The Girl in the Mirror

by Philip J. Gould

  George opened the door and climbed out. “You’re up early,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. It was close to 7:00 a.m. but the kids weren’t usually out of bed before half-past. “Where’s your mum?”

  “In kitchen,” he said. The small boy pivoted round and ran back to the house, disappearing through the front door.

  George smiled. It felt good to be home with the family. He slammed the Peugeot’s door behind him and activated the central locking with the slightest press of his thumb. At the door, he called out the clichéd phrase, “Honey, I’m home,” before closing it behind him.

  A moment later, Sophie let herself out of the car, closed the door quietly behind her, and then drank in the cool morning air, smelling the mixed garden fragrances for the first time. She especially enjoyed the sweet aroma of lavender.

  The bedroom in which Sophie found herself an hour later was relatively small compared to what she expected from its appearance from outside. Sparsely furnished, the room had a single bed (occupied), a bedside cabinet, a chest of drawers, an old fashioned dressing table with a large mirror perched atop it and an array of beauty products placed about it, a freestanding wardrobe (its door half-open but revealing nothing) and a stack of three Walkers crisp boxes that were filled with the sleeping girl’s personal effects. The curtains were drawn, pink and thin, allowing the early morning sunlight to filter in.

  Sophie had crept through the house, exploring the rooms one by one, watching her parents as they interacted with each other, seeing for the first time her brothers, Charlie and Stanley, both sitting at the table in the kitchen eating their breakfast and drinking fresh orange juice.

  Charlie, the younger of the two, was talking animatedly about a forthcoming school trip to a zoo. Sophie learnt that his favourite animal was a crocodile. Stanley, the second eldest child, sat and ate quietly.

  This was the first time she’d seen other children and she stood transfixed; cast under a spell, she watched them avidly, fascinated with their every movement. It wasn’t until one of the boys had suddenly jumped down from the table and collided with her that she snapped out of her absorption and thought better to leave before gaining any unfavourable attention. As it was, the four-year-old was puzzled by the invisible barrier that had partially blocked his progress. Thankfully, his undeveloped mind swiftly moved onto the more important subject of dinosaurs.

  That had been ten minutes or so earlier, before Sophie had opened a door that had a small sign blu-tacked to its centre, marking the room as belonging to ‘Meredith’. A handmade nameplate with the girl’s name written in pink, bubble-style writing. Alongside the name was a photograph of a younger Meredith dressed in a school uniform, a souvenir from a previous term at a former school. The whole thing had been laminated, its surface slightly reflective − she could almost see her image on the glossy surface.

  Guess it’s not just mirrors I need to be concerned about...

  Sophie crept in, pushing the door closed behind her and crossed to stand over the sleeping girl. She watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, listened to the soft rasp of her breathing and the subtlest of whistling sounds that escaped her slightly blocked nose, indicating that the girl suffered mildly from hay fever. So deep in concentration, almost to the point of meditation, she lurched back and yelped aloud in fright when the electric alarm clock on the bedside cabinet − set for 7:30 a.m. − started to bay an unmelodic ringing sound that she felt could bring life to a fossilised Ammonite.

  The girl sat up with a start, the alarm continuing its sound: “Who’s there?” she muttered, rubbing tiredness from her eyes.

  Sophie stood stock-still, unable to breathe. Her heart was pounding from being startled, so loud she thought, she was worried the girl pulling herself out of bed would hear it.

  The girl reached out to the alarm clock, punched down on a button, ending the clamour abruptly. After, she reached for a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles lying between the clock and a half-full tumbler of water, and slipped them onto the bridge of her nose.

  Sophie quietly stepped away from the bed, backing towards the wall nearest to the bedroom door, backing into a piece of furniture.

  Damn!

  She’d forgotten about the chest of drawers. The impact caused the furnishing to rattle, halting Sophie’s progress. She couldn’t help gasping.

  “Hello? I know you are there.” The girl swung her legs out from the bed and stood up. “I heard you.” The girl was wearing a purple nightdress with a Tinkerbell fairy print emblazoned across its centre.

  Sophie was paralysed with fear and could no longer move.

  “So, where are you?” The girl dropped to her knees and peered under her bed. “Well, you’re not under there. Hmm.” The girl walked to the chest of drawers, and stopped just short of stepping on Sophie’s toes. “I know, you must be in the wardrobe!” She strode across the bedroom and flung open the double doors to reveal –

  − just a wardrobe full of clothes. She was confused.

  I’m sure I heard something.

  “Meredith… Come on, time to get up. You’ve got school, remember?”

  Her mother’s voice was slightly subdued by the distance from the bottom of the stairs to the bedroom door, which was pushed to.

  “I’m getting up!” she shouted back. She closed the wardrobe doors and tried to forget about the unnerving feeling that she wasn’t alone in her room.

  Hurriedly, she slipped out of her nightdress, found her school uniform (a blue and white checkered dress with a white collar), threw it on and proceeded to the dressing table, where she sat to prepare her hair.

