The Fortune
“Why the sulking? You’ll love it there—the sea, the beach, sunshine,” Irina said, her eyes straining to catch her daughter’s gaze.
But Alyssa stubbornly turned toward the train window, where endless fields and low vineyards stretched into the distance. Beside the railway ran a motorway, cars racing past like toys from this high vantage.
The silhouettes of hills flickered in and out of view through the morning haze. The blinding sun had started to hurt her eyes. Alyssa checked her phone for the hundredth time that morning and tossed it aside in frustration.
“Oh, the agonies of a first crush,” Irina thought, sighing inwardly before speaking aloud.
“Probably no signal yet. It’ll come back when we arrive.”
“Mum, enough,” Alyssa muttered, turning back to the window.
“Martha’s house sits on a hill—you can see the sea from the windows. Sometimes you can even hear the waves. The garden! The air!” Irina pressed on. “You’ll see for yourself in a few hours.”
“Please don’t tell me she has a son.” Alyssa shot her a sour look.
“She does, but not her own. Martha never had children. She raised someone else’s boy. He’s at university in another town, studying for exams. Doubt you’ll even see him.”
“You said she was your friend. How did you meet if she lives down south and you’re from Surrey?” Alyssa asked.
“Oh, that’s quite the story. Want to hear it?”
Alyssa gave a half-shrug, eyes still fixed on the monotonous landscape.
***
Martha and I grew up a street apart, went to the same school. I wouldn’t say she was stunning, but her hair was unusual—ash-blonde curls that shimmered gold in sunlight.
People always noticed her, turned their heads. I liked the secondhand attention. Before our A-levels, our class took a boat trip, then wandered through the city park. That’s where she met him—a bloke—and fell head over heels. We saw less of each other after that; I didn’t want to intrude. When we did meet, it was all him.
She’d dreamed of acting, planned to apply to drama school in London. But love changed things—she enrolled at the polytechnic where her Michael studied, just to stay close. I went to uni.
When we met, we’d talk for hours. A year later, Michael proposed right before exams. I’d never seen her so happy.
Her mum and I helped pick the wedding dress. We tried them all. Everything looked perfect on Martha—could’ve grabbed the first and been done. Then the veil. She insisted I have a blue bridesmaid dress too. Exhausting day. Sent her mum home in a cab with the bags while we strolled along the esplanade. Late May, warm as summer.
People kept looking at Martha—she was radiant. Not that she noticed. We ate ice cream, laughed about wedding plans.
Two Romani women approached, pestering passersby. A stout one blocked our path, sing-songing, “Pretty girl, let me tell your fortune. The whole truth, what’s coming for you.”
Her companion lingered, thin and sullen, teeth too large for her mouth. Like a horse, I thought. Martha said the same later.
“I already know my future,” Martha grinned, licking her ice cream.
We tried to pass, but the woman seized her wrist, studied her palm, then tutted.
“A wedding awaits, golden girl.”
“No kidding,” Martha tried tugging free.
“Don’t bother. We’ve no money,” I cut in.
“Good news costs, but bad news comes free,” the Romani woman said, sending chills down my spine.
Her stare pinned Martha, sharp as hypnosis. The younger one smirked—or maybe just grinned with those horse teeth.
“Don’t listen, Martha, let’s go,” I urged.
“You’ll love deeply, but not for long. Fall from a horse on your wedding day, then illness. The sea will heal you. No second marriage. But a son brings joy,” the woman intoned, unblinking.
She released Martha’s hand and walked off. The younger shot us a glare before scurrying after. We walked in silence, joy drained. Those words clung like echoes.
“Martha, you’re not actually believing this? You won’t be riding some knackered carnival nag in a wedding dress. We’ve cars to the registry.”
“True. No horse for me,” Martha said, snapping back.
“She made it up ‘cos we didn’t pay,” I said lightly, and we laughed it off.
The wedding was set right after exams, then a seaside honeymoon—a gift from relatives. We forgot the prophecy.
