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It was just meant to be a bit of fun. ‘We’ll go together,’ said Tia. ’She only comes to town every six months or so. And you could use a bit of help.’

I’d rolled my eyes at the suggestion. I know Tia meant well, but it was difficult to imagine how going along to see a psychic, let alone one called Dawn the Diva, would help me. Tia was always reading out bits from the horoscopes in the Sunday papers as if they were reliable predictions for the week ahead, but it was all mumbo jumbo to me.

But somehow I found myself a week later on a plastic chair in a stuffy room, the air weighed down by incense which somehow smelt like violets. That took me back to the subtle scent that my Nan used to wear, as familiar as the soft cotton hankie that she always had at the ready.

Dawn looked like an ordinary person, and there were no brightly coloured headscarves or other gimmicks. She simply smiled at me and asked me what I was interested in knowing more about.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me about my future? How I’ll meet someone tall, dark and handsome?’

At this, Dawn laughed, a bright burble of sound that had me sitting up straighter in the chair. ‘You’ve been there, done that. I’m not here to confirm what you already know. But next time, trust your instinct.’

‘How did you?’ But I stopped myself. The end of my last relationship had been recent and was still raw. One of the reasons why it still hurt was that I’d known something was wrong, but hadn’t listened to myself.

‘You’re not alone, did you know that? I can see that there’s someone looking out for you.’

Despite the warmth in the room, I shivered. ‘Who is it?’

Dawn looked around me, her eyes scanning the space above and around me. It took all my willpower not to look as well, but of course there wouldn’t be anything to see.

‘He’s an older man, with a kind face and a beard. He’s looking out for you, and he’s there for you if you feel lonely. Or scared. Or alone.’

At this, I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Like Casper the Ghost, but with facial hair?’

Dawn frowned a little. ‘We can’t always explain everything with logic or fact.’ She leaned forward, her eyes holding mine. ‘Have you ever felt as though there is a gentle hand on your shoulder when you’re feeling sad, or a warmth that fills you just when you need it? A sense that even when you are in the depths of despair, there is something, someone, pulling you back to the light?’

I looked down at my hands as they trembled softly. My body seemed to hum with a sense of hope. ‘Maybe,’ I murmured.

‘That’s him,’ said Dawn. ‘That’s your friendly spirit.’

This piece was written to a prompt on the Writer’s Digest website. Spirited: your character is being protected by a friendly spirit.

Photo: painted wall at Gladesville, Sydney