  Meredith’s hair was blonde, similar to my own, Sophie thought; but even longer, cascading down her back like a golden waterfall, ending an inch above the small of her back.

  Meredith picked up a plastic hairbrush and started pulling it through her pillow-mussed hair, occasionally wincing from a tangle or two.

  Behind her, Sophie sat down on her bed, the springs protesting gently. The girl, too preoccupied, failed to hear the movement, or even see the older girl, staring at her from behind now that she inadvertently appeared within the dressing table mirror.

  “MEREDITH!”

  “Coming!” The girl quickly tied her hair into a tail and rushed out of the bedroom, her feet thumping as they carried her down the stairs.

  Chapter Three

  Meredith

  Meredith was not sure why they had moved so suddenly that summer, almost in a panic. Her father had returned from work all sweaty and scared-looking. Normally he was a confident person, radiating an air of control and assurance wherever he went; on this occasion he appeared nervous, agitated. His hands were shaking and his breathing was fast, almost panting. It was as though he’d been for a long run.

  Or maybe he’d been chased?

  Meredith was playing quietly with a collection of small furry animal characters she’d accumulated from birthdays and Christmases past, especially enjoying a Meerkat family that was more functional than her own. Using a number of play sets for backdrops, she enacted a variety of scenes that were more ordinary than those that existed in reality.

  Meredith had heard her father’s car return in the driveway, the door of the Peugeot opening and slamming hard behind him; heard the stones of the driveway crunch underfoot, and watched as the front door was flung open. He stormed into the house, flinging the front door behind him, stopping with his back against the wooden surface as though his weight would add extra obstruction.

  “Harriet, quick,” he said to her mother. “We have little time.” He was peering out of the window by the side of the door, checking to see whether he had been followed.

  “So soon?” Her mother wore a pained expression, but it was clear she understood what was going on, fully in the loop with the turn of events and the urgency of the situation. It hadn�
��t been the first time this had happened, and was not expected to be the last.

  In fact, Meredith could remember at least four occasions when they had repeated this same merry dance.

  Had there been other times?

  Meredith couldn’t remember. If there had, she’d blanked it from her memory. It had been two years since they’d lived a somewhat normal life. Though being one of the Jennings had always been far from normal owing to her father’s strange work.

  “Yes. We must leave tonight. You and the kids need to start packing.”

  “George… when will this end?” her eyes were becoming moist. George looked solemnly down at his feet. He didn’t know the answer so said nothing in reply. He didn’t like to lie.

  Without a word, Meredith’s mother reached over to her husband and embraced him. It was the sort of thing she did when faced with fear or the unknown, like a quick hug would make things all better.

  “It will be all right,” she said. “In the end.”

  The man composed himself and looked a little less scared. “I know,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair aside and kissing the woman on the forehead. If she’d known him better, she’d have realised this was all an act. He wasn’t afraid at all. It stemmed from his past life. A life before he’d met Harriet or had the kids.

  Packing wasn’t as hard a chore as it might seem. Where most people use all their things and wear all their clothes, the Jennings did not. Having gone through this routine before, they knew to use items sparingly and live out of boxes as a necessity. It was a situation that Meredith didn’t enjoy, but not knowing anything different, tolerated without question, or seemingly without question. The fact was she was starting to wonder at it all.

  What reason could there be for leaving it all behind, her life, her friends? Another school? What troubles were they in that behooved a sudden, swift exit?

  Meredith started to wonder whether her dad was a bank robber or something worse. Perhaps a terrorist? They were all the rage these days and came in all shapes, sizes, colours and creeds.

  “Quick, Meredith, go to your room and pack your things,” her mother demanded. “Anything not packed by nightfall will have to stay.”

  “But mum! Do we have to?” she whined.

  “Yes. Now do it!” Her mother’s face was enough to suspend any further protest.

  Meredith went to her bedroom as ordered. In the room next door Stanley played, oblivious to the events downstairs. He was six-years-old and like most boys his age, he was playing with some faddish toy, currently being small monster figurines (which his younger brother was also seemingly mad on); multi-coloured collectables that looked like they’d been designed by pre-schoolers. There was no limit to how odd or obscure the characters could be. Some looked like they’d been sneezed out onto the floor and copied into plastic form. Unconcerned by the urgency of the packing, he carried on noisily within his imagination.

  Stuffing dolls, fluffy animals, games and other things into a box, and then starting on her clothes − packing them untidily into two large suitcases − Meredith was finished within ten minutes. Most of her sundry items were already boxed up. In the corner of the bedroom was the dresser; atop was the large, antique mirror. She looked long and hard at her reflection. Beyond her spectacles, dark circles surrounded her eyes, giving them a sunken-in look, and her cheeks were blotchy and red. Her long blonde hair, usually tied neatly in a tail, hung down in an untidy, unkempt fashion. She didn’t take much pride in her presentation of late. At school she was teased mercilessly on her appearance – but that never bothered her much, and with the imminent relocation, it wouldn’t be a concern any longer.

