Mirror Man

by Jacques Von Kat

  I moved the opposite way round the desk to avoid his path, and as he closed the door behind him, I sank into the newly vacated plush leather seat. He’d got it from Claude’s Antiques with a hefty discount.

  I loved this room; Grandad had made sure there were enough reflections for me to look into. Any reflective surface would suffice—people’s glasses, cutlery, shop windows, puddles—but I favoured mirrors above all.

  My family catered to my needs as much as they could, though they didn’t understand it. They all told me my strange habit had affected them all in some way, but especially Mum. Everything seemed to affect Mum the worst.

  Loud voices drifting through the walls made me sink back into the chair. Raised voices only meant one thing in this house; they were arguing about me. I was one of the two things they argued about most: me and money. They had been this way ever since Dad died; a day I will always remember. A day that changed all our lives forever. Tina said Mum and Grandad fought like cats and dogs. I asked her who was what. She said mum was the cat.

  I couldn’t bear listening to them fighting all the time—especially when I didn’t know what they were saying. Hadn’t I just promised myself I would convince them I’m just as much of an adult as they are?

  I slammed my hands down on the desk and forced the chair back. I wasn’t going to sit here and hide away, anymore. I got up and went down the hall to listen to their shouts; if it was about me, why shouldn’t I listen?

  ‘I can’t stand him being trapped in a world of mirrors and reflections!’ Mum shouted. ‘Do you think anything of this is normal?’

  It went silent for a moment, then I heard another mirror smash. I bit down on my lip. That was two I would have to buy tomorrow.

  ‘Anna, it’s not the boy’s fault,’ Grandad said. ‘He’s got problems. You’ve never even tried to get to know the boy properly. He’s a good lad. I swear the only time you were interested was when he passed his exams.’

  Grandad was right. When I got kicked out of the local school, the next nearest school wouldn’t admit me, and the bus didn’t come close enough for the one after that. Home-schooling became my only option.

  Grandad found some great tutors for me, and all three of them managed the mirror situation well. Mr Spencer taught me all the science subjects, Mrs Forrester taught me English and Maths, and Mr Woods taught me Geography and History. They only taught me for a couple of hours a day—I found I couldn’t concentrate well for much longer than that. They all said I was a good student, and I passed all seven O-level exams with a C grade. It was the only time Mum had ever expressed any sort of pride in me.

  ‘He took my dreams away!’ Mum shouted.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek and headed back to the office. I’d heard enough.

  The voices coming from the room got louder as I crept back. Mum was madder than ever. In an attempt to forget what was happening a few metres away from me, I put on my internal record player, picked up a duster, and got to work on polishing all the reflective surfaces.

  Chapter Five

  Grandad came back half an hour later, though the voices had died down sometime before. I could always count on him to calm her down, eventually.

  ‘How’s it going in here, son?’ he asked.

  ‘Good, Grandad. I’ve dusted everything. Not a speck of dirt or a smear anywhere,’ I said proudly.

  ‘Good lad. Your mam has calmed down now, and she’s getting tea on. Why don’t you go see if she needs a hand?’

  ‘I need to check the mirrors she smashed first, then I will. I’ll come get you when it’s ready.’

  ‘Alright, son.’ He smiled at me in the mirror, then quickly looked away.

  I went to inspect the damage. Mum had smashed one of my favourite Art Deco mirrors. I shook my head, then waved the sadness away. I couldn’t let her see she’d upset me twice in the space of an hour.

  I noticed a small sliver of glass on the floor. Every time Mum smashed one of the mirrors, she always swept up the pieces and disposed of the remnants, though she never offered to replace them, nor did she ever apologise.

  I bent to pick up the shard, and a sharp edge nicked my finger. I quickly sucked the red bead that formed and grabbed a plaster from my wallet. I always kept a supply handy for two reasons: one, I hated the sight of blood (the quicker I could stop the bleeding the better), and two, I’d lost count of the number of times I’d cut myself on broken glass.

