A Life Beyond The Mirror

The drive seemed so much longer than it actually was. I’ve never been a restless or impatient person, but 4 hours felt like 8. Probably because every corner my mother stopped to a rolling speed. She never was a confident driver. My Father always was the chauffeur on every trip home. One section we actually nicknamed ‘the bendy wendies’ because of the sharp corners, my mother would close her eyes as my father drove like a pro, taking the corners and making me squeal. The scenery flicking past showcase beautiful woodlands rich in greens and rhododendrons in every hedgerow. Hillsides covered in shale rock and tall evergreens and the small villages dotted throughout. I stare out the window, stroking Toby’s soft fur as we go. He is a Jack Russell with tan, white and black markings, scruffy most of the time but after a trim, it makes him look mean. Laying down next to me, his paws on my lap, His damp tongue hanging out of his mouth. It was July. The temperature was warm, hotter in the car. I crack open a bottle of water and pour a little in the bowl. He lapped it up happily.

“Are you excited for your new school tomorrow?” Mum shouts over the radio from the front of the car, before turning down the radio.

“Not really. There is only a week left. Not even a week, it’s already Monday! I’ve done all my exams, so surely, I can miss one week?” I plead again.

“The head teacher insisted. I’m sorry honey. Just look at it this way, you may find some new friends for the summer! And you can invite them to your birthday party!” Doing a little excited dance.

“I’ll be turning 18, no one will care to come to your annual party Mum. I don’t even want to go to it this year!” I reply, sounding harsher than I mean it. She always throws me the same party and I learned early on that the party wasn’t for me, it was for her. To keep everything as normal as possible after Dad. It was like a kid’s party. Bunting in the garden, party hats, she even fills a piñata with candy. I would be truly mortified if anyone saw me. Especially since her signature gift is my party dress that usually contained frills. And was most certainly always pink. Let’s just say, me and Mum have completely different tastes when it comes to what I wear.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my parties?” she says, offended with her hand on her chest.

“Just that they usually only consist of me, you and Toby seen as my friends never wanted to go.”

“Nick liked to come to the parties. He could come this year.” I roll my eyes at the comment.

“Seen as Nick is my ex-boyfriend; I have a feeling the answer is going to be a no.” She always brought him up. She still can’t believe I ended things after I found out we were moving a few months ago. It wasn’t really a relationship anyway. We hardly saw each other, and this was my chance to give him his life back. He was there for me when my dad disappeared and I’ll always love him for that, but other than that I don’t think we were anything more than friends. That liked to make out a lot. He was devastated, but I knew he like Rachel from Science anyway. They basically got together as soon as we broke up.

“You’ll work things out, I’m sure.” She says, looking at me in the rear-view mirror and giving me a wink. I furrowed my brow at her.

“How about this year we just don’t do anything? It won’t be a bad thing. I just don’t see the point in celebrating with a party.”

“But it’s you eighteenth!” her voice resembling one of Toby's squeaky toys.

“I know, but I just want to start this new chapter on a less embarrassing note than trying to get random strangers to come to a party.”

She sat awkwardly, pondering. I could see the disappointment on her face. She looked hurt but I couldn’t keep having a party every year till I’m 50!

“Okay.” She finally replies with a sigh, barely audible. “We will be there in about 20 minutes. Your Grandmother can’t wait to see you. She hasn’t seen you in a few years… well in person.” I FaceTime her sometimes even though she doesn’t really get it. The number of times I have been face to ear with her I can’t even count. We haven’t been back in Pembrokeshire since the summer before dad disappeared. When the investigation was going on, she came to stay with us for a while but after a few months, she had to go home and try to move on.

“Is she ever going to get better?” I ask.

“Her hip should be healed in a month or so, but she needs the support. She can’t take care of herself like she used to. She needs us to be there for her in case anything happens again.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“The doctors said they aren’t sure. The mind is a marvellous thing. It can break just as easily as a bone though. They said some people sort themselves out, whilst others don’t. So, we just need to hope.”

I lean against the door of the car, taking in the scenery. Beautiful rolling fields for miles, the sun casting its light through the clouds. Wildlife everywhere.

“Do you remember much of Stackpole? I know we used to come here every summer before Dad… but you lived here.”

“Well, your father and I moved when we were 20, I found a job up in Chester and he came with me. He then found his job with the national trust. It was a quiet village not many people and beautiful beaches. My Mother and father owned a farm not too far away, it kept us busy, before they passed. Your dad and I met at school, the one you will be going to. It’s not as busy as the city but plenty of small-town gossip. Everybody knows everybody. My favourite part about growing up in Pembrokeshire was the legends.”

