by J. S. Bailey
Once finished, she decided to break her habit by pouring another. It made her feel much better.
THE next weekend, Elena met up with her old friend Martina Brinkman for dinner and shopping. They laughed over chicken tetrazzini at an Italian bistro that had recently opened near Marty’s office. Elena hadn’t felt so happy in ages, what with the divorce and idiots at work and all.
“We could stop at that new shop on the corner before we go to Westfield,” Marty suggested once their meal had been paid for. Marty wore a shocking pink headband more befitting a younger woman, contrasting with her short, dark hair. Like Elena, Marty had always done her best to defy her age.
“Perfectly all right with me,” Elena said, feeling rather full. “My money isn’t about to go spend itself.”
Marty threw her head back and laughed. “Your money? More like your ex’s money.”
“Don’t be silly. It hasn’t been Tom’s for six months.” Elena winked.
The pair walked from the restaurant to the shop, which was called Melinda’s and appeared to sell only women’s clothing and accessories. Elena preferred to spend her money on rare collectibles, but one could never go wrong with a new outfit now and then.
A bell jingled overhead when they walked into the cluttered shop, and a plump woman behind the counter offered them a cheery hello. “Are you looking for anything today, or just browsing?” she asked them.
“Oh, just browsing,” Marty said with a smile. “I find all the best things that way.”
“Including two ex-husbands.” Elena winked.
“I didn’t say they stayed the best things, now, did I? Oh, Elena, look at this one!” Marty pulled a blouse off a rack and held it up for her to see. “It would look perfect on you!”
Elena’s heart stuttered. Marty held the black scoop neck blouse she’d seen her own reflection wearing the day she brought home the mirror. “Yes, I think it might.”
She realised Marty was holding it out for her, and one of Elena’s hands reached out of its own volition and took it.
“What’s the matter?” Marty asked. “Did Tom get you this same shirt?”
Elena forced a smile onto her face. “Oh, no. Never had one like this in my life. I’ll go try it on.”
She took the blouse into the fitting room and slipped it over her head. It fit so well she would have thought it had been tailored just for her if she hadn’t known any better. She admired herself from different angles in the full-length mirror (which thankfully reflected back precisely what it was supposed to), and let out a sigh. There was no logical reason not to buy the blouse. It wasn’t as if not buying it would tear a hole in the fabric of reality, or some such rubbish.
She left the fitting room with the new blouse in hand, feeling much better than she had minutes earlier. She laid it on the counter for the clerk to scan. “I’ll take it.”
THAT night, Elena sat at the foot of her bed, swirling wine round and round in her glass as she regarded the sheet-draped mirror. She’d put on the new blouse the moment she got home, and she still wore it now along with the knee-length black skirt she’d worn while dining with Marty.
The sheet seemed to taunt her. Take me down, it whispered. Something so valuable should never be hidden.
Elena’s lip curled in disgust at herself. “I’m forty years old. I shouldn’t be afraid of a mirror.”
She stared at the sheet until she could no longer stand it.
“That’s it.” Elena stood, slammed her wine glass down atop her dressing table, and tore the sheet off the mirror.
The Elena staring back at her wore her favourite silk dressing gown. Elena trembled but refused to run away again like a frightened child. She placed one hand against the glass and tried to wrap her mind around the fact that her reflection wasn’t doing the same.
“There has to be an explanation for this.” Of course there was an explanation, as all things could be explained given enough time and knowledge. But how did one explain a mirror that showed some other version of reality? Saying it was haunted would be rubbish. Elena had about as much time for the supernatural as she did for toothaches, the difference being toothaches were a real phenomenon and the supernatural was not.
“Then how do you explain the damned mirror?”
She picked up her glass and drained the rest of her wine, and the moment she did, the mirror rippled and reality returned to its surface.
A peculiar thought struck her then. She brought her face closer to the mirror and parted her hair to see a centimetre-long white strand nestled among the brown ones.
“IF I told you something extraordinary, would you believe me?” Elena asked Marty over the phone Sunday afternoon.
“Don’t tell me you and Tom are getting back together.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Elena said, wishing she’d called for something that simple. “I bought a mirror.”
“Sorry, I’m in the car. Did you say mirror?”
“Yes, a mirror. It’s an antique.”
“See, that was part of the problem with you and Tom. You’re only meant to be with something if it’s at least a hundred years old.”
“I’m not joking. I’ve bought this mirror, and there’s something very strange about it.”
“Please don’t say it makes you look fat. You’re thin as a razor blade.”
“Marty, please. Could you just come by? I’d rather you saw it in person.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got some errands to run, but I can swing by for tea.”
“Thank you—I’ll see you then.” Elena clicked off the phone and set it on the bed beside her, then risked a peek at her reflection. The Elena in the mirror held her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook with inaudible sobs.
ELENA served Marty tea in the lounge and hoped her friend wouldn’t notice the tremor that had overtaken her hands. She’d tried to calm herself prior to Marty’s arrival to no avail. “Keep calm and carry on,” the old saying went, but whoever coined it had clearly never hung a magic mirror in their bedroom.