  I composed myself until I spotted the other mirror she’d smashed. It was the ornate silver mirror Mr Phillips let me have. It had been in his storage area for years and was filthy. I’d taken it home and spent hours on it with a duster and a can of Mr Sheen, working in all the grooves and crevices to remove every speck of dust and grime. When I was done, it had looked beautiful and wouldn’t have been out of place in a stately home.

  I rubbed at my eyes, scrubbing away the tears threatening to spill over. I knew I shouldn’t cry over a mirror; Mum had said often enough. Boys don’t cry. I never let her see me cry, and I tried my hardest not to let her actions or words get to me.

  Sometimes I felt as though I could, should, shout and scream back at my mother for acting the way she did, but I forced the screams down that rose from my stomach into my chest and locked them away. Both Tina and Grandad said she didn’t mean it, but I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t see her smashing up any of their stuff on a regular basis.

  I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Mum was peeling potatoes with mince sizzling in a pan on the stove. Her wine glass had been topped back up. I disposed of the shard of glass and stood where I could see her reflection.

  ‘Mum, do you need any help with tea?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.

  She shook her head. She never did after we’d fallen out or she’d had one of her mini meltdowns, as Grandad called them. I waited for a moment and cast an eye of contempt on the lit cigarette smoking away in a dish near the stove.

  ‘You can set the table for five. Tina and Peter will be joining us,’ she finally said.

  ‘Why are—’ I started, but she breathed through her nose loudly and slammed down the vegetable peeler before gripping on to the counter.

  ‘Never mind…’ I muttered.

  I set the table while wondering why they were visiting on a Tuesday when they usually only came for Sunday dinner.

  How unusual.

  Though it had been an unusual day.

  As I lay the final knife, I went back to the kitchen. Mum was leaning against the counter now, eyes on the bubbling mince, wine glass in hand. I was at least pleased to see the cigarette had been extinguished; I could always taste the smoke in the food. She didn’t acknowledge me as I skirted around her to get to the side door where I left into the garden and walked around the side of the house to Fred’s cottage.

  I often went to his house after I’d fallen out with Mum, or for a change of scenery. Fred tended our plants and cut the grass. He’d been one of Dad’s old school friends and came to live here not long before Nana B and Dad died. He used to work at the pit, but an accident left him unable to do his job.

  Grandad allowed him to stay in the cottage for free as long as he did it up and tended the gardens. No one had lived in the cottage for around fifty years, but it was lovely now. It had rustic-looking bricks and a slate roof. Fred had painted the doors, window frames, and sills in gleaming white. He had also fastened a trellis to the brickwork so he could keep the climbing ivy under control. You’d never have known it had been almost derelict for a time.

  I used the secret knock we’d come up with, and he promptly answered the door.

  ‘What’s happening, little fella?’ he said. He always called me that, even though I’d grown up now. It did make me laugh sometimes.

  I stared at his slippers as I asked, ‘Can I come in for a bit? I’m staying out of Mum’s way until tea’s ready.’

  ‘Sure thing, mate.’ He moved aside, venturing deeper into his home so I could come in. I closed the door behind myself
as I did. ‘Sit yoursen down. Cuppa tea?’ Fred asked from the kitchen.

  ‘If you’re having one, I will,’ I replied as I sank onto his old settee.

  ‘Aye, why not? I’m parched, had a busy day today. Planted Mrs Kelly’s seeds for her. Must have done over a thousand of the little blighters,’ he said while he filled the kettle and pulled out some cups and saucers.

  I couldn’t look at Fred while he spoke to me—not enough mirrors—so I kept my eyes on the far wall. He didn’t provide for my needs like my family did, said he wasn’t going to pander to me, but he liked me all the same whether I looked at him or not. This meant I only really knew what he looked like from the back and the side. He had blond hair, always wore a white t-shirt under his blue overalls, and wellies while outside and slippers when inside.

  ‘Did you know Mum calls her Mrs Nosey-Nelly?’

  ‘Oh, I know, JC. She took great pride in telling me about your ride home with PC Williams. Any sugar?’ he asked.