“I know. Fairies, sea monsters and witches. I remember the bedtime stories.” I smile. I had always loved those. My dad would sit on the floor at the head of my bed and tell me of the three witches of the cliff, the mermaids and the fairies at Bosherston. He would tell it in so much detail it was astonishing, he would even act out some of the stories, throwing sheets over his head, lights underneath his chin. Once he grabbed the broom from the cupboard and ran around my room, casting spells with a stick. That’s why it took me so long to get over the whole Santa Claus debacle. He was just so convincing! I spent most of my childhood at the bottom of the garden creating fairy circles and leaving offerings for the boobach, the little creatures that liked to tidy your room in return for food. I left bread, cakes (mostly crumbs by the time I got there). They never came, leaving me to tidy my room myself.

“I know you do.” She smiles at me in the rear-view mirror. There is a myth that King Arthurs castle is in Pembrokeshire.” She adds, almost as if to sell the place to me.

“That’s cool.” I reply that one hadn’t come up before. I loved legends and myths. The fact that nobody knows what is true and what is not, it leaves a bit of mystery in world. My gaze drifts back to the window.

“We’re here!” she shouts, sliding the car into an empty space, jolting the car to a stop and pulling up the handbrake. I jump out and stretch every muscle, reaching high above my head and going on to my tip toes, letting out a deep sigh.

“Theodora is that you?” a weary voice asks. My eyes snap to my grandmother’s front porch. She stands from her bench, collecting her crutch. She hasn’t changed much. Her long grey hair braided over her shoulder, her eyes amber and clear, her smile tipped up into a wide, warm smile.

“It’s me, Grandma.” I say walking up to her to give her a hug. I do so gently, looking at her frail figure. One hand on a crutch.

“Look how much you’ve grown! You have become a very beautiful, young woman!” She flashes me a wink and her beautiful smile widens. “I’m so happy to see you, Len told me you were close.”

“Len?” I ask looking for a man in the house. She never was one to date which probably why my voice sounded so shocked.

“Oh of course, this is Len.” She says, pointing to the robin on the window ledge. Right, of course, I try to stop my eyes from popping out my skull and just nod politely, sucking in my lips.

“Well, we are just going to unpack. Shouldn’t you be sitting down?” My mother asks, raising her eyebrow. She pops the bag she is holding at her feet and gives Gran a tight hug.

“I can’t sit down all day!” She waves us off the subject as She turns back to me. “Your room is the attic room as you have the youngest legs!” She exclaims, pinching me on the bum as I turn. I leap in the air, turning to give her a quizzical look.

Grandma’s house was the same as I remembered it, right down to the smell. The white paint on the outside had started to chip off the walls but the inside was the same. Oak floors, dressers with her best crockery displayed though never used, side tables with doilies draped over them and vases holding colourful flowers from her garden. She grew the lost beautiful flowers; the smell was heavenly. The old copper tea pot still placed on the top of the dresser with figurines on every surface.

I look down at the box in my hands labelled ‘kitchen’.

As I put the box down on the counter, I look at the shelves in front of me. Top to bottom filled with spices and herbs. Some I didn’t even recognise. A pestle and mortar on the side of the dark granite worktop showing signs of recent use. Some vines had started to come through the kitchen window, and she had created a little area for a herb garden on the windowsill. Turning for the door, something catches my eye making me pause.

“Grandma, what is this?” I shout, confusion lacing my tone. She hobbles in after a few minutes.

“Oh, that’s a protection charm for the house, dear.” She pats me on the arm delicately as she indicates to the mural she had painted on the back door. An intricate pattern of white lines all joining together. This was getting a little creepy.

“To protect from what?” I ask hastily.

“Any being with evil intent. We don’t want to end up like your father now do we?” she says matter of fact. A little gasp escaped me.

This was a trip. I took a long look at my grandmother. She didn’t look like she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. But how would you tell? She wore her trusty medallion around her neck. She looked the same, I guess.

“Okay, well I’ll just get some more boxes. You sit down here and I’ll make you a cup of tea.” I say as I filled the kettle and put it on the hob to boil.

“Some of the boxes aren’t staying, Thea. We just need to go through them and keep anything you grandmother doesn’t have, or we want to keep.” She says, as she passes with another box.

