by Sky Sommers
Since now I have two new pairs of shoes, I can sell one of my old pairs to the stablemaster’s daughter again. I’ll pick a pair that is not very scuffed, but one that I wouldn’t wear to school anymore. It’s a good deal we have going. She doesn’t want to pay full money for new shoes that she would ruin anyway, spending too much time at the stables. So she buys second-hand shoes from me at a much lower price. As luck would have it, we’re the same size. I get pocket money and an occasional riding lesson. Everybody wins. And I don’t feel the least bit deceitful, Father and Grace SHOULD buy me new things.
Mellie is getting worried I’m not dating anyone. When I told her I have no time at all on account of chores, she told me to stop doing them, lest I ruin my hands and my reputation.
I told her that my reputation might be ruined anyway, if Betty makes the Cinders nickname stick, which, knowing Betty, she is bound to try.
Mellie agreed that I should ‘go on the offensive’ with Betty, and not let her bully me anymore. She told me I need to look good tomorrow, better than I’ve ever looked and be worse than Betty to put her in her place.
I told her I could never be like Betty.
Mellie looked me in the eye and said ‘No guts, no glory.’ She told me that if I can put Betty in her place for one moment, then that doesn’t make me bad. That I can go back to being who I am straight after.
But I don’t want to be a servant girl all my life!
I am NOT a servant! No matter how much stepmother tries to make it so. The sooty girl they saw yesterday is not who I am!
I do have an ability that nobody else has. I should really put it to better use. Pick something out of Bettys’ brain and use it against her.
First step, make Betty look stupid.
Second step, put her in her place.
Betty will always be the daughter of a pig farmer. I’m prettier than her. I’m blonder than her. I am better than her. I swear, if she tries to belittle me by calling me Cinders at school, I will fight back!
No more soot, not more chores, no more ash or Cinders!
Chapter 6. Fairy Godmother
Grace
An hour after the twins are back from Mellie’s, just when I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the kitchen door swings open with a loud bang and there she is in all her purple glory - wide hat, gloves and flowy skirt to cover her sizeable butt.
The bane of my existence.
My nemesis.
The Fairy Godmother.
Although she is neither a fairy nor a proper godmother. She thinks since she’s successfully advising clients in dire straits who are willing to pay for her services, then she can don that title.
At my next glance her butt seems to have deflated.
Strange. Mellie seems shiftier and shiftier every time I see her. Her hair colour could seem blonde from afar, but when she walks in, it is dark brown.
Maybe where her butt size is concerned, my tired brain is conjuring what I want to see. Until reality adjusts the view.
I swear, every time she comes around, something about her changes as she stands there.
The woman looks me up and down and I feel my blood boiling, standing up, noticing there is soot on my apron and feeling the sweat on my brow.
Just perfect.
‘It’s a bit late for that, from what I hear,’ the Godmother nods at the stove, wrinkling her nose. ‘And you missed a bit,’ she points to a perfectly clean spot.
‘Good morning to you, too, Mellie!’ I say and watch her cringe at my diminutive address.
We hear someone abusing the stairs.
Ella stomps down and flings herself at her Godmother. ‘Aunt Melisandra! I thought you left!’
‘Why are you not at school?’ I ask and get a glare. ‘Didn’t your father tell you to…’
‘Now, now, child. I couldn’t go away when you were out of sorts, could I? It can’t be as bad as Hans said, can it?’ Mellie asks and tries to extract herself.
‘Worse,’ Ella wails. Catching my expression, she sticks her nose high in the air and snaps, ‘It’s a bit late for that!’ pointing at my stove. ‘You have soot on the side of your face, did you know?’
I look at the both of them.
If I didn’t know Mellie was her aunt, I would say ‘Like mother, like daughter’.
‘To what do I owe the displeasure?’ I ask Mellie and add, ‘I won’t offer you coffee or biscuits, since you don’t eat according to Hans and Greta.’
Mellie blanches, realising the back end of that conversation got relayed to me as well. She collects herself quickly, ‘I’m here to offer some comfort and pampering. Apparently, something that is thoroughly lacking in this household. Let’s go, darling!’ She tells Ella.
‘Unless you are taking her to school, she isn’t going anywhere,’ I tell Mellie and turn to Ella, ‘You told Greta that you didn’t want to leave home today, correct?’
Ella huffs, ‘I’m upset! I need to be with my Godmother! She has things to do! I’m just going along…’
Shopping I bet.
Ella looks straight at me as if I had guessed right.
‘If your ‘things to do’ covers shopping for expensive things, then no thank you!’ I tell Melisandra who smiles widely.
One way or another those expenses are going to be handed down to us and we are not in the position to cover these costs.
‘Where exactly are you taking her?’ I demand.
‘Oh, here and there. I have a client I need to meet and then we’ll get food. Why am I even bothering explaining myself to you, I don’t know! You wouldn’t know the first thing about finesse or compassion or the needs Elizabeth and I have,’ Mellie says.
