“Let me get this straight. You can conjure up any meal I choose out of thin air?” I asked. Why was I only hearing about this now? It seemed too good to be true.
“Not quite out of thin air,” he said. He went to a cardboard box on the counter and pulled out what looked like a huge … horn? “Remember this, gang? I found my old cornucopia!”
“Now, Pops,” Apollo said. “Won’t those cranks in the Council have something to say about you using the horn of plenty?”
Dad peered over his fake spectacles. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“What does this giant horn have to do with dinner?” I asked.
“Like Apollo said, it’s the horn of plenty. It’ll produce any food that you like,” Dad said. “But I thought it would be fun if we conjured up the best meals we’ve ever eaten. Now, who wants to go first?”
Aphrodite looked deep in concentration. “The best meal by far was a feast in Tuscany around the 1470s. Florence, I think. I was the artist’s muse, and all the guests were utterly besotted with the portrait he painted of me. I wore the most fabulous emerald silk gown, and—”
“The food, Mother? I’d like to eat this century,” said Eros, winking at me.
Aphrodite cut her eyes at Eros, annoyed at having her reverie interrupted. “I hardly touch refined sugar, but I’d make an exception for the marzipan cake they served during the dessert course. It was the height of luxury, in those days.”
“As you wish, Aphrodite,” Dad said. “Your turn, Apollo. What will you dine on?”
“I once ate a particularly good roasted pigeon dish. Back when I played for an audience in the Ottoman Palace. In the thirteenth century, few people knew their way around the zither as I did,” Apollo said wistfully.
Wow. Had Apollo gone from playing in the presence of emperors to tutoring ten-year-olds? What a comedown. No wonder he was obsessed with the past.
Dad nodded. “Your turn, Eros. What delights can I summon for your dining pleasure?”
“Easy! It has to be the vegan noodle soup with fermented tofu I tried while hitch-hiking my way across Vietnam in the 1970s. I haven’t found it anywhere else since.”
“That’s for a good reason, mate,” Apollo muttered.
“My wish is your command,” said Dad. He was practically bursting with excitement. “Last but not least. Helen, what will you have?”
I was at a slight disadvantage, seeing as I hadn’t been to any palaces, feasts or far-off continents. But I wouldn’t swap their exotic meals for my choice. “I’ll have curry goat, please,” I said. “Mum’s version.”
When I was eight, I had a three-day tummy bug and couldn’t keep a thing down. When my appetite returned, the only thing I wanted was Jamaican curry goat. Even though it meant going against her vegetarian principles, Mum called Grandma Thomas for the recipe and made a whole pot for me. After three days of plain crackers and water, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
“Very well,” said Dad. “Let’s hope this works!” He rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm through the hole in the horn. Not for the first time since moving here, I wondered if they were all in on a practical joke at my expense.
But then the smells appeared. The unmistakable scent of roast meat and almond biscuits mingled with the spiced fragrance of the goat curry. My stomach rumbled and I realized how hungry I was.
Dad pulled out several mismatched plates and bowls (yes, from the horn), directing them with a swish of his finger to the kitchen table. Aphrodite had introduced me to levitating objects, but I’d never bore of that trick.
The plate landed in front of me with a gentle thud. I inspected the food. It was uncanny – it looked, smelled and tasted exactly like my favourite ever meal. Even the plate (blue with a white floral border) looked exactly like the plates Mum used to have.
Tears pricked my eyes and I jerked my head down to hide it. Luckily, everyone was too impressed with their meals to notice me getting emotional over crockery.
“Oh, this brings back memories,” Apollo said, nibbling on a pigeon bone. He looked ecstatic.
We ate in silence, punctuated only by the sound of soup slurps and cutlery clanging against bowls and plates.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Dad said, getting up from the table. “My organic fermented broccoli is nearly ready!”
He opened the heavy glass jar of green mush and placed it on the table. “Dig in, folks.”
