No More Cold Reading!

The terraced house was typical “ex-council”. The small front garden was well- kept, complete with privet hedge and wooden gate. The front door was still the original 1930’s and painted bright green. It opened into a small hallway with two rooms leading off to the left. At the end of the hallway was a small galley style kitchen. The two rooms downstairs were ordinary. White ceilings and cream walls. The room at the front of the house with the small bay window was the dining room. It had a square table with four chairs and a little sideboard. The second was the living room with television, sofa and armchair. It looked like a normal house on a normal street.

But this was no ordinary house. This house belonged to Sheila O’Conlan.

She was a grey haired, sixty eight year old lady with a soft Irish accent. Apart from her two cats, Molly and Dolly, she lived alone.

Sheila was sitting at her table with her laptop open. The laptop was connected to a small square shaped machine and this in turn was connected to her phone. It was half past five on a Tuesday afternoon. Her last client had just left the house.

Her phone rang. She waited for it to ring six times and then she answered the call.

“Hello.”

Her voice was quiet and soothing, and with her soft Irish accent she sounded like everyone’s favourite grandma.

“Hello is that Sheila?”

“Yes, hello dearie how are you today?”

“I’m fine thank you. I wondered if I could book a reading with you. You were recommended by my friend Sylvia, Sylvia Reynolds.”

“Ahh bless you dearie and god bless lovely Sylvia. Of course you can have a sitting. When did you want to come along?”

“I don’t mind, when can you fit me in?”

“What would be best, daytime or evening?”

“It would have to be evening I’m at work during the day.”

“Let me just check dearie.”

Sheila shuffled papers on her table and found her diary.

“Thursday at seven, or I have a slot tonight at eight?”

“Tonight? That would be great.”

“What’s your name dearie? just first name, that’s all I need.”

“Suzanne.”

“Ahh bless you Suzanne. I’ll see you tonight at eight. Take care my love.”

She hung up. She looked at her computer screen, it had already done its work. The number that called was a mobile, the mobile number was on contract with O2. It was registered to a Mrs Suzanne Corbett of 37 Malgrave Road, Dagenham, Essex.

She typed in some details on her computer. Suzanne Corbett, female, lives at 37 Malgrave Road, Dagenham, has a full time job. Close friend of Sylvia Reynolds. She sent these details to an email address. Within seconds she had a reply.

Okay, I’m on it.

Sheila O’Conlan had been a medium for over twenty years. She was good. But with current technology she was fantastic. She averaged 5 clients a day.

She charged fifty five pounds for a two hour sitting. Although she had two clients who paid far in excess of that. One was an ageing TV celebrity from one of the soaps and the other was a retired female singer who had once topped the charts.

She started her sittings as early as eight in the morning and could finish as late as ten in the evening. This wasn’t just a hobby, this was a well- run business.

Most weeks she would clear fifteen hundred pounds cash. She had a nephew who did most of her research and she paid him three hundred pounds per week. Apart from that she had no outlay, no overheads. People came to her, she didn’t go to them, she didn’t need any special equipment other than her laptop. SHE was all the equipment needed.

Gone were the bad old days of “cold reading”, where she had to rely on guesswork and assumption, hoping that something she said would be right and then the clients face would give it away. Now, with Facebook, twitter and google, she could know a lot about someone before they’d even put the phone down.

People came to see her because they “needed” something. It could be advice, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. But they all needed something. Her job was to give them what they needed. She always did.

Everyone loved old Sheila. Once they’d had their first sitting they would always come back for another. Might be a few years later, but they always returned. They would also tell everyone they knew just how good she was. Her diary was always full.

She had a good life. She owned two other properties that she rented out. A small villa in Portugal and the caravan in Norfolk. She also had a substantial amount of money in the bank.

Fifteen minutes later an email came back. It read,
Suzanne Corbett aged 46, works as a receptionist at Highgate Communications in Ilford. There is a recent article about them on the web. It says they may be “relocating” to Sheffield. She has two children both girls, Christine aged 22 and Leanne aged 18. No grandchildren. According to her Facebook page she is not in a relationship! Christine is living with her boyfriend Karl and Leanne still lives at home. There are photographs of her on a recent holiday to Turkey with her friend Sylvia. Her daughter recently put on her Facebook page “Daddy is a scumbag.” Her husband, Trevor, is not on Facebook. Looks like they’ve split up. Two months ago there were lots of posts sending condolences. Her Mum passed away aged seventy six. Lung Cancer. Also, there was a post on her page yesterday from a Peter Walker that was a bit flirty. It mentioned “sharing a glass of wine”. I called Highgate and asked for him. He works in the accounts department.

She updated her information about Suzanne. She replied to the email.

“Brilliant.”

She poured herself a cup of tea from the small pot on the table in front of her. She had already begun to think about tonight’s reading. During the next hour, various information came through about Suzanne Corbett.

At ten to eight her doorbell rang. She walked slowly along the hallway and shouted out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She opened the door to Suzanne Corbett.

“Hello dearie, Suzanne is it? Sorry to keep you lovey I’m a bit slow on my pins these days. Come in dear.”

Suzanne smiled at the lovely little lady in front of her. Sheila led the way into the front room. The table had been cleared apart from the teapot, two cups and a small sugar bowl and a little china jug of milk.

“Sit yourself down dearie. Have you had a reading before?”

Suzanne sat down.

“No, never. To be honest I’m a bit nervous about the whole thing. But Sylvia said you were really good so I thought I’d come along. I’ve always been a bit of a non-believer. So I’m looking forward to seeing if you can tell me things. You know, things you can’t possibly know from just my first name.”

Sheila smiled.

“Well let’s hope we can make you a believer after tonight shall we? Give me your hand dearie.”

Suzanne held out her right hand and Sheila held it gently, then closed her eyes.

“Oh you poor love. Mum sends her love and says she never did like Trevor.”

Sheila opened her eyes. Suzanne was in floods of tears.