I nod. ‘If I’m so clueless and she is so unhappy here, you can always take her back,’ I offer as Ella brightens up and looks expectantly at her Godmother.
Mellie blanches again. ‘You know I can’t do that, dear,’ she tells Ella, patting her arm. ‘I’m remodelling,’ she says like that explains everything.
’The orphanage?’ I smirk.
*Oh, you will never let me forget that, will you. I thought I was doing Peter a favour, letting him write an article about someone popular for a change. And then he goes ahead and misquotes me. What I said was when my sister’s kids were living with me, for a few months I FELT like I was running an orphanage.’
‘Just you wait until people start leaving babies on your doorstep,’ I say.
Mellie shrugs, ‘Since it’ll be Perter’s fault for people misunderstanding, I’ll bring them straight to you.’
She might. And I will deal with it if and when I have to.
‘Is remodelling really a good reason to send the twins back despite my note that Grizelda was afoot?’ I ask. ‘Couldn’t you have waited a few days?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she waves her hand dismissively. ‘You and Peter can keep them safe, I’m quite sure. Now Elizabeth and I really must go or we will miss our appointment.’
‘Our appointment?’ I echo. ‘I thought you had a client meeting.’
‘She is a client. Today, it’s my turn…’
‘Our turn,’ Ella corrects her.
‘…Our turn to get treated. Manicures, pedicures, facials, hair removal, hair styling,’ Mellie lists off. ‘You should consider getting cleaned up a little yourself,’ she suggests gesturing at me in my entirety. ‘If at all possible,’ she adds.
I nearly say that I’m willing to take Ella’s place, except that would mean spending hours with Mellie. Ummm…no.
‘Bye, bye, bye, we’re going,’ Ella says in a singsong voice and rushes her Godmother out the door.
‘I just hope the hair styling comes after the removal and on different body parts or it will be for nought,’ I mumble after them.
Peter asks from the depth of the restaurant, ‘Are they gone?’
‘Yes,’
I sigh. ‘I’m guessing the talk with Ella didn’t go well, since she went to the spa with Mellie and not to school and you were hiding while SHE was here?’ I ask and he nods sheepishly from the doorway.
‘I’m not good at these talks. Somehow, Ella gets things out of me that I have never even thought she wanted. Like today, she said she was miserable and begged for just one day at home and it seemed reasonable to let her stay in and calm down a little,’ he says.
‘I say she’s definitely calm now if she can brave being in public,’ I say, ‘I’ll bet you a full night of sleep that Ella will walk back through that door with major shopping bags,’ I told my husband.
‘No bet. I think you might be right,’ he says. ‘What can we do?’
‘Pay for it later,’ I say acidly. ‘With what, though, I don’t know. I haven’t finished testing the washing machine yet.’ I nod at the window. Outside, from the creaking of the wheel I can tell our donkey is diligently doing his rounds with the pail. ‘And we have Hans and Greta’s schooling to save for,’ I pointed out.
‘She’ll be of age soon,’ he says.
‘You know full well that the only way she’ll be leaving here is if she marries,’ I reply. ‘And considering her tastes, she will have to marry well.’
Ella’s future better look bright because if she is used to spas and nice things and shrugging off the chores, she needs to marry very well, for which she needs a good education and, if I say so myself, a much kinder attitude towards people and her family in particular. You need brains to marry well. Not just beauty.
‘Do you know anyone who would be interested?’ I ask Peter, not joking.
‘You missed a bit.’
* * *
In the afternoon, I come home from the market to find flush-faced Ella with curls ablaze sitting in the garden in the midst of shopping bags, scribbling madly into a new leather-bound journal. The kitchen is still in disarray and I cannot hear the donkey out back.
‘Looks like you had fun with Mellie today,’ I say, pointing at all the goodies at her feet with the two paper bags of groceries weighing me down.
There is no point in asking for help.
‘Godmother Melisandra,’ Ella glares at me, ‘is the best!’ she beams. ‘She cheered me up immensely!’ Ella says pointedly like this was something I should have thought of and done.
‘I see,’ I say. ‘What did she get you?’
‘Shoes, a dress and some bijous,’ she says and continues her scribbling.
I survey the bags. By the looks of it, Mellie got her not two shoes, but two PAIRS of shoes. Ella has ten pairs already! Besides the dress, she got a new purse and the leather-bound diary, of course.
What the hell?!?
Even Peter will be shocked at the extent of the duo’s blitz shopping.
If she were an only child with three adults to tend to her wishes, there would be nothing wrong with this scenario.
Except, this is a family of six.
Thrift and recycling are a given.
If you go through diaries like socks, needing a new one every few weeks, then you could at least get the cheaper versions, not the creamy thick high-end stationery pages, golden-embossed leather-bound ones that cost a fortune.
It’s not like we can use the old ones for firewood, either.
No, she hoards them. I honestly don’t know where. Probably under her bed. Where I’ve never looked.
Why she needs twelve pairs of shoes, is a mystery.
It’s not like she recycles them either.
Greta never gets to wear Ella’s shoes.
