Chapter Seventeen - Lean Times

Jerome was starting to struggle with the mounting bills. That family 'donation' was dwindling fast and his 'dream job', elusive as ever. He didn't dare ask for more money from his family. It would have meant proving them all right.

He wasn't cut out to live independently. But he had to prove to them that he could. There was no way he was going back to the homestead with his tail tucked neatly between his legs.

He had to admit, sitting daydreaming and chasing bugs soon lost it's sheen and the cupboards were beginning to look bare. His lean muscular body becoming leaner as time went on.

Trouble was, he didn't have the heart in him to stick at anything. As soon as he started a project, he soon lost interest in it.



Buying the robot crafting machine had been a bad move. He thrilled at the idea of turning little cranks and beating out small sheets of metal. But it was a '5' minute wonder, destined to sit in the corner gathering dust.

Besides, there was only so much time you could spend, playing with a toy robot before boredom set in.


His stomach rumbled aggressively as he tried to watch the huge wide screen tv.

Even the sound of a passing wolf, hawking up the remainder of it's dinner on his lawn, didn't distract him this time.



Gone was the prophecy of the old gypsy woman, as harsh reality took precedence instead.

Sighing heavily, he decided once and for all. It was time to get a roomie in.
Posting an ad in the local paper was a mighty struggle, as it took a sizeable chunk out of his depleting budget, but he was hopeful that some good would come from it.



Luckily, posting an ad online wasn't quite as expensive as he soon found out.

Days passed without a single reply. The only sign of life outside, were a few wandering wolves that decided his driveway was a playground.



He became despondent. If nobody replied, then he'd be forced to sell some of his most treasured possessions.


Then one day, it happened. Just as he was lighting the last of the wood he'd collected from one of his 'wanderings', he heard an unfamiliar sound.
The sound of approaching footsteps. Peering out of the window, he saw a pensive looking young man, hovering at the front gate, a newspaper in his hand.



At first glance, Nathan Summers looked lost, then bemused. As if this house shouldn't really be here, at the bottom of this secluded lane. He also looked pretty much confused too, staring up at the neat looking house with it's perfectly manicured gardens and swept pavements.


Surely this house wasn't owned by a man? It was far too neat. It was from a storybook really, with smoke coming from the chimney.

He half expected Hansel & Gretel to come skipping out of the front door.

Perhaps the owner was gay? It was obviously far too tidy otherwise. Not that Nathan was bothered really. All he was interested in, was a roof over his head and food on the table.
After all, he wasn't intending to stay indoors all the time.....

.... he had a busy social life to keep up.

Obviously he hadn't realised that Jerome had had too much time on his hands and kept a tight ship. Also, Jerome's family has a history of being in the military, and that kinda rubbed off on him and his attention to detail.


With a tentative step, he rapped lightly on the door and entered......

Chapter Seven

A Gypsy's Prophecy

Jerome had always been regarded as an 'odd' fellow.
Even his family thought he was slightly weird, taking great care in scrutinizing every minute little detail.

As a child, he was thoughtful and extremely shy.
He'd sit for hours, just watching a bee, buzzing lazily along on it's merry way.


Even after his older brothers were drafted into the army, Jerry, as he preferred to be called, would be found, pinning dead butterflies to boards, chatting on line to folks and generally keeping himself to himself.

Even at college, a time of great upheaval and change, he still maintained his quiet, dignified air about him.

So it was no surprise, when he graduated, that he'd already picked out a prime area of land, here in CloverDale.

It was situated on a one way street, overlooking the lake and stark mountains, nestled in a dell.

Once his humble home had been built (no thanks to a few 'donations' from the family funds), Jerry decided to settle down.


He still had a passion of butterflies, however. And he would be seen, throughout the summer and early autumn, trying to catch a few of them, unsuccessfully.

It was during one long, hot spell, that much to his chagrin, he spotted a gypsy woman approaching.

It would have deemed rude of him not to greet her, but his upbringing taught him to be polite at all times.

Groaning loudly, he dragged his heels through the house, just to say hello.
Otherwise she could have been there all day, just hanging around his front garden.

Smiling widely, her crooked teeth showing, the gypsy woman gazed at Jerry intently.
It made Jerry feel particularly uncomfortable and he wished he'd chased her away.

But coming from a family steeped in superstitious beliefs, he thought it wise to hear what she had to say.


"I see you have a kind face," she whispered, her voice sounded like dry autumn leaves.

He groaned inwardly.

Yep, that old familiar first line.
It never failed.

He smiled.

She held out her hand, it was thin and bony, the skin almost transparent.

"Cross my palm with silver," she continued, "and I shall tell you your future."

Reluctantly, Jerry fished in his pockets and came up with a handful of coins.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "that's all I have until I get myself a job."

She eyed him warily, feeling the weight of the coins in her hand.
Then she nodded, casting her eyes around at the small, yet humble house he'd built, it's red tin roof rapidly drying from the morning dew.

"Very well," she said heavily, "I shall make allowances only this once."


With that, she pulled a large glass orb from the carpet bag she'd been carrying, and polished it vigorously.

Peering intently into the crystal ball, she looked up at Jerry, her eyes wide with interest.
Then she smiled again. This time a lot more widely. Those crooked teeth making Jerry's stomach churn violently.

"Hmm, that interesting."

By now, all Jerry wanted to do, was to get rid of her.

But being the polite gentleman that he was, he couldn't bring himself to do it, fearing the dreadful curses the gypsy woman might cast upon him and his house.

"I see a tall dark-haired woman, coming into your life."

He groaned inwardly.
The typical 'you will meet and fall in love' scenario.

She looked back into the ball, her face darkened slightly.

"She comes from afar," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, "but beware. She's a mystery to you and if you're not careful, she'll break your heart."

It took all of Jerry's restraint not to roll his eyes at her.

By now, the sun had crossed the sky and was passing behind the clouds.
A slight breeze sprang up and caused Jerry to yawn involuntarily.

"I'm so sorry," he said, apologising vehemently, "I didn't mean to appear rude.... it's just the fret from the lake. I kinda does that to me."

She nodded, understanding.

"I suppose I did overstay my welcome a little bit," she admitted, "I guess I'd better be on my way."

She cast a knowing look around her at the house and surrounding area.

"Hmm," she said, partly to herself, "who would have guessed that this was here?"

She turned back to Jerry, her light watery eyes twinkling.

"Maybe it was destiny that caused me to wander down this street?" she grinned, slipping her crystal ball back into her bag, "Or was it sheer curiosity?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Who knows?"

She winked mischievously, before waving goodbye and vanishing back down the same way she's arrived.

Jerry watched as the top of her head vanished over the ridge of the hill.
His stomach grumbled loudly and he glanced at his watch.

"Goodness!" he thought, "look at the time! No wonder I'm hungry!"

He sauntered into the kitchen, raiding the cupboards for something quick and easy.
Not feeling brave enough to try his hand at the oven, and it being too hot a day to cook a meal, he opted for a lunch meat sandwich.


But as he spread the mustard thinly over the slice of meat, he began to think about the gypsy woman's words.

A dark-haired woman.

A dark-haired woman.