just him and his parents.
The picture made me remember my own birthdays, and Harry’s. Ours were both in the summer, mine in December and Harry’s in February (Southern Hemisphere, in case you’d forgotten) and they were perfect excuses for Dad to haul out the barbecue and invite people over. We’d always had lots of people to our birthday parties, sometimes too many, but the celebrations had always been fun times with food and talk, music and singing. These days my birthdays were celebrated differently. Last year I’d spent the day out with friends. This year . . . well, we hadn’t planned it yet. The idea of an old-fashioned party somehow felt appealingly retro.
I heard Harry call out. He was already following up on me for an answer.
‘Athens, where are you? Have you decided yet?’
It was then that the picture faded and dis-appeared. Great timing!
‘Gross,’ he said when he saw me peering at my reflection. ‘Talk about Narcissus.’
‘What do you know about Narcissus?’ I asked.
I was far too surprised by Harry’s reference to the classical god of vanity, doomed forever to love himself because he spurned the goddess Echo, to feel embarrassed at being caught at what looked like mirror-kissing.
Harry smirked. ‘I’m not such an ignoramus as you seem to think I am,’ he said.
‘Anyway, I was only . . . only . . .’
‘Don’t bother to think up some feeble excuse,’ he said. ‘I don’t really care. I’ve always known
that you love yourself.’
‘But I don’t, I wasn’t . . . oh, never mind you silly little boy, you’d never understand, not in a million years.’
‘Have you decided?’ Harry repeated.
I made a big show of looking at my watch. ‘It hasn’t been that long since you asked me,’ I pointed out.
‘Plenty of time for normal people to make up their minds,’ Harry said. ‘Girls on the other hand, a certain girl who I won’t name but who isn’t
anywhere near normal, not lately anyway . . .’ He turned to go. ‘Remember, the clock’s ticking.’
Hadn’t I been normal lately? Behaving normally, that is? As normally as I could have in the circumstances? Maybe not. It was hard for me to tell. Had the stress and anxiety been eating away at me like the dry rot in the bricks and was I about to fall completely apart, shattering in a cloud of mortar dust? Was it obvious to everybody except me? The clock was definitely ticking.
‘Wait!’ I said to Harry. ‘I wanted to ask you something as well.’
And it was true, I did.
‘What?’
‘Listen. When you said what you did about the mirrors, did you have any particular reason for saying it?’
Harry looked completely blank. Trust him to have forgotten already but I suppose it was some time ago and he didn’t have the same strong reason as I had for remembering.
‘Mirrors? Boy, you do have a fixation on them don’t you? What did I say about them, if anything?
Remind me.’
So I reminded him although I suspected that there wasn’t much point.
‘You said, and I quote, “Isn’t it funny that we’ve been living with someone else’s mirrors ever since we moved in here?”’
I could almost see the mice (or maybe the rats) turning the clockwork inside Harry’s head as he struggled to recall. ‘Maybe I did say that, I just don’t remember,’ he said. ‘Honest. It might have been one of those brilliant ideas that suddenly pop
into my head, you know? It’s just there and I have to say it. Why does it matter now?’
‘It doesn’t,’ I told him.
‘Why’re you asking me then, if it’s not important?’
How could I come right out and tell him I wanted to know if he’d seen anything in the mirrors, the same as I had? Chances were he wouldn’t tell me even if he had. After all, I wasn’t letting the cat out of the bag either. It had occurred to me that Harry’s séance may have been
prompted by Harry seeing Laurie and Iris in a mirror, or that the séance itself had somehow caused the sightings in the first place. But now I dismissed both those ideas. Harry was pretty hopeless at keeping secrets other than magical
ones so I felt sure he would have dropped some small suggestion of a hint if he’d glimpsed Laurie and Iris.
And the séance had been an elaborate trick, nothing more than that.
‘Just forget I asked,’ I said.
‘I will,’ said Harry.
He shook his head as if in despair at my mad-
ness and left the room. I wished I could walk away from my predicament so easily.
Not long afterwards everything went from bad to worse. And that’s when I began to realise that there was no way I was going to be able to hold myself together for much longer.
PART THREE
(The beginning of) The End
(I know. Another beginning.)
Escapes and Orbits
(DEEP THOUGHT # . . . Oops, I’ve lost count. Never mind.)
I don’t know what happened to change the pattern but something did. Something that had been ‘merely’ disturbing, unnerving and inexplicable suddenly became really, really frightening - and still inexplicable.
I was drifting off to sleep thinking about the day, Harry’s proposition (about which I had not yet made a firm decision. Harry had gone to bed, fuming . . .), and the picture/image/photo - however best to describe it - of Mitchell’s birthday party. I was again also thinking about Barry and May, Mum and Dad, Iris and Laurie, me and . . . Troy (as if!).
Pairings of people, so many different variations of pairs but curiously all intent, in some way or another, on escaping. That idea had not occurred to me before, although Harry had said something similar earlier on.