Wedding day arrived. Groom en route. We stood before her mirror, adjusting the veil when she suddenly said, “Dad calls his Range Rover ‘the stallion.’ I won’t ride in it.”
“Good. Take another car.”
“Won’t take any. The registry’s close—we’ll walk.” She grinned at my reflection.
“Fun. Brides don’t usually promenade in full regalia.” We giggled nervously.
Convincing Michael took work. Parents objected. But Martha held firm: walk or no wedding. So they did.
Nothing went wrong. Mendelssohn played, rings exchanged, a kiss—husband and wife. Now surely they’d drive. But Martha insisted on park photos first. And it was lovely—blooms, vine-covered arches.
“Let’s shoot you on the carousel,” the photographer suggested.
Bright, with painted wooden horses. Michael helped her onto a white one, took another. I fluffed her train, stepped back. Music started. They reached for each other as the carousel spun, camera clicking.
“Mummy, look! A bride on a white horse, like a fairy tale!” a girl shrieked.
No one saw it happen. Martha later said the dress was slippery; she’d barely gripped the smooth wooden back. The shout startled her—one hand slipped, and that was enough. Her stiletto caught between floorboards. She toppled from the carousel.
A scream, then unconscious. Instead of a feast, an ambulance. A shattered ankle. Surgery went wrong. She walked with a cane, pain constant. Six months later, they went to a London specialist—another op, long recovery in plaster.
***
“And after? Did Martha heal?” Alyssa asked.
“Mostly. Still limped a little.”
“And Michael?”
“Hospitals wore them down. Martha hid indoors, ashamed first of the cane, then crutches. Told Michael she didn’t love him. Divorced. Afraid he’d leave first.”
“He just left?”
“Then remarried. Real love survives trials. First love’s often just infatuation.”
“Never getting my fortune told before a wedding,” Alyssa muttered.
“Good. Martha fixated on dodging fate—only made it worse. A car ride, no carousel—no fall.” Irina sighed. “But that’s how it went.”
“Did she marry again?”
“No. After the split, her parents took her to the coast. Off-season, empty hotels. They rented a room from a widow by the sea—where we’re staying.”
The widow’s daughter had run off with a tourist, returned years later with a son, then vanished again. The boy stayed. The widow—too old for child-rearing—planned to send him to care. Martha convinced her otherwise. Parents protested. Martha refused to leave.
Years later, the widow passed. Martha still lives there with the boy. The birth mother tried reclaiming the house, but paperwork had been settled. The son disowned her. So they remain—as predicted, Martha found joy with a son by the sea.
“Why tell me all this?” Alyssa eyed her.
“To spare questions. Life rarely goes how we plan. What seems bad may turn out right. Love’s tested by time and distance.”
The train slowed. Passengers stirred, gathering belongings. Alyssa checked her phone one last time, stowed it. Outside, greeters peered into windows, seeking familiar faces. The carriage lurched, halted.
“Here we are!” Irina pulled a wheeled suitcase from overhead.
On the platform, a tall, pleasant lad approached.
“Irina? Daniel. Mum asked me to fetch you.” He grabbed their bags effortlessly, weaving through the crowd. “Recognised you from photos. She’s got your room ready—cooked a feast.”
During the cab ride, he answered Irina’s questions, pointed out landmarks, mentioned he’d leave tomorrow for exams.
They climbed a hill to a neat cottage behind a low fence. Martha limped out, embracing Irina. Alyssa expected the golden beauty from the tale—instead, a sun-darkened woman, hair hidden under a scarf.
The room was cosy, with a sea view merging into sky-blue horizon. After lunch, Daniel took Alyssa to the beach—”Let the mums talk,” he said. They returned late, starving, laughing.
Days passed in sunlit idleness. AlyssMonths later, when summer had faded and her phone lay forgotten in a drawer, Alyssa stood barefoot in the sand, watching Daniel’s easy smile and realizing the sea had washed away more than just her tan.
