Lottie Grant

One thing was clear

Aunt Aurelia wasn’t my aunt’s real name. She was christened Jane. But she’d reinvented herself in her early thirties, swapping jumpers and jeans for long skirts and belted silk jackets. Cropped hair for long curls and head scarves. Plain Jane for mystical Aurelia. Almost overnight, what was a general curiosity about the occult became a business operated from my aunt’s sitting room. Complete with onyx crystal ball.