The rankest smell ever invaded our nostrils, forcing us to cover our noses. “Dad, it smells like bin juice!” I said while Aphrodite fled the room and Eros opened every kitchen window.
“Oh mate, this is going to put me right off my food,” Apollo groaned.
“So melodramatic,” Dad muttered. “I’m putting it back in the fridge. But you’re all missing out on an excellent source of probiotic bacteria.”
Aphrodite returned with a huge canister of air freshener, spraying it liberally around the fridge. Once it was safe to sniff, we returned to our meals.
I looked over to see what Dad was eating. He was working his way through a large round flatbread topped with different meat and vegetable stews.
“What’s that, Dad?” I asked in between spoonfuls of curry-soaked rice.
“Why, you’ve never had injera? I’m surprised your mother didn’t feed you Ethiopian food,” Dad said, smiling. “One of our first dates was at this Ethiopian place next door to her flat. She wanted to surprise me with a cuisine I’d never tasted before.”
I smiled, remembering the jars full of unfamiliar grains and pulses Mum was fond of cooking. “Sounds like the sort of thing Mum would love.”
“I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was familiar with Ethiopian food,” Dad continued. “In fact, I’ve been eating it for centuries. Anyway, this meal always reminds me of that night. We talked and talked until the manager was ready to shut the place down.”
The lump in my throat grew heavier. I realized that Dad must have loads of stories about Mum that I’d never heard before. Even though they split up when I was a toddler, they still had a few years together before I was even born. What was Mum like back then?
“Ah, Athena is here finally,” Dad said, interrupting my thoughts.
It took me a few seconds before I heard the front door open and close, followed by Athena appearing in the kitchen.
“Sorry I’m late, Father. The law firm is keeping me busy at the moment,” she said while unravelling the woollen scarf she didn’t need to wear.
Why, oh why, couldn’t Athena live here instead of Aphrodite? Athena wouldn’t judge me for wearing hoodies or point out my split ends like Aphrodite does.
I always feel brighter after I’ve talked to Athena, like her intelligence is a substance that rubs off. And no matter what the myths say, she is every bit as beautiful as Aphrodite. She’d scraped her black curls into a bun and wore her usual uniform of khaki trousers and a plain white shirt under her winter coat.
“It’s wonderful to see you all,” Athena said. Dad, Apollo and Eros rose to kiss her on the cheek. Aphrodite did not.
Athena pulled up a chair next to me and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. I realized this was the most of my immortal family that I’d seen in one room. No wonder Dad looked so pleased, being surrounded by his daughters, son and grandson. In fact, they all looked good. Their skin glowed with an amber hue that deepened as the evening went on. It was like they had an energy boost just by sharing the same room.
“Darling, you must tell me everything about your new job. It sounds fascinating,” Dad told Athena. She’d channelled her intellect and passion for justice into taking on pro bono cases at a local law firm. She helped people sue dodgy landlords, that sort of thing.
Aphrodite snorted. “Yes, please do tell us everything, Athena. I want nothing more than to hear about your contact with the great unwashed,” she said.
“Some of us like to put our skills to good use, Aphrodite,” she replied. “I must say, it provides the most invigorating challen
ge. I could use my powers to give us a head start in our cases, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Oh, I always put my skills to good use,” Aphrodite purred. “Just ask Paris.”
Apollo guffawed like they were on the playground slinging “your mum” jokes. What was the big deal about Paris?
“Enough,” bellowed Dad. “I told you both after the Trojan War that I never wanted to hear about that blasted apple again.”
That was it! I remembered why Athena and Aphrodite had beef. In one of my Greek mythology books, there’s a story about the Golden Apple of Discord. There was a beauty contest (um, patriarchal much?) between Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Somehow, this kid called Paris of Troy ended up being the judge. The winner’s prize would be the golden apple. Aphrodite used her so-called charms to dazzle Paris and won the golden apple, much to Hera and Athena’s anger. One thing led to another, and soon enough it ended in a colossal war won by a wooden horse.