Elena picked her filled teacup off the tray and dropped it.
“Is everything all right?” Marty asked, rising to help.
Grimacing at the brown puddle on the formerly-spotless white rug, Elena said, “I think I’ve gone off my trolley.”
“Well let’s get this cleaned up, and then we can talk about whether you’ve gone off your trolley or not.” Marty disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a roll of towels and a bottle of cleaner. “Nasty mess that made. You’re lucky that rug stayed white as long as it did; I can never keep white things clean.”
Elena murmured a soft thanks as Marty helped her clean up the spill. “At least the cup didn’t break,” she said, forcing another smile. “It belonged to my grandmother.”
“See? That’s the Elena I know, always looking on the bright side. Now what’s the trouble? Nothing to do with that mirror, is it?”
“It might,” Elena hedged. “You should just come and see.”
Elena led the way up the stairs and into the bedroom, then gestured towards the mirror. “Go on. Take a look.”
Marty cast her a suspicious glance before approaching it, her teacup still in hand. Elena held her breath as a sickening thought overcame her: what if the mirror didn’t work for Marty? What if Elena had truly gone mad?
All doubts dissipated when Marty held a hand to her mouth and said, “Oh!”
“What do you see?” Elena ventured when Marty failed to elaborate.
Marty blinked, her face now ashen. “I see you in bed.”
“Sleeping?”
“I hope. Is this some sort of trick?”
“I wish it were.”
Elena nudged Marty out of the way and regarded her own sleeping image. The room itself looked much as it did now with one key difference: a large bottle of Chase Vodka sat on the bedside table.
“I didn’t know you drank vodka,” Marty said as the Elena in the mirror rolled over and hugged a pillow against her chest.
“I don’t! I mean, not yet. That shirt you found for me? The black one? I saw my reflection wearing it days and days before we ever went to that shop.”
Marty sank onto the end of the bed as Elena had been wont to do in recent days, and Elena joined her. “Where exactly did you get this mirror?” Marty asked.
“From David Barlow.”
“He’s the one who sold you the Ming vase?”
“Yes, and Agatha Christie’s hatbox. He’s always finding things he knows I’ll like.”
“Blimey, Elena, if he knew about this, I’d say he has it out for you.”
Elena bristled. “What do you mean?”
“It’s obviously showing the future, right? That’s why you saw the shirt before you got it. A person could go mad looking at her future self, day in and day out. By the look of it, you’re partway there.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve told you about it, then.”
“Unless we’re both mad.”
“Don’t even go there.”
The mirror rippled as it always did, and the reflection revealed the two women sitting side by side.
“What do you think we should do?” Elena asked.
Marty paused to take a sip of tea. “Have a long talk with David, and maybe ask for a refund while you’re at it.”
Elena started to agree, but something stopped her. As terrifying as it was, the mirror still belonged to her and was arguably the most valuable item in her possession. Agatha Christie’s hatbox certainly didn’t show the future.
“If I go talk to him—”
“If?”
“—will you come with me? He should be in his office tomorrow.”
“Lucky for you I have the day off. Should we bring it with us?”
Elena gazed into the mirror; into her own brown eyes. “Yes. I think so.”
ELENA left work early the next day and picked up Marty from her flat in Shepherds Bush, then drove the fifteen-minute route to Antiques and Oddities.
The shop sat between a pawn shop and a café and displayed sculptures and old paintings in the window that David swapped out every so often when they didn’t sell. “I’ve never actually been here before,” Marty said as they stepped inside the dimly-lit shop. “I was expecting a bit bigger. Goodness, there’s a lot crammed in here.”
Elena tightened her grip on the mirror, which she’d bound up in the old sheet. “The best things don’t even get put on display. David saves them for me.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Elena strode past glass cases of old books and jewellery and cleared her throat to get the attention of Barbara, David’s business partner, who seemed to be captivated by an episode of EastEnders playing on a boxy old television in the corner behind the counter.
“Afternoon, Mrs. McCreary!” Barbara beamed as she turned and muted the television. “David told me he’d sold you the Earl’s mirror.” Her gaze flicked to the oblong sheet in Elena’s arms. “I assume it wasn’t to your liking.”
Refusing to answer, Elena said, “Tell David I’d like to talk to him.”
“He’s very busy. Perhaps you could come back later?”
“I’m here now.”
Barbara pursed her lips, some of her cheer evaporating. “Very well. I’ll tell him you’re here.” She bustled down a dim hallway leading out of the main room, accompanied by the tap-tap-tap of heeled shoes.
Elena shifted the mirror’s weight from one arm to the other. “Do you think that was rude of me?”
“Not at all. She could be in on it, too.” Marty looked towards the television and wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can stand it here.”
Elena strained her ears to hear what Barbara might be saying to David within the walls of his office but could only make out low murmurings. Then the door squeaked open and Barbara called, “David will see you now.”
