by Maz Evans
Patricia’s wicked mind worked all the angles. He must be telling the truth, otherwise how would he know about her husband? Charles Porshley-Plum was a good-for-nothing criminal. But he knew the law. That’s how he got away with breaking it for so long. He could cause massive problems for her – and Patricia knew it. She needed some damage limitation. And she needed it quickly.
‘Mr Boil,’ she gasped. ‘I cannot thank you enough – I . . . I . . . I had no idea! I never would have dreamt of trying to sell the farm if I’d known . . .’
She ignored the chokes, splutters and curses from Hooper’s band of freaks.
‘You poor, poor child,’ she said dramatically, gesturing to Elliot. ‘Of course there’s no way the auction can go ahead now. Here . . .’
She snatched the deeds from the auctioneer. This was going to hurt. But she had to save her own skin. Home Farm could keep for another day. Revenge could wait. But she could do nothing if she were in prison.
‘Have these,’ she said through clenched teeth, slapping the papers against the urchin’s chest. ‘Home Farm . . . is . . . yours.’
The boy hugged the papers and was immediately enveloped in embraces from the freak show. Stupid people were so very sentimental.
‘This doesn’t end it,’ slurred Boil.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ hissed Patricia. ‘I’ll deal with you another time.’
‘Well, I believe that brings this afternoon’s proceedings to a close,’ huffed the auctioneer. ‘I’m sorry you – we – have all had a wasted journey. Good day.’
Patricia, eyes narrowed, watched all the buyers disperse angrily. All that money, just walking away. She turned and walked over to the Hooper child.
‘Enjoy your victory today,’ she whispered to him. ‘But keep looking over your shoulder, pooky. While there is breath in this body, I will have my revenge.’
‘Patricia?’ Elliot said.
‘That’s Mrs Porshley-Plum to you,’ she scowled.
‘Sorry – Mrs Porshley-Plum?’
‘What?’
‘My grandad was right,’ said Elliot. ‘You really are a Horse’s-Bum.’
And with that, he turned and walked back towards his farmhouse.
Patricia watched him go with unbridled hatred. He’d keep. There would be another day. Home Farm would be hers. She’d survived to fight another day. That was all that mattered.
She felt a tap on her shoulder.
‘Excoose me,’ said a large American gentleman. ‘Mrs Horse’s-Butt?’
‘PORSHLEY-PLUM!’ she shouted.
‘My name is Mr Dante,’ said the gentleman. ‘Yous may have heard of me – I’m a property gazillionaire – Pluto Holdings – with an interest in . . . long-term investments.’
‘Really?’ said Patricia, smiling coldly at the man. He looked like just the sort of rich idiot she needed.
‘I was wondering if we could have a conversation back at my offices?’ said the gentleman. ‘They ain’t far from here, and I’m looking to invest a sizeable sum of money today.’
‘Very well,’ said Patricia. She saw a black limo was waiting outside the gate. ‘After you.’
‘No, really,’ said the gentleman, bowing slightly as she entered the car. ‘After you.’
‘What on Earth are we doing here?’ said Patricia, stepping distastefully out of the car into a pile of cinders an hour later. ‘And why is it so hot?’
‘Theriouthly!’ moaned a scrawny knave, pushing a large boulder up a nearby hill. They were in some kind of valley, although one bereft of any natural sunlight. Patricia tried not to lash out with a handbag as a woman with wet hands barged past her. ‘You’ve been here for prethithely three thecondth and already you’re futhing! Thome of uth have thingst to thort out. Tho thtick a thock in it!’
‘Oh, quit your whining,’ moaned another gentleman, inexplicably standing in a pool of water at the base of the hill. ‘Some of us have a horrendous hangover . . .’
‘Oh, let me get you some water!’ cried one of the line of women carrying water from the lake with their bare hands. ‘Oh, no, that’s right – I CAN’T.’
Patricia had no idea who these hooligans were. But she was delighted she didn’t have to spend very long with them.
‘So . . . here’s the thing, sweetheart,’ said the American, lighting a cigar and leading her away from this wasteland. ‘Yous have been a bad, bad goirl.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘So what?’
