Article by Sophie Jenkins
In 2015 my friend Cathy, who is gorgeous, intuitive and half French, started reading tarot cards and as practice, she offered to read mine. Me, I’ll try anything, usually, but I didn’t like the idea, mainly because I didn’t believe in it but also because I sort of did. What if she saw bad news in the pack, something that would worry me and keep me awake at night? My life was, after a period of turbulence, currently fine, and if there was trouble ahead, I didn’t really want to know about it in advance.
Two months before this, in the summer of 2015, my mother had gone into a dementia care home and surprisingly, considering how hard we’d fought...