Harry escaped through magic and me through words. May and Barry escaped each other through distance and silence. Dad and Mum escaped through their different jobs and interests. Our parents weren’t escaping from each other though, I was sure of that, and not from Harry or me either but maybe just from becoming bored, from not
having anything diverting to do. What was Troy escaping from, I wondered? Was the boy I’d thought of as ‘polite’ actually a little disturbed (hence the escape into backward sentences and the enthusiasm for palindromes) or was he simply a tad nerdy? And why had he rung me to talk about palindromes in the first place? What had made him think I’d be interested in that sort of discussion? I wished I’d asked him in my letter.
Oh so many questions with no answers forthcoming!
Above me, on the ceiling, I’d stuck fluorescent stars and planets orbiting my central, lampshade sun. Very childish I know but it’s nice to take a remnant of childhood with you wherever you go. These stick-on stars had travelled with me to every house I’d lived in. Their original stickiness was long gone. Double-sided, double-strength tape now fixed those heavenly orbs firmly to their artificial firmament.
I’d already turned the sun off and had only my halogen desk lamp switched on. This wasn’t bright enough to dull the faintly green, ghostly tinge of my luminous starry ceiling. My thought pattern continued to run as follows: if planets and their orbits were people then Mum and Dad would have mostly separate orbits but ones that occasionally intersected, like in a standard Venn diagram. I suspected that often Harry and I were at the intersection of their orbits but at other times I was also sure that the olds liked to meet up there just for the sake of meeting. They weren’t always trying to stray away from each other, not as it might have seemed to someone watching their orbits from the outside, as it were.
Barry and May’s orbits, on the other hand, were
totally apart. The more I thought about theirs the more likely it seemed that May’s orbit was a very small, short and probably wobbly one, resembling our moon’s one-day rotation around the earth. Barry’s orbit was much larger and his enclosed hers, so she couldn’t escape its gravitational pull.
As for Iris and Laurie, well they were like planets that had colli
ded and fused into a single orbit. Until Iris had died and escaped Laurie, leaving him to spin through the lonely universe, alone.
Back to Troy and me . . . ha ha! Orbits existing in totally different universes, stars racing away from each other at unimaginable speeds, escaping while the going was good.
That’s how it seemed to me in the near dark, lying in bed contemplating stars, orbits, escapes and the pairing of people. (Deep thoughts, I know. You’re not obliged to read them.)
After I’d leaned over to turn off my desk light the room got darker than it should have. At first I didn’t know how this had happened until I glanced towards my mirror (in which I had seen the first picture only a week ago - it seemed so much longer) and saw that it’s silver surface was grey and blotchy and seemingly in motion. Feeling scared (understatement supremo) I nevertheless got out of bed and went slowly and cautiously towards it. Without really realising it my arms were clutched protectively over my chest and stomach, my breathing was shallow, my heart pumping somewhat faster (under-understatement) than usual.
The dark patchiness of the mirror, which I
noticed as soon as I got up close to it, was the result of a succession of black and white images passing across it, chasing one another as if someone were flicking the pages of a photo album without stopping to look properly at the pictures. The flickering speed of the images and the fact that my room was in near darkness meant that none of them were at all distinct or able to be focused on. I thought I recognised some of them - perhaps the pictures I’d already seen during the previous week - but there was so much more that was new and unfamiliar. I wished I could make sense of them all even as, at the same time, I wished the whole crazy confusion of it would all just stop, go away and leave me alone.
But it didn’t stop. The flash-past continued. Once or twice there were blurs of colour, but mainly it was shades of grey. Utterly terrified now, not even pretending I knew what to do anymore, I stumbled back to bed and crawled in, turning my back on the mirror in the hope I wouldn’t see its madness anymore. Even so, when I closed my eyes the blurry procession of pictures continued behind my eyelids, manic, like car headlamps search-lighting frantically across the drapes, like a never-ending migraine.
‘Enough! Enough!’ I heard myself screaming.
Of course that woke the rest of my family (including Harry, bless him). Mum and Dad came rushing to my room, Harry close on their heels. They turned on the main light. I was almost blinded by it but it scared the darkness away. The darkness, and the pictures in the mirror.
Mum/Dad (simultaneously): ‘Athens, what on
earth’s the matter!’
Harry: ‘She woke me. I was fast asleep.’
Me: ‘It was . . . it was . . . (I fell back onto my pillow - a dramatic movement, but genuine nonetheless - as well as onto my lies.) ‘Nothing, I said. Only a nightmare. Of the worst variety.’
And thereby I lost the opportunity to tell all to the people who mattered the most.
The following morning I picked up my mobile and delivered a text message to the one person who might be willing to listen to such a strange story as mine. Someone who was a little strange himself and not emotionally involved with me in any way.
‘DNEIRF A SA. ESAELP. PLEH!’ I wrote.
It wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought it would be.
More than a magician’s assistant
Troy arrived at the same moment as the mail. More about both of these arrivals in a moment. Firstly, my ‘long awaited’ decision and reply to Harry’s ‘invitation’.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ I snapped at Harry.
‘Are you on, or not?’
‘All right,’ I said to Harry. ‘Whatever. Just leave me alone.’
‘You are in a bad way. Try and make some sense. It can’t be both. If you’re on we need to start rehearsing our act now.’
Our act!