‘So . . . it’s payback time,’ he continued menacingly.
‘Did Charles send you?’ said Patricia, stiffening. How could she have been so stupid as to get in the car when she knew her ex-husband was on the rampage?
‘Nah,’ said her companion, steering her towards what appeared to be a small shopping precinct up ahead. ‘I’m acting on a . . . higher authority than him. Allow me to introdoose myself. My name is Hades.’
Patricia didn’t feel the need to conceal her distaste at the ridiculous name. Americans were so very, very frightful.
‘Enchanted,’ she droned. ‘Now, where’s the nearest exit?’
‘Now, here’s the thing,’ said Hades. ‘You can leave anytime – you just need to complete a simple task. That’s all.’
‘What if I don’t want to?’ Patricia snarled. She’d had enough of this absurd charade.
‘Oh, dollface,’ he laughed. ‘Trust me. No one’s here cos they want to be! Nah – the only way out is to do what I tells you to.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then you stay here. For ever. Welcome to Tartarus, baby.’
Patricia looked around her. This wasn’t hell. It was a suburban high street. That was much worse.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she sighed, thinking only of the gin and tonic she’d have the butler pour when she got back to her mansion.
‘Simples,’ said Hades, producing a clipboard. ‘All yous need to do is get people to donate money to this charity.’
‘Children in Poverty?’ sneered Patricia. ‘Listen, if children aren’t prepared to go out and get jobs like the rest of us, why should anyone give them handouts? Layabouts . . .’
‘Doll,’ whispered Hades. ‘If you ever want to get out of here, you might wanna work on your patter. Here, take this.’
He handed her a bright red tabard. The nerve of the man.
‘How dare you!’ she cried. ‘Enough! I demand to go home!’
‘Yous just ain’t getting this, are you?’ whistled Hades, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. ‘You ain’t going nowhere. Not till you’ve raised a thousand pounds for charity.’
‘Over my dead body,’ said Patricia defiantly.
‘That can be arranged,’ Hades grinned.
Patricia felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She wasn’t going to talk her way out of this one. This perturbed her. Still, actions spoke louder than words – that’s why she regularly stamped on the feet of people shouting out about their charity magazines, the anti-social brutes. She snatched the tabard and the clipboard. She was a masterful saleswoman, this would take no time at all.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to a woman approaching down the street. ‘Could I have a moment of your time—’
‘Get a proper job,’ snarled the woman, striding past.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Patricia to a passing man. ‘I wonder if you might—’
‘Get lost,’ he shouted.
‘I was just wondering if you’d—’
‘Scrounger!’ yelled a young woman, tossing her empty takeaway carton at Patricia’s feet.
‘How dare you . . . I want to leave. Now!’ Patricia demanded, stamping her court shoe on the ground to hide the tremor in her voice.
‘No can doos,’ said Hades, walking away with a satisfied grin. ‘Good luck, dollface.’
‘Wait . . . where are you going?’ said Patricia, trying to calm the panic in her voice. There was a definite possibility she wasn’t going to get what she wanted.
‘Like I say – call m
e when you’ve raised a thousand pounds,’ said Hades, strolling back towards his car.
‘But . . . that could take for ever!’ wailed Patricia.
‘You’d better believe it,’ smiled Hades, turning around with a wink. ‘See ya, Mrs Horse’s-Bum.’
‘IT’S PORSHLEY-PLUM!’ Patricia screamed after the retreating car. ‘COME BACK! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’
24. Home Farm
‘Elliot?’ said Zeus, gently pushing open the door to Home Farm. ‘Welcome home.’
It was the sweetest thing Elliot had heard for months. He looked around his beloved farmhouse. The Gods had quickly eradicated any trace of Patricia Porshley-Plum’s decor and returned Home Farm to its shabby, rundown, worn-out old self. Just how Elliot loved it.
The wave of grief floated up from his heart when he saw Josie’s empty chair by the fire. Knowing she would never sit there again, gently rocking and humming to herself, brought the familiar pain rising to the back of his throat. But no sooner did his eyes brim with tears than he felt warm arms around him. Athene walked over to the chair and carefully laid Josie’s patchwork quilt over it.