All that over a sparkly bit of fruit? No, I don’t get it either.
“I mean it when I say I’m fascinated by your career path, Athena,” Dad said. “It must take tremendous self-control not to use your powers against the opposition.”
“Completely. Take my current case. This slimy landlord went years without doing repairs and now—”
“Ugh, this is depressing,” Aphrodite said not so quietly under her breath. “Look at how pathetic we’ve become. Sitting here, discussing mortals.”
Eros sighed, reaching over to squeeze his mum’s arm. “I’d much rather be here than there. Don’t you remember how dull Mount Olympus was when we left? I’d have given my bow and arrow to escape,” he said.
“I want to avoid Mount Olympus for as long as I live,” Aphrodite snapped. “But living on earth amongst mortals used to be fun. I could be myself, and everyone adored me for it.”
“Aphrodite has a point,” Apollo said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love making music, whether one person listens to it or one million. But an audience helps, you know?”
“I thought you did have an audience?” I asked. It seemed to me that Apollo was always DJing in clubs or playing at parties.
Apollo shook his head. “It’s nothing like the crowds I could command in the old days,” he said. “I’ve enchanted hundreds of thousands of people with one note. I’ve charmed audiences in Roman auditoriums, Viennese opera houses, and New Orleans jazz clubs. With one instrument, I could set up on any street corner, and hundreds would flock to see me in a matter of minutes, just by following the sound of my voice on the wind.”
Wow. I knew so little about Apollo’s past. I wondered if the rest of my family had such a cool history too.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Apollo,” Athena said. “You can still make music without applauding, adoring fans.”
For the first time that evening, Apollo stopped smiling. “It’s more than not having a decent-sized audience. You know very well that I can’t make music like I used to. If I unleash the full extent of my skill around mortals, it will bring global attention and the Council would be on my back. You know Cranus is looking for any excuse he can get to take us down.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Aphrodite said.
“I can’t perform to more than one hundred people, otherwise it risks exposure. Honestly, Helen, you’ve never heard me truly play. If the world saw my talents, I would have every human in the palm of my hand.”
Apollo looked so down in the dumps, it was hard for me not to feel sorry for him. But as someone with chronic stage fright, being upset about not performing in front of millions wasn’t something I could relate to.
“We’ve had this conversation before, my son,” Dad said. “You can practise all you like in Mount Olympus, a place where you can legally use your powers. But on earth, we must be more careful.”
Dad gestured to the fridge door, where he’d printed out a copy of the rules and stuck them on with magnets. Another reason why I can’t invite my friends over without a thorough tidying.
He cleared his throat. Aphrodite muttered “here we go” under her breath.
“Rule One: gods must not reveal their immortal identity for any reason.”
That made sense to me. Who would believe them anyway?
Dad continued. “Rule Two: gods must not use their powers to interfere with the fate of mortals for any reason. We must not grant mortals beauty, love, wealth, long life and/or happiness. We must not agitate wars, create natural disasters, and take sides in matters of international diplomacy…”
“Yes, Father, I know,” said Aphrodite. “We must keep our powers under wraps so we’re allowed to leave that toy town Mount Olympus. A terrible bargain, if you ask me.”
“Need I remind you, Aphrodite, that the rules are twofold? They prevent mortals from discovering our existence, and keep them safe from harm.”
“Ever since these rules got put in place, I constantly have to keep my talent dimmed,” Apollo said, pouting.
“So the rules weren’t always in place?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “Sadly, Helen, the rules were established because they became necessary,” Dad said, looking at Aphrodite. “The Council at Mount Olympus felt we were intervening too often in human affairs.”
Aphrodite shrugged. “Honestly, it was just one little war! We all know what mortals are like with wars. They always blow over, whether we push them along or not,” she said. “And I, for one, was sick to death of that clothing ration. It was impossible to find stockings! Everyone was pleased when that world war finally came to an end.”
