I'd ventured out only to eat, peruse a few shops, and scurry back to the comfort of my room and superfast Wi-Fi. On the second night I even messed up the sheets on the other bed just so I didn't feel so alone. I made one trip to a nearby hotel with a famous Turkish spa in the basement. When I emerged from the wellness elevator I saw a fully naked man in his eighties, casually leaning against a stone pillar, his squat penis just dangling there. I stayed perfectly still and waited for the doors to close before I breathed out. Screw that for a holiday activity. Besides, there was a bath in my room. But I was here now, with this woman, this clairvoyant. I'd taken a wrong turn and, as fate would have it, stumbled upon this little shop. And, I hoped now, my future. "I'd like to have more adventures," I offer my fortune-teller. At least that was true. "Just, like, with someone , you know?" She nods. "Here, your fate line; this break here means a change of career. Do you like your career?" "Career?" I consider this. Would I call bookkeeping at a lido in coastal Kent a career? It felt more like retirement. I needed a change. I shake my head. "You need change," she says, and my heart rate speeds up at the accuracy. It's almost like she can hear my thoughts. "Something with value. Ah, but here, your sun line." "My sun line?" "The sun line is for popularity and success. The longer and deeper and more parallel to your fate line, the more you will have of both. You have very little line at all." "I see." I nod pitifully. "You're struggling to make change. It holds you back. You think you should be somewhere else, and it makes you angry that you are only here. You feel average. Ordinary. Average job. Average house. Average car." "Below average on the car front," I whisper to myself, picturing the former hearse that was the only thing I could afford before hastily leaving London. "But you do not make the changes," she says. I feel like she's personally attacking me. "You are waiting for something, but life seems to move forward without you." I nod slowly. I was waiting. Waiting for her to tell me when it would all get better. "You are lonely . . . ," she says again. "Yes. Lonely. Average. Ordinary. Got it," I say. "Fine. Then, love," she says. "Love," I breathe, biting my lip as I feel the heat rushing into my cheeks. "You are searching for someone to make you feel whole," she says as I nod along, engrossed. "But what is really missing is you ." She flips my hand so she's looking at the side of my palm, below the small finger, and runs a thumb across the lines. "But I feel children. And, yes, a great, romantic love." "Really?" " Really ," she repeats. "Does it say where? Or who?" She closes her eyes now. I watch her head tilt slightly as she stares into my future, then looks back at me. "I see great height. A tall man. Warm. Kind. I see the ocean. Someone who spends time with their passions. A lot of work with his hands. I see many people around him. You know him imminently." "Imminently?" "It means very soon ." "Yes." I yelp. "Really? Very soon?" "But . . . ," she begins again. "But?" "There is something in the way," she says, tugging on my hand. "Somethings you need to fix before it all comes together." "Fix?" I say, my heart quickening. The idea that I could, at last, have an action plan . . . thrilling. "What do I need to fix?" "There are problems that need attention. When these are fixed, he will reveal himself to you." "Does this mean I won't meet him until whatever it is, is fixed? I thought the meeting was imminent?" I can hear my voice rising in excitement, but I can't stop. "He is-" Suddenly, her grip on my hand tightens as if she's squeezing the juice out of an orange. She throws her head back and yowls. It's a deep, long, guttural moan, much like the sound a transforming werewolf would make. Then she doubles forward, releases her grip on my hand, and clutches at her bump, her legs spreading wide as she breathes heavily out. "Jesus fucking Christ!" she shouts. I stand up, knocking the stool over as I do, shaking out my hand, which is aching from the firmness of her grip. "Is it coming?" I say, panicked, taking another step back farther. "Awwww," she says again, doing that fast, staccato breathing as she appears to calm. Her hands move to her stomach and she lets out another moan, this one less urgent, more like she's resigned to die from a stab wound. "Shall I get help?" I say. "It's time," she says. She pulls the veil off and I see a woman who must be only a few years older than me. Across her forehead are dots of perspiration. "Oh sweet baby Jesus," she says softly, her Hungarian accent more pronounced. "My phone? It's behind the large red candle." I nod, move to the little shelf, and hand it to her. "Can I do anything?" I ask, my voice weak and thin. I am hoping the answer is a clear no so I can get out of here, but the deeply ingrained need to be polite keeps me fixed firm in the spot. "We need to go now," she says; then her eyes drop to her phone as she taps on the screen with great haste. I go to speak but she holds a finger up to me as she raises the phone to her ear, and I zip my mouth shut. A machine gun of Hungarian follows. Then she hangs up and removes her earrings and all of her necklaces and bracelets, rubbing at the skin on her wrists in relief. She looks at me, hard. "Move. We have to go," she says. "Um, okay, sure, I just need to call a taxi," I say quickly. I feel my heart start to thump. No, I do not want to wait on a street in a city I don't know as the dark begins to settle. Alone. "The baby will not wait for you to call a taxi," she says. "Please? I just . . . I don't really want to wait out there." I can hear my voice is high and strangled as I say it. She tries to pull herself up from the table, and I swear the bump has dropped lower than it was. The harem pants are making it look even more precarious. She stands there staring at me, catching her breath from the exertion of standing, flush-faced and impatient. "Then you need to lock up," she says between breaths. "Um, okay. I can do that." I nod. "Is there a key, or . . ." "Just blow out the candles and pull that plug, turn off the fan, and shut the door as you leave; it will lock behind you," she says, waving in several vague directions before she takes a deep breath, picks up an overnight bag in one hand and a money tin in the other, and heads to the door. I rush forward to hold it open for her, which involves a tricky, stretchy dance around her, and then she's out on the footpath. And then as I reach into my handbag and pull out a handful of Hungarian forint, I can't help asking, "The guy? You know, the one? Were there any identifying features? How will I know? It's just that I've been single for like ten years and I've never been able to fully picture who he will be. I know what he won't be, for example, Scorpio, but-" Her next contraction silences me. I meekly wave her off as she waddles slowly down the stairs to a waiting car. "Good luck," I say. "Leave everything with me. Don't even think about it. Everything is totally under control." When her car speeds off up the road, I sigh, gazing up the long avenue towards a massive construction site in one direction, and in the other The Budapest Opera House. The sun is starting to go down, and I wonder what to do with my last night in this city. I feel slightly giddy with excitement. Perhaps I'll go for a cocktail at the hotel Parisi Udvar after all. Charlie had made the reservation for tonight, and it still stands. Perhaps if this meeting is truly imminent, I need to get myself out there and ready for it. I go back inside and find the little card of the taxi company I'd been given by the hotel. I dial the number and am told it will be a half hour before I can be picked up. *** I look around and see the veil on the table alongside the fortune teller's clip earrings and gold necklaces and I glance up at the gilded mirror on the back wall. I wonder, for a moment, what it would feel like to wear them. I pick them all up, and walk over to the mirror, fixing on the earrings, then the veil and then draping over the seven necklaces. I look in the mirror and I feel a tingle make its way down my spine, imagining for a moment that I might have the powers she has. How does a clairvoyant know that they have the gift, I wonder? What would it be like to see my future in front of me? I close my eyes and try to make this imminent new love come alive in my imagination. I can almost see the dark edges of his form as I conjure him in my mind--tall, passionate, working with his hands, with lots of people around him. I feel the tingle of excitement as I begin to picture his face... and then, I hear the creak of the door. I spin around in a panic. And in he walks. Excerpted from The Setup by Lizzy Dent All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