  ‘Two, please. I fell out with mum over it. Mrs Kelly rang her up and told her everything. I wasn’t even doing anything, really.’

  ‘I know that isn’t true,’ Fred said, bringing over two cups of tea. He didn’t have any mugs, said tea should only ever be served in a cup.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Police don’t take people home for no reason.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘That’s what mum said.’

  Fred slurped at his tea. ‘So, what did you do? Fighting, shoplifting… You know your dad would be extremely disappointed, JC.’

  ‘No!’ I lowered my cup from my mouth. ‘Nothing like that. I was just following someone down the estate.’

  ‘I see. Well, you know my feelings on the matter. At least you ain’t following women, anymore. That’s something.’

  ‘I guess…’ I shrugged.

  ‘Did your mam smash one of your mirrors again?’

  I hummed. ‘Two this time. I’ll replace them tomorrow and have them up in no time.’

  ‘Good man. What’s broken can always be replaced.’

  Fred didn’t agree with my hobbies. Though, the way I was feeling right now, I felt less inclined to follow anyone at all. Maybe I’d stop until I’d solved the shop mystery. I stared into my cup of tea. I had to share my worries about Mr Phillips, and I knew Fred could be trusted not to tell anyone. He never revealed anything I confided with him.

  ‘Fred?’

  ‘Yes, JC.’

  ‘Something odd is going on in Claude’s Antiques,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean odd?’

  ‘Mr Phillips has been acting weird for weeks now. Ever since he did a house clearance at that big house. Having secret meetings, forgetting to lock up, checking on his safe all the time…’

  ‘Has he now?’ Fred leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. ‘Have you asked him about it?’

  ‘Sort of, but he says I needn’t worry,’ I said, putting my cup down to fold my arms. ‘No one tells me anything.’ I slumped back in the seat.

  ‘Oh, JC, sure they do. As he said, he just doesn’t want you to worry, that’s all.’

  I rolled my eyes again. Why shouldn’t I worry about things? I wasn’t a kid anymore.

  ‘Anyway, I might know what it is,’ he added.

  ‘You do?’ I said almost leaping from my seat.

  ‘Well, I overheard Mrs Kelly telling her neighbour that some family members are trying to get something back Claude bought in that house clearance. Apparently, they objected to the sale. They’re demanding it be returned, but Claude bought it fair and square.’

  ‘Oh, do you really think that’s what it could be?’ I asked.

  ‘Possibly, but we have to consider the source of the information here. Most of the time, Mrs Kelly is spreading gossip that isn’t true. Don’t worry, kid. If Claude feels you need to know what’s happening, I’m sure he’ll tell you. Now, hurry and drink up before your mam calls you back for your tea.’

  I nodded and picked up my cup again. ‘Tina and Pete are coming round tonight. It’s unusual. They normally only come round on Sundays, but it’s Tuesday today.’

  ‘Happens,’ Fred said mid-slurp. ‘They’ve got something to tell you.’

  I frowned and turned my head to look at Fred’s knees. ‘Like what?’

  He laughed. ‘How would I know? I’m just guessing lad.’

  I sighed and relaxed with my cup in silence, wondering what Tina and Pete might have to share with us. But more importantly, now I had this new information about Mr Phillips to contend with too. Surely if he’d bought something, he had the right to do with it as he pleased. He wouldn’t return anything for free, that I was certain of. Though I had to wonder what it was they so desperately wanted back.

  Chapter Six

  The four of us sat around the table in the dining room, eagerly awaiting whatever Mum had prepared for tea. She was a good cook. Even when we couldn’t afford much, she always managed to prepare a delicious meal. Cooking was the only nice thing she did for the family.

  There were fifteen mirrors in the dining room to make sure I had every angle of the room and table covered. We’d only started eating at the table after Dad died. Grandad insisted on it, said it would bring us closer as a family. We were never able to sit at the table when Dad was alive. He used it as a dumping ground for car and scooter parts; the pile always seemed to breed and get bigger overnight.

  Grandad drummed his fingers lightly on the table until Tina broke the silence.