Dad pushed his spectacles up, brushing past his greying temples. “That’s not the point, Aphrodite. Humans must make their own mistakes, and there is little we can do to stop them.”
“Even if we watch them slowly destroy themselves and the planet?” asked Eros. “I’d love to help with more than litter-picking by the canal every other Sunday.”
Dad nodded. “It’s out of our hands. But there’s plenty we can do without resorting to our powers and exposing our immortal identity. Athena never takes on high-profile cases, for example. Aphrodite has turned down modelling contracts but her career as a make-up artist is thriving. And Apollo’s music must never reach a large audience. We all make sacrifices.”
Looking at the sullen faces around the table, it seemed like no one was thrilled with these decisions.
“And I suppose having dozens of half-mortal infants over the centuries doesn’t count, hmm?” Aphrodite said.
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t appreciate the thinly veiled reference to Dad’s (many) relationships with mortals. It made me uncomfortable to think about all the half-siblings I had that I’ll never meet.
Eros reached across the table to hold my hand. “And we’re so glad you’re here. Helen is my favourite child of yours by far.”
I smiled weakly. I appreciated Eros’s kind words (no one in this family has my back like him) but I still felt like an outcast. My family had these incredible gifts and talents. Gifts that made the world a better, more interesting place. They’ve lived for centuries and travelled to every continent. I’ve never even been on a plane.
I mumbled something about having school in the morning and excused myself for bed.
“Lights out by ten p.m., please,” Athena said. “It’s vital that your brain gets a full night’s sleep if you’re to perform at your best for school.” Ugh. Why are the gods in my family either indifferent to me or way into how I spend every waking hour? Maybe it was best if Athena didn’t live here. It would be like having a round-the-clock private tutor.
As I was leaving, Dad said, “Helen, don’t forget that I’m out on Tuesday night. It’s my department’s Christmas party.”
“Well, don’t expect me to babysit,” said Aphrodite. “I might have a date.”
“I’m not five. I can take care of myself for one evening,” I said. Besides, Aphrodite would be a rubbish babysitter. She’d have to think of someone other than herself for once. Not possible.
<
br /> I woke up to a quiet house on Wednesday morning. Usually Dad is around before his lectures, making coffee, nagging, that sort of thing. But he wasn’t reminding me that I had to leave in four minutes while I brushed my teeth. Where was he?
Then I remembered. Last night was his work Christmas party! Maybe he didn’t even come home. He must have had a good night, then. Still, it wasn’t like him and I wondered where he was.
I told Daphne about it at morning break.
“He probably met someone in a bar, got too drunk to drive and went home with her,” she said.
The gods get drunk but not that drunk. But going home with someone he met at a bar? That could be possible. I honestly didn’t know Dad well enough to be sure.
I sent him a text later that day to see where he was up to, but I didn’t get a reply.
What. A. Hypocrite. If I went out all night and didn’t leave so much as a courtesy text, I wouldn’t see the light of day until after A levels.
I knew that there was no way Dad was in trouble, but that didn’t stop the nagging sense of worry. Even if he often forgets to lock the back door, he can take care of himself. He’s a god, after all! Plus all the gods have this weird psychic bond. If something went wrong, Aphrodite or Eros would have felt it right away.
But the thought bothered me all afternoon. I kept checking my phone between classes for a reply to my texts, but nada.
By the time school was over, Dad saw fit to reply to my texts:
Apologies for the radio silence. Battery died and I forgot my charger. Will you be home after school?
There wasn’t even a kiss at the end! And how dare he demand to know what I’m doing? He didn’t even give me a proper excuse. He could have lied and said there was a work emergency. Maybe there was a major breakthrough in the study of dusty bits of junk, I don’t know.
I was too annoyed to reply. It didn’t matter anyway because the answer was waiting for me at home.
NINE
Daphne was right. Well, half right.
Oh My Gods Page 5