Am I destined to be stuck in a Sex and the City storyline for the next five years?

With the on-off relationship taking its toll, Charlotte Cripps wants a stiff drink but settles for a massage at the yoga centre in Notting Hill, where she meets a psychic

Illustration by Amara May

I was starting to feel like Carrie from Sex and the City forever chasing my own elusive “Big”. I was so stressed out that I booked myself in for a massage at a local yoga centre in Notting Hill. Little did I know that I was about to meet my very own Mystic Meg, who would become my closest confidante and helper in bringing the Alex affair to fruition.

I’d been hanging about for quite a while in the waiting room when an ethereal and witch-like woman beckoned me to follow her. She looked a little bedraggled, with white blonde hair and Ugg boots over fleece leggings. I sat down at her desk and she asked my name, and then told me I wasn’t her next client after all.

Just as I was about to leave, she said “hang on”, phoned down to reception, and told me to stay. I lay back on the massage table and she started to drench me in aromatherapy oils – so much so that I felt the need to lie on a paper towel, like a fish that has been deep-fried in tons of cooking oil.

She was kneading my back when she suddenly declared that she had an image of me hiding under a shell. Was I feeling under attack? How did she know? That was exactly how I felt.

Simon had become a troublemaker in my plans to be with Alex. He knew I was mad about him but was a great influence on him and was protective of me, so he was throwing his oar in. Perhaps he would tell Alex that I was in love with him?

Was it a west London love triangle? We were all in awe of each other in different ways. Alex relied on Simon for his cultural knowledge as he swatted up on films and books. He had played truant so much at school in Blackpool that when his mother went to a parents’ evening, they told her he had left months ago. I’d met Simon four years earlier in 1996 at a treatment centre in Earl’s Court when I asked him to do a urine test for me because I knew mine would come up positive. He laughed and said No. We had stayed best friends ever since.

After the massage, I got off the bed and felt calmer. I looked in the mirror and my face had lost that desperate look. I had changed on a deeper level and felt relaxed. It was the first time I’d spoken to somebody about Alex who seemed to understand the whole situation so accurately – as if she knew him. It was very subtle to start with but I felt that I had some help. I decided to see her again: not because I wanted a massage but because I wanted her guidance.

Her accuracy was mind-blowing. I had replaced money spent on shopping, going out and cinema trips with a weekly ‘clairvoyant’ chat in the guise of a massage

OK, she was a little unusual, but it far outweighed seeing a therapist. I didn’t want any asides “Oh that must be hard” or “Do you feel rejected?” in a sympathetic tone. I wanted an action plan. She was surprised to see me the next day having bought a package of three more sessions with one treatment thrown in for free.

As I lay down on the massage table, I told her about any sightings or news I’d had of him, things on my mind, and she would occasionally look into the distance and say things like: “It won’t happen for a few more months”, “he does love you” and “he thinks all women are manipulative”.

Her accuracy was mind-blowing. I had replaced money spent on shopping, going out and cinema trips with a weekly “clairvoyant” chat in the guise of a massage. When Alex saw me at meetings, he did a double-take. “Gosh you look well,” he said. I was calmer because she told me he needed calm. I had to be a rock because he was all over the shop; and there was lots going on that I couldn’t see that was destabilising him.

With my new fairy godmother, I felt buoyant. I had nothing to lose in believing in her. In fact, there was nothing I did without consulting her first. I wasn’t the only one – she had been a trusted adviser to some seriously famous celebrities in the past.

I’m in good company, I thought. Like people all through the ages from Julius Cesar to Princess Diana and chief execs of big companies, I was employing a soothsayer, albeit a temperamental one, but who could blame her? She told me she had a gift but could not see the way forward in her own life. She was resentful of this. But I needed her talent to bring Alex and me together. Would I have to wait two hours, two months, or two years? Thank goodness she couldn’t map it out because had I known it would take so long, I might have imploded on the spot.

I was destined to be stuck in a Sex and the City storyline for the next five years – together but always apart – until our toothbrushes were united together in my bathroom.