I Never Fancied Him Anyway Read Online Free

eventually.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because . . . I dunno. I can’t make up my mind about this one.’
    ‘You think that’s bad? I still can’t make up my mind about where I stand on the Paul McCartney/Heather Mills split.’
    I’m not even sure I can put into words what’s worrying me. All I know is that I have the strongest instinct to go to this house and I’m a great believer in always, always following your gut instincts.
    ‘Oh, it’s nothing scary or creepy, it’s just that . . .’ I look at her, weighing up whether or not I should tell her what’s forming at the back of my mind. I decide to go for it, on the basis that no matter how bizarre my job gets (and at times, you just wouldn’t
believe
some of the letters I’m sent) Charlene never
ever
makes disparaging comments or dismisses what I do for a living. That’s the absolute beauty of her. Yes, she’ll put down my hair/clothes/long-term single status without batting an eyelid, but I’m well able for that and will tease her right back, and we’ll end up having a laugh, like really good friends can, without anyone taking offence. It’s only when people slag off the supernatural and make me feel like a chancer/charlatan/con artist that I get a bit upset. You know, the type of people who, when I tell them what I do for a living, look at me as if I’m barely on nodding terms with reality. It happens, believe me.
    ‘I think I might need to do a clearing,’ I say simply. ‘There’s something in this house, someone trapped. Maybe a spirit that hasn’t passed, or rather, that’s passed on, but maybe just . . . doesn’t know it yet.’
    Now I have Charlene’s full attention. ‘Wow. Dead and doesn’t know it. Kinda spooky.’
    ‘Nothing spooky about it in the least. Happens all the time. Spirits are our next-door neighbours, honey, that’s all. We’ve nothing to fear from them; in fact, most of the time, they only want to help us.’
    ‘So you want to go there and do a sort of spiritual spring-cleaning?’
    ‘Ehh . . . yeah, kind of. If you want to put it like that.’
    ‘Right, well, I think I’ll come with you for moral support,’ says Charlene. ‘Over my drop-dead gorgeous body am I letting you face into that alone. Cassie, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times. You are so amazing at this stuff, why aren’t you doing this on television?’
    I’m silently blessing her for being such a trooper when she picks up another letter from the groaning pile on my desk and reads it out.
    ‘Dear Cassandra,
    I’ve been seeing a guy for almost two months now and I’m starting to think there’s something up. In all that time, he’s never as much as laid a finger on me. Not once. He keeps saying it’s because he respects me too much and that he’s much happier just chatting to me, but I’m a normal woman with normal needs and desires, if you know what I mean, and this is starting to become an issue. Oh, and just to anticipate what any of your readers may think, yes of course I am aware that there are “shag-dodgers” out there, I just didn’t think I’d end up going out with one, that’s all.
    Take my birthday last week, for instance. He came over, watched
Brokeback Mountain
on DVD, then gave me tickets for the two of us to go and see Cher in concert at the Point Depot. I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t even like Cher. I’d have far preferred to see U2. Then when I tried to kiss him as he was leaving, he gave me a Mediterranean peck on each cheek, told me my make-up was just a shade too dark for my skin tone, and was gone.
    It’s really starting to drive me mental, Cassandra. This guy can bring me down faster than a bad hair day. If you have any psychic feelings on the subject, I’d be most grateful.
    Concerned in Castlebar’
    ‘Well, there’s one you don’t have to be psychic for,’ says Charlene. ‘Gay and doesn’t know it yet. Gay as Christmas in Bloomingdale’s, if you ask me.’
    ‘Hold on, there’s a PS,’ I