Ella says Greta’s feet are too big, that they wouldn’t fit.
I’ve never checked.
I’m sure neither has Greta.
Ella could give them to one of the neighbour’s girls, but she has point blank refused to do that either. Where the shoes disappear to, I have no clue.
Have you ever thought about the reason why in the fairy-tale the fairy godmother is so generous with Cinderella with all the dresses and coaches and horses and glass slippers?
Our ‘fairy godmother’ has a very specific reason for all her gifts.
Guilt.
Over evicting Ella to live with us.
How do I know?
Two pairs of new shoes.
Fancy purses.
Fancy diaries.
Yes, a girl should have some quality things.
But Ella is the only one Mellie pampers like that.
As if she was trying to buy back the love of the child she has somehow wronged.
It’s not like she’s the only girl.
Mellie has Greta for a godchild as well.
And Hans.
Greta and Hans get nothing.
Not even their old toys, it seems.
And this retail therapy is getting to be a habit. It’s certainly not the first time Mellie has provided ‘comfort’ as a quick cure for Ella’s bad moods.
If I were miserable, one good gift would do.
Actually, my husband making time for me and taking me on a picnic would make my crappy day.
Too many of anything and showering a person with things to mimic affection is clearly overcompensating.
Hence, guilt.
And it’s not like they are proper gifts.
One way or another, the Godmother extracts the cost from me and Peter later.
In free dinners, favours, introductions, sending Hans and Greta over for longer stays.
And it’s not like Mellie is doing Ella any favours.
Being singled out for and getting used to fancy things will only make Ella feel privileged and entitled.
She already feels entitled.
How do I know?
From comments like ‘Even I didn’t have that kind of toy!’ issued when we gifted Henry a dainty red wooden toy car for his second birthday.
So, you see, we have interesting dynamics where the Godmother is concerned.
And our Ella is not your traditional kind of Cinderella either.
In fact, out of the two girls, I would say Greta is much more the Cinderella we have read about in story books. If anyone, it’s Greta that deserves a prince and a happy ending.
I know, I know, never compare children.
But how can I not when there is such a stark difference?
The kindness, the gentleness, the offers for help, the caring for and looking after younger siblings, even doing the washing - things you would expect from a girl who will soon be launched into society and need to care for a family of her own - are Greta’s virtues.
Greta is homely and humble as much as Ella is a picky princess.
‘Can you fetch me this’ and ‘Oh, I forgot, could you get that from my room’ (instead of taking off her shoes and dashing to get it herself) and ‘Would you pass me the coffee-mug’? It’s right there, two steps from you and you’re not an invalid. All this queen bee behaviour is making my teeth ache.
I guess to her, doing small favours for her all the bloody time equates to caring.
To her, showering her with expensive gifts also probably means love.
Because that’s what her Godmother does.
Well, small favours and gifts were two distinct love languages, if I remember correctly from my previous life.
I notice a black and white parasol tucked underneath Ella’s feet.
‘You got a parasol? Where would you use a parasol?’ I wonder out loud.
‘It’s for the sun,’ Ella says, ‘In case someone invites me to the seaside.’
‘Before anyone invites you anywhere, you will ask permission first. Before any inviting, you will go and unload the washing machine in the kitchen, young lady.’
She snaps her journal shut, glares at me and stomps upstairs to her tower with all her bags, mumbling somethin
g about schoolwork.
That’s right. The tower.
‘You will come down and unload the dishwasher, young lady!’ I call after her and hear a door slam.
Henry starts crying in the other room.
Great. Just great. He was supposed to sleep for another hour!
I longingly look out the door towards the garden.
I can’t remember the time when I just sat there, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and a book or sleeping Henry in my lap.
I sigh and go up, to tend to the only person who is truly mine to hold and to keep.
* * *
When I return to the kitchen half an hour later, the dishwasher is still full. I sigh and prepare to yell for Ella when I notice Peter standing in the doorway, looking at me.
Self-consciously I straighten my hair and skirts.
Neither feels like they are part of me.
Before we moved here, I used to run around in jeans and frilly tops.
The frilly tops are still the same.
The jeans are now a thing of the past.
Replaced by long skirts.
And don’t get started on my hair.
Here, it never feels like my own.
It used to curl like crazy after half a day’s shift in the coffee shop.
Now, it snakes half down my back and curls naturally.
‘Are you alright, babe?’ Peter asks.
I try to smile. It’s an alien facial movement after months of sleep deprivation. My mouth twitches once, twice, then I give up and just nod.
He crosses the few steps between us and my heart goes to my throat.
Is this really happening?
Instead of taking me in his arms and kissing me senseless Peter hesitantly pats my arm.
He breathes into my hair, ‘I miss you.’
‘I miss you, too.’
He puts his arm around me and strokes my hair.
I close my eyes.
It feels like home.
Peter pulls back, my body leans after him and I instantly miss his warmth.
These moments we have, the few moments of intimacy we manage to squeeze in every once in a while are the ones that keep me alive.
‘I have to go. See you later?’ Peter asks and I nod.