The Mirror
There was no getting away from the fact that Frank was an arsehole. It had taken this week away to finally make Elizabeth acknowledge it, though she had known it for many years.
Elizabeth was fed up with his penny pinching, his bigoted mean-spiritedness and his constant criticism. It was time to do something about it; the trouble was, she didn’t know what.
The only reason she was here – a blissful week away from him – was that her Great Aunt had died and left everything to Elizabeth. Not that everything amounted to a great deal as it happened, but Elizabeth took great delight in that; it would annoy Frank intensely.
‘Go,’ he had ordered, ‘sort it all out; there’s sure to be something worth having. At worst we can sell the house; just think of the interest on £500,000.’ But what Elizabeth secretly thought was that she could live independently on £500,000 if she was careful.
The idea was forming that she might never return home. She hummed a tune as she sorted through the mountain of papers and cheap ornaments.
By Thursday, she had moved onto the attic and it was there that she came across the mirror. It was beautiful – in an ornate gilded frame. It weighed a ton and she knew she would never be able to move it. She guessed it was 18th Century but of course these things were easily faked. She found a number and arranged for someone to come round and look.
Sorting through an old trunk full of clothes she had the feeling that she was being watched. She stiffened, held her breath and listened. Nothing. But she still felt as if there were eyes on her. She turned, slowly, anxious not to raise a cloud of dust and draw more attention to herself.
The dress she had been holding fell to the floor. She let out a small scream and her hand flew to her outh. Her eyes widened in disbelief. There in the mirror was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He wore a long green velvet coat over a white shirt with lace ruffles, knickerbockers, knee length hose and black lace shoes. He removed his feathered hat and bowed ceremoniously. Elizabeth loked behind her, assuming he was a reflection, but there was nothing there. She turned back to the mirror, where he stood, smiling, relaxed and easy with himself. It was then she realised she could not see her own reflection. A gasp escaped her.
‘It’s only vampires who don’t have reflections,’ she thought and then laughed at the stupidity of the idea.
‘Charlotte,’ the man said. His voice was gentle and refined and she warmed to him immediately. ‘I have waited patiently; I knew you would come back one day.’
‘Erm … Elizabeth actually,’ she replied, ‘not Charlotte and I’m sorry but I don’t understand what’s going on here; are you … a ghost?’ He laughed softly.
‘The years may have passed and your name may have changed but I knew you for my own sweet Charlotte as soon as I saw you. Come …’ He held out his hand. Elizabeth moved towards the mirror but the shrill ring of her mobile made her look round and when she looked back the figure was gone.
It was the valuer. She arranged for him to visit the next day but knew she would be able to part with the mirror now.
All night she thought of her handsome man. She knew she was just fantasising – had to be. People didn’t just appear in mirrors; it was all a bit Wilkie Collins.
The valuer agreed the mirror was very handsome – though not has handsome as its occupant, Elizabeth thought. He put a price on it that would make Frank reel and might even bring a smile to his miserable face. Elizabeth was resolved.
By Saturday, she had cleared out all the dross, sent the few good pieces to auction and arranged a house clearance company to remove the rest. The house was put up for sale with instructions that the proceeds be distributed according to the instructions in a letter Elizabeth had lodged with the solicitor she had engaged specifically for the purpose. There was also a letter for Frank.
Frank hated both children and cats and Elizabeth smiled at the thought of his outrage when he discovered what she had done. He wouldn’t miss her, except to cook and clean, but the loss of the money would send him into apoplexy.
On Sunday, she returned to the attic and stood in front of the mirror, wearing the dress she had been holding when she first saw him. She felt rather foolish and self-conscious but she cleared her throat and called falteringly:
‘Hello …it’s me, Charlotte.’
The mirror shimmered and there he was. From whence he came she neither knew nor cared. He held out his hand and Elizabeth stepped through the mirror to join him.