David wore a smile that barely masked extreme distaste when Elena and Marty entered the small room. His bald head gleamed in the light cast by the ceiling fixture, and the shrunken head seemed as watchful as ever.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. McCreary,” David said, eyeing the wrapped mirror when Elena placed it on his desk. “How may I help you today?”
Elena gave him the sternest glare she could muster. “Unwrap the mirror.”
David’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I said, unwrap it. You didn’t want me to the day I bought it, which means you’ve always known.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The seller expressly stated it was not to be unwrapped by the buyer until he or she brought it home, and I respected that request.” David’s smile turned smug.
“You have seen the mirror, at least? It’s the only way you could have appraised it.”
“What I have or have not done is none of your concern.”
Elena resisted the urge to raise her voice. “Please unwrap it, David.”
“I don’t see the point of this.”
“You need to see what you’ve sold me.”
“Are you returning it? Because you know that’s against our policy.”
“I could sell it back to you.”
“I don’t sell the same items twice. You know that.”
“Well maybe you should start making some exceptions to your bloody policies!”
“Elena!” Marty hissed. Elena kicked her in the shin to silence her.
David cocked an eyebrow. “If I might ask, why do you wish to return it?”
Elena and Marty exchanged a glance. “There’s a certain feature you neglected to tell me about,” Elena said. Marty nodded in agreement.
“Very well,” David said with a long-suffering sigh. He peeled back the layers of sheet and stared blankly at the mirror’s spotted surface. “Right, then. What am I supposed to see?”
Worry knotted Elena’s stomach. “Look at your reflection.”
“I am.” David’s tone grew testy. “I don’t see the problem, unless it’s my face you’ve taken an issue with.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Marty said before Elena could get another word in. “Can’t you see it? The mirror doesn’t show you what you’re supposed to see. It shows you the future.”
Without a word, David lifted the mirror so Elena and Marty could see into it.
It reflected Elena, Marty, and a DaVinci print hanging behind them.
Heat rose in Elena’s cheeks. “Who owned the mirror before me?”
David lay the mirror back down. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I will pay you two thousand pounds if you tell me.”
“Mrs. McCreary—”
“Three thousand, then.”
David stood and placed his hands on the surface of his desk. “The problem with people like you, Mrs. McCreary, is that you think you’re entitled to bully people into letting you have your way. I signed a contract with the seller. If I told you who it was and word got out, I would have to pay such a high settlement I could lose the shop, but of course you don’t care about that now, do you?”
“How dare you patronize me?”
“Bribery doesn’t suit you, Mrs. McCreary.”
“Stop calling me that. I’ve been divorced six months.”
“Lucky fellow.”
Elena was about to bite back with another retort when Marty butted in. “If the mirror wasn’t dangerous, why would the seller require you to sign a contract like that?”
David brushed at the sleeves of his jacket and folded his hands together, making a point not to look Elena’s way. “It’s the nature of this business,” he said to Marty. “I deal in items that have a history. Let’s say someone comes to me wishing to sell a candlestick said to be cursed, for example, and let’s say someone else buys it from me and suffers an unfortunate accident not long after. If the seller’s identity were known, the buyer’s family might be tempted to hunt the seller down. It’s an unlikely scenario, but not impossible.”
Elena found herself on her feet without remem
bering she’d stood. “Are you saying you’ve sold me a cursed mirror?”
“I’m afraid I must get back to work.” David shuffled a stack of papers in front of him as if to prove it. “Good day to you both.”
Elena and Marty spent the next ten minutes trying to wrangle more information out of him and finally retreated to the car in defeat when David threatened to call the police.
“He’s loyal to his sellers, you’ve got to give him that much,” Marty mused once they were on the road again. “If I wanted to get a cursed mirror off my hands, I’d want him to sign a contract, too.”
Elena was almost too angry to speak. “I suppose I could pick up some of that vodka I saw in my reflection. My nerves could use a bit of it about now.”
Marty goggled at her. “Are you daft?”
Elena drummed her fingers on the wheel when they stopped at a light. “What’s daft about it? I know I’ll be getting that bottle from somewhere sometime soon. I might as well get it myself and save someone else the trouble.”
“Don’t you see?” Marty asked. “That’s what the mirror wants you to do! It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’d only be getting the vodka because you saw yourself with it. I say don’t buy any and see what happens.”
Traffic lurched forward. Elena fell into a brooding silence. Marty was right—she shouldn’t purposely steer her life in the direction foretold by the mirror. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t bought that blouse.
“Do you suppose David has a file somewhere full of these contracts?” Elena asked.
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Why?”
“Oh, just thinking.” Elena smiled to herself. David had been right about one thing. Wealth did enable her to accomplish her desires, and she knew just the person who could get what she wanted now.
“I have a job for you,” Elena said into the phone late that afternoon, keeping her voice low even though no one was around to hear. “It should be an easy one.”
She could hear her contact chewing something, as if he’d just stuffed his face full of crisps. “Okay.” Crunch crunch crunch. “What is it?”