‘Let’s keep it warm, shall we?’ she smiled.
Elliot could only nod his grateful thanks. He looked around the cosy farmhouse. He was finally home.
But one thing remained on his mind.
‘So?’ he asked. ‘What now?’
The Gods shuffled anxiously, as if they too had been wondering the same thing.
‘That’s really up to you, Elliot,’ Zeus said finally. ‘We will of course stay for as long as you need us. We’re family.’
Family. Elliot winced a little at the word. He had no family. Not really. Not any more. He recalled his mum’s desperate pleas for him to find his real father. But where to start? It didn’t look like Dave Hooper was in any great hurry to find him. Perhaps he really was a loser. Perhaps he didn’t want him after all. Still, Elliot managed to summon up a smile.
‘Thanks,’ he said, just as Virgo walked into the front room.
‘That was the Zodiac Council,’ she said, returning Hermes’s iGod to him. ‘I am to be reinstated on the Council. With immediate effect.’
Elliot couldn’t help but notice that Virgo didn’t seem exactly . . . optimal.
‘I knew they’d see sense!’ Zeus boomed. ‘When do you start?’
‘They’re coming for me on Friday,’ she said, dully, Elliot thought. ‘They need to file the relevant paperwork, of course. I can’t wait.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Elliot, trying to mean it. Virgo was a bit like a scab on his knee he enjoyed picking – painful at first, but he’d sort of miss it when it was gone.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘This is most optimal. I had better start packing.’
‘You’ve got three days!’ Elliot shouted after her.
‘Exactly,’ Virgo replied from the top of the stairs.
‘Right, then,’ said Athene, to break the heavy silence. ‘I’ll make a start on dinner. What would you like, Elliot? I’ll make anything you want.’
‘I’m not very hungry, thanks,’ said Elliot quietly, looking again at Josie’s chair.
Aphrodite came up behind him and encircled him with her warm hug.
‘You might have fought Daemons, travelled the world, risked your life more times than I’ve had French manicures, and saved the Earth – but you’re not hungry?’ she asked. ‘Now I am worried.’
Elliot smiled.
‘Maybe I could manage some pizza,’ he said. ‘And a bit of garlic bread. And do a few chips, just in case. With ketchup. And a burger on the side.’
He felt the Goddess of Love squeeze him tight.
‘Atta boy. Go and wash up for supper,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got an extra-strength batch of Fart Powder I’m brewing in the shed to slip into Prissy-pants’s tea . . .’
Elliot laughed. If this was his life from now on, it wasn’t going to be so bad. He headed for the bathroom.
And then there was a knock at the door.
After months of being afraid of anyone coming to the house, Elliot instinctively tensed. But then he remembered. He had nothing to fear any more. That was one of the many gifts his mum had left him.
‘I’ll get it,’ he called to the Gods, who were too busy squabbling over whether to make straight or curly chips to hear him.
Elliot pulled open the front door.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How can I—’
‘Elliot?’ cried the man before him. ‘Oh, thank God!’
And before Elliot could object, the man had pulled him into his arms in an embrace that had been ten years in the making.
‘Elliot?’ Zeus called, rounding the corner into the hallway. ‘Where are— Oh.’
Elliot wriggled free of the strong arms to take a look at the man standing in the hallway. The man who he hadn’t seen for most of his life, but whose presence stirred deep, happy memories. The man who had lost his freedom trying to save his family. The man who looked just like him.
‘Dad?’ Elliot whispered.
Dave Hooper nodded, his eyes glistening, mesmerized by his son, running his hands over his face, down his arms, as if his fingers could atone for all the years of being unable to touch his boy.
Elliot heard Zeus usher his family out of the hallway and into the kitchen.
‘Are you OK?’ Dave asked through choked breaths. ‘Are you hurt?’
Elliot looked into the warm, caring eyes of his father. His real father. The one Josie had been so desperate for him to find. And somehow, he knew the real Dave Hooper was a good man.
‘I’m getting better,’ he said, his own tears starting to flow.