We sold most of our things, knowing we wouldn’t need them in an already fully furnished house. It was a hard task for us both, there were so many things with memories attached to them that felt like we were losing Dad all over again, but Gran needed us and sentimental pieces of furniture leads to the lifestyle of a hoarder. His desk was the hardest thing. It was my favourite hiding place. If I ever did anything bad, I would hide underneath clinging to his legs. When Mum would come looking almost breathing steam through her ears because I had covered the kitchen in flour in my attempt to make cookies, he would pretend he hadn’t seen me. Then calm her down before allowing me to escape. He was my truly hero. Other times I would drape a sheet over the top whilst he was at work and hang out in my self-made den all day, reading, watching movies, drawing. One summer, he rearranged his desk to accommodate my sheet, allowing us both to coexist. He would sneak me biscuits every time he would go to get a fresh cup of tea.

I found one of my boxes and headed for the attic. I had never been in here before and I can understand why. To say it was a little creepy would be an understatement. The stairs curl upwards surrounded by wooden walls on either side until I emerged into my new room. I try to switch the light on with no luck. Heading for the curtains, I draw them open, dust billowing out from them and swarming the room causing me to splutter. It was bigger than I expected. The wooden floors creak underfoot as I spin, taking it all in. A long built-in wardrobe took up the far wall, the doors a little worn, carvings framing the wood with white China handles. The only other piece of furniture to accommodate the room was an ornate, golden mirror embellished with vines and fruit. It was beautiful. As I looked at my reflection the image looking back at me causes me to jump slightly. It didn’t look like me for a minute. Well, it did but something was different. My eyes, my ears; they were strange. Jesus, I’m already starting to sound like Grandma, and I’ve barely been here an hour.

After all the boxes were in the correct rooms we plop down at the table for dinner. Mum had run out and got us a Chinese takeaway, the containers spread across the surface as the smells tickle my senses.

“It was thoughtful of you dear but there is plenty of food here.” Grandma says.

“I know I just thought we would all be tired and save us cooking.” My mother replied dishing up the dinner onto the plates, making sure to give me an extra helping of chicken chow mien. My favourite dish. I smile in gratitude as I dig in, slurping the noodles and crunching the bean sprouts.

“I understand. Just make sure you check the food for curses. I’m not going through that again.” She smiles, shaking her head with a chuckle.

My eyes widen as I choke on a piece of chicken. As you can expect we ate in silence.

I headed upstairs after dinner and finished unpacking my clothes from the suitcase.

“Do you have your uniform for tomorrow?” my mum says poking her head up the stairs.

“Uh huh.” I reply, concentrating on folding a particularly awkward strappy top, as she hits the top step.

“They did a great job putting your bed up.” She says plonking down on the mattress, causing Toby to stir. “Really goes with the place.” She says, rubbing her hands against the crisp, clean sheets. It was a dark wood with spiral details on all four legs. Just what I had wanted. My bed in our old house was, in all fairness, was on its last legs. A single bed that has seen me through ages 7-17. I’d dressed it with my new favourite sheets. A garden design with greens, blues and golds covering it with the semi-permanent Toby laying on top. Mum reaches over to him, patting his head and he groaned his approval. I couldn’t wait to starfish with all the space the king bed had to offer but I had the sneaky suspicion that Toby will be taking up the majority of the space.

“I know you aren’t thrilled about being her but trust me, it’s the best thing for your grandmother.” She sighs, apologetically. Again.

“I know Mum. I just didn’t realise how bad she had gotten. Did you see the back door?” I whisper, concern lacing my voice.

“Really?” she chokes on a laugh. “That’s what your worried about? That’s normal for Gran! If anything, I feel like this is the best she has been in years!” she replied, laughing.

“That’s normal?” I ask, aghast.

“Yup. She has always been a little witchy.” She replies wiggling her eyebrows and her fingers.

“Like spells and curses?”

“More like nature and charms. You saw all the herbs? She used to make natural medicines and the odd potion. The animal chatter is new to me though.”

“Oh. I feel like I barely know her.” I puzzle. As I take a seat next to her, my weight shifting hers on the mattress. “So, I’m not going to find a broom in the downstairs cupboard?”

“Possibly, but not the airborne type.” She smiles. “She did stop for a few years. After your grandfather died, she didn’t really do much at all. She must have started back up, I suppose. At least you can get to know her a bit more now.” She walks over to my uniform hanging over the mirror, stretching it out to inspect.

“I’ll iron these for you. You need to look your best.” She says, draping the clothes over her arm, before heading back down the stairs.