rippled over it.
On the heights of Mount Olympus, the gods grieved for the handsome boy who now lay dead by the pool. They changed him into a flower. And if you, who are reading this story, should roam through the woods in the springtime, and if you should come to a pool in a clearing between the trees, you will find narcissus flowers growing at the water’s edge, their white petals perfectly reflected in the cold clear water.
And if you should then climb up to the wild high places, or down to the sea where the cliffs rear up from the shore, or into the caves that tunnel the hills, and if you should call out, raising your own voice, ‘Hello! Are you there?’ Echo will hear you. Echo will answer, repeating the words, ‘You there!’
You will call out again, and she will answer again, and again, her restless soul calling out to you, on and on to the end of time.
Gaye Hiçyilmaz THE MIRRORED GARDEN
I first saw the mirrored garden on my way back from the beach. I hadn’t even wanted to go to the seaside last year, and I’d told them so, but they hadn’t taken any notice of that.
‘Rubbish,’ Dad had said challengingly. ‘You’ll love it.’
‘Never mind, Chris,’ Dad’s girlfriend, Lizzie, was more honest. ‘It’s only a week. It’ll pass in a flash and there’s loads to do at the sea.’
‘Like what?’ I demanded. ‘Going on donkey rides?’
Lizzie had shrugged and looked at Dad with her jelly brown eyes.
‘Or making sand castles,’ I persisted, but I didn’t remind her that I was fourteen and not into buckets and spades. She didn’t remind me that she was twenty-one and not into being anyone’s mother, let alone mine.
Lizzie and I were as careful of each other as brain surgeons confronted by an unexpected lump.
‘What’s wrong with sand castles?’ Dad asked. ‘I used to love that beach at your age. People made brilliant things with sand.’
‘Sure!’ I quipped. ‘Like concrete.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I meant sand sculptures, and…’ Dad isn’t into arty things but he tried, because he knew I was. ‘And sand pictures and…’
‘Wow.’
Dad swallowed. Lizzie shrugged again. She blinked slowly, like a lizard in the sun, then went into their room to pack their bags.
‘It’s OK,’ I shrugged as well. ‘I’m going, aren’t I?’
‘You certainly are!’ Dad was brisk although his glance was anxious.
My friend Stubby was unsympathetic too. He said that family visits were rarely fatal, and never in a week, but he did agree they were a dreadful bore.
Stubby was wrong. We all were. It was boring. It was boring like I’ve never known boring could be, but I didn’t die. I didn’t even sicken. I loved it. I sucked up each gently stretched-out minute and rolled it round my tongue. The boredom was as delicious and chewy as those 2p sweets I used to buy at the newsagent’s on my way home from school, and I wanted more.
It was years since I’d actually seen my grandparents: well, three and a half, to be exact. They mentioned this the moment I got off the train. It was awkward. I hung my head and muttered the dreaded word divorce. I always do that in tight spots. People shut up straight away. They didn’t. They shook their grey heads and laughed. It wasn’t Mum and Dad’s divorce that had stopped them from visiting. It was the dog, Jasper. Jasper had a bad heart now, and other problems.
He didn’t look like he had a bad heart, but he was big. In fact, when Gran opened the front door and we had all clambered over him, I appreciated their point of view. Jasper was gigantic. If he hadn’t found the three flights of stairs up to Dad’s flat a problem, the stairs definitely might. I’ve made them creak and I’m not huge at all.
Later, as I was edging round the bed in the tiny spare room and wondering how to unpack, Grandpa called out. I left my bag on the bed and hurried down, but Jasper had beaten me to it. He was flopped out in the sitting room, drooling chocolate on to the carpet and looking pretty satisfied with life.
The odd thing was, that I was happy too. Even after I’d noticed that the family photos on the mantelpiece were all of Jasper, I wasn’t put out. I examined them with Gran. We admired Jasper as a pup in his basket, as a young dog with a big stick, and in massive middle age, with a loud tartan collar, and I didn’t mind at all.
‘He’s done all right,’ Gran folded her arms and smiled to herself. Grandpa nodded and I nodded too. Fleetingly, I remembered Dad in his new black jeans, with Lizzie at his side.
‘Come on then, lad.’ Grandpa had suddenly got up. I jumped to my feet, expecting a walk down to the sea or at least a tour of his greenhouse, but he turned his back.
‘It’s only Jasper,’ Gran confided as the dog lumbered past. ‘He’s got to be reminded to spend a penny now.’
‘Oh.’ I was glad they hadn’t visited. Old dogs wouldn’t have been Lizzie’s thing at all.
That evening Gran turned up the TV, then fell asleep. Grandpa went in and out with Jasper and that was it. Sometimes Gran snuffled and woke up to watch a bit, and sometimes Jasper snored, but nobody spoke to me at all.
It was such a relief. Nobody noticed me and I hardly knew I was there.
I had cornflakes for breakfast then a small white egg like a stone. When I’d made my bed, I cleaned my teeth with care. I even combed my hair. As I came down Gran was at the bottom of the stairs.
‘I’ve made fish paste and jam.’ She was holding up a polythene bag of neat, white sandwiches, with the crusts cut off. Jasper sulked. ‘And I’ve put in squash. You like squash, don’t you, Chris?’
‘Actually—’
‘Good. I thought you would. Now dear, don’t hurry back. We know what young people are like.’
‘I—’
‘We don’t have supper till six. After Jasper’s had his. So ’bye dear, until then.’
I was so surprised I tripped on the step.
I didn’t head for the beach, but kept it for last, like the crispiest bite of a Chinese. Killing time, I idled along the silent, neatly gardened street and on into town. A sea breeze swung B&B signs gently to and fro. Bedroom windows opened and lace curtains and the melody of vacuums unfurled.
My heart began to beat faster and louder than before. I felt like a hero, a first traveller in an unknown land.
If I’d wanted to,
