"Go on. Take one."

Every Sunday we would go to Grandma Meg's for dinner. It was always the same - a big joint of roast beef, cooked to perfection in her old electric oven; a tureen of roast vegetables, their flesh soft and moist; for dessert, something made with fruit from her garden. And, as if that wasn't enough of a feast, a fortune cookie.

After we had cleared our plates and stacked the dishes in the sink, Grandma Meg would bring out a china plate with fortune cookies on it; one for each of us. "You don't have to take one," she would say, "but you can't take any more than one." Then she would put the plate down on the table and let us pick which one we wanted.

My brothers would fight over who got their fortune cookie first; often almost - but not quite - coming to blows over the dinner table. However, they would unite against anyone trying to sneak a cookie before they had taken theirs. I would wait until last, taking whichever of the fortune cookies had been left behind. After all, there was no way of knowing what was inside them. Why should I worry?

Except ...

Most fortune cookies (the ones you buy in Asian supermarkets or get in restaurants) contain vague platitudes. 'You will find happiness' or 'A friend will never let you down'. Nothing better than what a second-rate fairground fortune teller would say. But Grandma Meg's fortune cookies were always specific and accurate. Whatever the fortune was, it always came true for the person who had picked the cookie. It didn't matter if we swapped fortune cookies. It was if we were destined to pick that cookie and get that fortune.

One day I asked Grandma Meg how the fortunes could be just so. She looked at me, a mysterious twinkle in her eye, and said, "Magic."

We grew older, left home and had families of our own. We still went to visit Grandma Meg, and we still went through the same routine of dinner followed by fortune cookies. And the fortunes - good or bad - still came true every time. Grandma Meg's explanation never changed. "Magic."

Then it happened. One day we went to visit Grandma Meg. She gave us her usual happy welcome, but this time it was tinged with sadness. Towards the end of the visit, she took me aside. "I'm sorry," she said. "You won't be getting any fortune cookies today. But you can have a gift instead. Choose something for yourself, and get your kids to choose something as well."

When we left, we were laden down with food and presents and love. "See you soon!" we yelled.

Grandma Meg just waved.

A week later, Grandma Meg died in her sleep. In the pantry was a tin labelled 'Chang's Fabulous Fortune Cookies'. It was empty. On her nightstand was a single, crumpled fortune.