  In the mirror, just behind her, a small face appeared.

  An older girl’s face; framed by golden blonde hair. She had high cheek bones and a sort of pointed, ratty nose. Although unusual in appearance, she was not unattractive. Completing the look she was dressed comfortably in jogging bottoms and a loose-fitted T-shirt. It was always a shock to see this one-time intruder in her bedroom. It had been five months since she’d caught sight of the girl in her mirror. No matter how many times she had witnessed this peculiar phenomenon, it hadn’t stopped Meredith from turning around behind her to see the person to whom the reflection belonged.

  But of course, like every other time, there was nobody there.

  Meredith had asked her on more than one occasion whether the girl who appeared in her mirror was a ghost. Sophie had smiled knowingly but had never confirmed or denied it. Meredith liked to believe that she was a ghost. Like Casper, she was friendly and often made her laugh.

  They’d often play together; sometimes leave the house together, always having fun. Both girls getting up to mischief, made easy by Sophie’s unobservable appearance.

  On the bus into town, for a dare, Sophie tied everybody’s shoe laces together; the girls laughed heartily as each traveller stood up to leave only to trip over their own feet, stumbling to the floor of the central walkway. A group of five people collapsed into a heap of intertwined limbs and torsos. The melee was comical. The bus driver didn’t know what on earth was going on but knew the girl with the spectacles who’d laugh uncontrollably after each fallen passenger, had almost certainly something to do with it, but knew not what. Throughout the journey he’d glance at the CCTV screen, but not once had he seen anyone up to no good. People would glare angrily at the laughing Meredith, who appeared to be sitting alone at the back of the bus, but no one could suspect that she’d been responsible for the practical joke. No one had seen her leave her seat.

  Sophie was Meredith’s secret invisible friend; and Meredith was Sophie’s only contact away from her father outside of the apartment in Chelsea.

  For five months, once or twice a week, Sophie would sneak into her father’s car, hitching a lift, so that she could spend some time with someone of a similar age. But that was slowly changing. Somehow, she was growing at a faster rate than anyone else. Meredith had noticed it too, but said nothing.

  Meredith looked back to the mirror and the face that belonged to the only friend she had in the whole wide world stared back at her. She looked thirteen-years-old now.

  “I’m going to be leaving,” said Meredith matter-of-factly. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. They felt heavy, as though laden with tears.

  “I know,” replied the girl in the mirror, solemnly. “I heard da... Your father saying something on his phone…”

  “You know my father?” Meredith was surprised. She thought only she could see her. It was hard to keep the disappointment from spreading across her face.

  “I know of him,” Sophie lied. “I smuggle myself in the back of his car from time to time… for a lift,” adding, “beats walking. Like today. Not being seen has its advantages.”

  Slightly appeased, Meredith’s features brightened. “You are wicked!” Out of habit, she turned to face her friend, realising as she wheeled round that Sophie wasn’t sitting on her bed. “I just don’t understand why we have to go. I like it here.”

  The girl in the mirror looked back at Meredith but gave no further comment.

  “I think my dad is in trouble. I think we have to run away from something.”

  The girl in the mirror smiled knowingly, an eyebrow raised. She looked rather smug, almost sinister.

  “You almost look like you know something,” Meredith said accusingly at the face that appeared behind her in the mirror.

  “I may know something,” she admitted. “But I can’t say. Not yet. Not now. It would put you in more danger.”

  Meredith walked away from the mirror and sat down on her bed. “I wish I could take you with me. You are all that I have.”

  “You are all I have too,” Sophie replied sadly, her voice almost a whisper.

  Within the hour Meredith’s father had returned with a rental van
, and in two hours, the van was loaded. All but the furniture that came with the house had been removed. Having practiced this escape meticulously and living out of boxes, the move was swift and efficient. They would be safely relocated and unpacked before nightfall, as was the standard practice.

  Meredith and her mother were in her bedroom, the nine-year-old sitting mournfully on the end of her bed, the mattress stripped bare.

  “But I like the mirror,” Meredith said, “why can’t we take it?” In the newly emptied room, her voice echoed against the walls.

  “It doesn’t belong to us,” her mother said, consoling. “And besides, it’s ugly. I never did like that mirror.”

  The girl in the mirror glided across the silver surface, the movement catching Harriet’s eye. She jerked up, her eyes surveying the area around her, seeking the source that had diverted her attention.

  “What was that?” The woman stood up and looked about her, gazing around the room, her attention focused more around the edges of the room, below waist level.

  “What’s wrong?” Meredith wore a panicked expression which her mother interpreted was from her agitation. The truth was Meredith was worried that her secret friend was about to be discovered.

  “Did you not see it?” See what, though? Harriet couldn’t be sure of what she’d seen. It had been a blur, and it had been reflected in the mirror. After circling the room twice, peering under the bed and looking around the sides of the furniture that was being left behind, she shook her head as though clearing out old thoughts and smiled in resignation. “Your mum must be going mad,” she said.

  Meredith smiled with her, noticeably relaxed.