  ‘How’s work, my little magpie?’ she asked me. Magpie was her childhood nickname for me. She still used it from time to time, even though she knew I didn’t like it anymore.

  I tutted. ‘Do you have to call me that?’ I whispered to her. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

  She laughed. ‘To who? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, John-Michael. You will always be my little magpie,’ she said, ruffling my hair.

  I smiled at her, then straightened my hair. Tina had always taken better care of me than Mum had, and I didn’t mind admitting it. I think if you asked Mum, she would probably admit it too.

  ‘Well, to answer your question, work is great,’ I told her. I didn’t want to share my concerns about Mr Phillips with her just yet—at least until I’d found out more. ‘Mr Phillips is allowing me to repair mantel clocks now.’

  Tina’s reflection beamed. ‘That’s wonderful, JC! You’ll be running the place in no time.’ She chuckled, but I frowned, though before I could respond, Mum walked in carrying her best casserole dish between her flowered oven mittens and placed it in the centre of the table. She removed the lid to reveal a shepherd’s pie sprinkled with cheese. Then she went and fetched a side of peas and carrots and a huge jug of thick, meaty gravy.

  ‘This looks champion, Mrs Chester,’ said Pete.

  She chuckled. ‘How many more times do I have to tell you? Call me Anna.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, of course, Anna,’ he said.

  Everybody filled their plates high with the pie and vegetables. I took the mash off my shepherd’s pie to make a barrier between the peas and the mince. I hated peas or beans to touch my meat or fish. When Pete helped himself to a second serving, Mum went to get another bottle of wine to share around.

  ‘You’ve barely touched your wine,’ Mum said to my sister as she topped up Pete’s glass. ‘Something wrong, love?’

  Mum never called me love. Tina had always been her favourite. I never resented Tina for it, though. Mum’s actions weren’t my sister’s burdens to bear.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, we have something to tell you,’ Tina said, taking Pete’s hand, forcing him to set down his knife and fork. I followed his actions and set mine down too.

  Mum took a big gulp of her wine, as though it would prepare her for Tina’s revelation. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well’—her face broke into a huge smile that matched the one on her husband’s face—‘we are expecting.’

  Mum squealed and almost knocked o
ver her wine, Grandad clapped his hands, then got up and moved around the table to slap Pete on his back, and I sat wondering why my sister hadn’t finished her sentence.

  ‘Tina?’ I said and waved in the mirror to get her attention. ‘Tina!’ I repeated louder when she didn’t answer me.

  Her eyes found my reflection. ‘Yes, John-Michael, what is it?’

  ‘I’m confused. What are you expecting and when?’

  She laughed.

  ‘A baby, John-Michael,’ Mum interrupted. ‘What did you think she was expecting, a nosebleed?’

  ‘Mum!’ Tina snapped.

  ‘Well, why does he have to be such a simpleton?’ Mum snorted as she topped up her glass. ‘He should engage his brain once in a while.’

  I picked up my fork and pushed around what was left on my plate while I chewed on my lip. It was looking like another argument was about to take place.

  ‘He’s not a simpleton, Mother. He’s quite smart, he just takes what’s being said as literal sometimes, that’s all. God, I thought you’d have figured that one out by now,’ she said, placing a protective hand over her belly.

  ‘I’m going to be a great-grandpa,’ Grandad finally spoke. ‘I can’t believe it! This is the best news I’ve heard all year. When’s the little mite due, Tina, love?’

  ‘October, November time. We think I’m around twelve weeks.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news, isn’t it, Anna?’

  I looked up at Mum’s reflection. She sat with a scowl on her face. When would she stop with the comments and nastiness? She always knew how to spoil a perfectly good evening. Despite how close I was with my sister, I liked it better when Tina and Peter weren’t here. When we would sit and eat in silence.

  ‘Anna?’ Grandad repeated.

  ‘Yes, it’s fantastic. Who would have thought it, aye? Me, a grandmother and still in my forties. I’m happy, Tina, I really am—for both of you.’