‘Come on then,’ I said bustling him ahead of
me, taking him utterly by surprise. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Learning how to disappear into Harry’s wonder chest was one way of escaping, temporarily at least, the nightmare of the mirrors. Right then, the thought of the mirror-less darkness of the chest seemed a lesser nightmare. Also, saying ‘yes’ to Harry seemed easier than waiting around to find out if Troy would turn up. He hadn’t texted back yet. Perhaps he was peeved that I’d copied his backwards writing style rather than being inventive and sending him a palindromic sentence instead.
I hadn’t heard anything more from Rachel and Emma. What would they think if they ever found out I’d asked Troy for help instead of asking them. ‘Why didn’t you come to us?’ would be their cry. Would they understand it was because the three of us were too close?
Dad was well on the way to dismantling the chimney. Mum, as always, had left early for work (another day in court) and wouldn’t be back until late. So it was either the rehearsal or the mirrors.
I have to say that I quickly learned to appreciate a magician’s reluctance to divulge the secrets of his (or her) trade. As you know, for years whenever Harry did a trick good enough to impress me I’d go on and on at him to let me into the secret of how it worked.
But now when I finally knew a secret I was disappointed. Firstly, because it was actually ridiculously simple (‘Is that all?’ I said, as soon as
Harry showed me) and secondly because I
suddenly felt as if the magic of the magic (does that make sense?) was now less than it had been. As far as this particular trick was concerned I could never again enjoy it for its own sake. Now that I knew how it was done it wasn’t as special anymore, not in the same innocent, childish, wondering way.
I asked Harry a silly question. ‘How do you cope with knowing how it all works?’ I said to him.
‘I try to do the trick as well as I can,’ he replied. ‘I try to do it so well that even if people guess how it’s done they still can’t be absolutely sure they’re right. They might be almost sure but it’s my job to leave a doubt in their minds.’
Hmm. Not a bad answer from my little brat of a brother. Who would have thought he could have been so sensible and serious. I pondered his reply and decided that Harry was right. So that’s what I would also have to do now as I helped him. I had to do my part so well, that I would leave people guessing and leave them wanting to see more of us. And the truth was, the challenge of being fast enough to turn that escape trick into a spectacular swap routine somehow helped trigger the exhibitionist in me, helped suppress the claustrophobic me. It made me actually want to perform.
Let calmness prevail
We took a break for lunch. I was exhausted but I didn’t care. Practising the trick, which was much more physically and mentally demanding than I
would have believed, had also helped me stop
dwelling on the other things. Like, was Troy ever going to turn up to PLEH?
‘Nice to see that the two of you are getting on amicably for once,’ said Dad as he, Harry and I appeared together in the kitchen. (‘Appeared’ as in ‘arrived’, not in any magical Potterish sense you understand.)
‘Wonders will never cease,’ I agreed. ‘We’re working together.’
‘On my talent quest entry,’ said Harry.
‘Our entry,’ I corrected him. ‘Does that mean we’ll share the prize money?’
‘No way,’ Harry said.
‘We’ll see.’
‘And you’re not getting your hands on it either,’ Harry said to Dad who had opened his mouth to speak. Dad threw up his hands as if to say, ‘Me? Want your money? Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘When will we get to see this marvel?’ was what he actually said. ‘Or do we have to join the hoi polloi at the theatre?’ (More Ancient Greek. I refer you to the Epigraph. I recognised those particular words from one of Ms Kidd’s scintillating classes. It means ‘the many’ – the crowd; the ordinary, common folk.)
‘All will be revealed at a special family
showing,’ said Harry.
‘Will it?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Why not?’ said Harry. ‘Makes sense to practise it in front of a live audience.’
‘I suppose so. You didn’t tell me, that’s all.’
‘Let calmness prevail my children,’ said Dad, in case the new peace shattered.
‘All is calm and serene,’ said Harry.
We had just sat down to lunch together when
the front door bell rang. Harry got up to answer.
‘Just say we’re not interested,’ Dad instructed him (Dad's usual admonition to cold callers) so I suppose you can’t entirely blame Harry for what happened next although naturally (and quite rightly too, as I’m sure you will agree) I did.
‘Okay,’ said Harry.
We heard his voice clearly in the hall but the caller’s voice was indistinct.
‘Okay,’ Harry repeated. ‘Thanks. We're not interested but yes, I’ll tell her.’
We heard the door close. Next minute Harry was back, a bundle of letters in his hand.
‘Who was it?’ Dad asked.
Harry’s mouth twitched. I was immediately alert. ‘Just some guy,’ he said. That made me even more suspicious.
‘And?’ I asked. ‘What is it you have to ‘tell her’? And whose letters are those anyway?’
‘These? They’re ours.’
‘Our mail?’ said Dad, as bemused now as I was.
Harry nodded. ‘He brought them to the front door.’
I got up from the table to peak out of the window.
‘Oh my god!’ I yelled. ‘You little turd, it’s Troy!’ I could see Troy in the driveway, looking uncertain. His head turned from the door to the window and then back down the driveway. He was obviously wondering what to do next. Stay or go.
The Houdini Effect Page 13