‘Oh, Elliot,’ sobbed Dave Hooper. ‘I’m here now. And I will never leave you again. You hear me? You’re safe. I swear it.’
And Elliot allowed himself to be pulled back into his dad’s strong embrace, where he was quite content to stay for as long as it took for their mutual tears to travel from sadness to regret to happiness at last.
They laid Josie’s body to rest beneath her favourite blossom tree in the orchard, next to Wilfred and Audrey. As the vicar spoke warm words over her final resting place, Elliot felt his dad’s arm around his shoulders. He couldn’t stop the tears that were pouring down his face, but he had a sense of cleansing, as if they might just help him to heal in time.
The vicar addressed the small gathering of Gods and mortals in front of him.
‘Would anyone care to say a few words?’ he asked.
Hermes approached the graveside, leaving Zeus and Hephaestus to comfort his weeping sisters.
‘See ya, J-Hoops,’ said Hermes, laying the vast wreath of spring flowers that Athene had created. ‘You are one epic mega-bosh of a super-babe and I’ll never forget you. Laters, potaters.’
The Messenger God came back to Elliot and raised his hand for a high-five, then immediately snatched it away when Elliot tried to return it.
‘Too slow,’ Hermes whispered with a wink, giving Elliot a playful punch on the chin.
‘Farewell, Josie-Mum,’ said Virgo, placing her own tribute on the grave. ‘I’m presenting you with this torch. It seemed infinitely more practical than flowers. You always showed me great kindness and I wish you well in the Afterlife. You are a super-optimal mortal.’
Dave squeezed Elliot’s hand, then went forward and knelt by his wife’s resting place.
‘I love you, Jo,’ he faltered, placing a single white rose on the ground. ‘I’m here now. I’ve got him. Sleep well, beautiful. Until next time.’
He kissed his fingertips and placed them lightly on the rose. For a moment he paused, his eyes closed, saying some silent words to his wife. Then he stood up and returned to Elliot with a smile.
‘She’s tucked in nice and tight,’ he said, holding Elliot to him and whispering into his hair. ‘Shall we let her have a bit of peace and quiet? We can visit her again tomorrow. Every day, if you like. I know she’ll want to hear what we’
re up to. You know – check we’re eating right. Washing. All that gross stuff.’
Elliot wiped the tears from his cheek and looked up at his dad. Suddenly he felt it . . .
The inner smile. His mum kissing his head. She was still with him.
And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Elliot Hooper just knew that everything was going to be OK.
25. Boiling Over
Virgo was unsure how to analyse her feelings about her last full day on Earth. The Zodiac Council had been quite clear – the first condition of her return to Elysium was that she was forbidden from travelling to Earth ever again. Virgo felt this was a little overzealous – after all, things hadn’t turned out that badly in the end. But if she wanted to rejoin her colleagues in her heavenly home, she was to recommence her duties as Guardian of the Stationery Cupboard and all talk of Earthbound missions was out of the question.
There were, of course, many reasons to be glad about leaving the mortal realm behind. Never again would she be forced to feign interest in twenty-two people kicking a ball around a field. The phrase ‘I’d give it a minute’ would be a thing of the past. And she would never have to deal with the inhumane torture of eating a Brussels sprout ever again.
And yet, the prospect of returning to Elysium didn’t feel nearly as optimal as she had anticipated. Surely the endless days of pleasing herself would be a good thing? The hole punches weren’t going to reorder themselves, and she would eternally be spared the indignity of having to share a bathroom with Elliot . . .
Elliot.
Virgo was unable to understand her body’s reaction to the idea that she would never see Elliot Hooper again. It was a curious, sort of twisting sensation that controlled her mind, heart and stomach. The thought of his unwashed, unpleasant and uncontrollable presence leaving her life caused a strange constriction in her throat and the imminent threat of ocular leakage. Not starting every day trading insults with this unremarkable mortal child, nor laughing at his absurdities, left a strange emptiness inside her, which she didn’t comprehend, given that all her major organs were present and accounted for. It was almost as though her body was objecting to the prospect of being separated from him for ever.