Home Decorating

“No, no way, it’s not worth that, I’ll give you fifty.” The tiny shop was so low that I had to duck periodically to fit under the wooden beams in the ceiling. It was poorly lit by one lamp covered by a very worn shade in the corner, which was making an irritating buzzing sound. There were a great many lavender-scented car fresheners hanging off bits of old furniture, very ineffectually covering a thick musty smell which made my nose wrinkle.

“Fifty and I’m losing money! It’s got to be seventy-five.” The old shopkeeper grovelled, his voice sounding almost pained. Hunched over and staring up at me through thick round glasses, he ran his hands through each other fluidly like a malevolent character in a bad pantomime. His long, wiry eyebrows almost dangled over the top of his spectacles, and what few teeth he had were stained yellow and chipped in places.

“Hmm,” I pondered “I’ll do sixty.” The old man almost leapt through the ceiling with excitement, his spine cracking as he stretched up to full height. He stretched out his pale spotted hands and missed mine entirely, grabbing somewhere between my wrist and my elbow, and shook my whole arm so hard it almost fell out of my shoulder joint.

“Sixty pounds, sixty pounds! Oh young lady you are a saint, an angel, a glorified soul. How gracious you are in quitting your Eden and coming thence to my humble establishment. Sixty pounds, how generous, how kind, yes it’s yours of course it’s all yours!” I was quite alarmed by this exuberance, especially given how infirm the now hopping man had seemed mere moments ago.

“Thank you very much” I mumbled bemusedly and thought what a funny story this would make when I saw my mum for tea the next day. After the old man had stopped whizzing about the tiny shop and cackling with joy, I paid him the sixty pounds and took possession of a really quite beautiful ornate mirror. Peeking out from the bottom of the frame were the slightest specks of age, but otherwise the glass was in perfect condition, clear as the day it was made. The frame was faded gold and adorned with intricate flowers hanging off golden vines growing all the way round. It was oval, about two feet high, and belonged on the dressing table of an Edwardian aristocrat, perfect for the turn-of-the-century décor I was going for.

The shopkeeper demanded the pleasure of walking me to the door and, opening it as wide as it would go, bade me a very marvellous day indeed. I stepped out into the cool early spring air shaking my head in wonderment at what a peculiar fellow he had been. I turned back once more as I opened my car door and he was staring at me through the bay window at the front of the shop, partly concealed behind the algae growing on the glass. His eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously as he waved at me with his fingers, and possibly it was a trick of the light, but I thought I saw him wink meaningfully, before turning and disappearing into the gloom.

The next morning, I awoke by a shaft of sunlight that had snuck under the curtain and hit me right in the face. I was in the plush, maroon armchair in the lounge by the fire with its last cinders glistening through the grey charcoal. Last night’s book had fallen out of my hands while I slept and landed on the flag stone floor, bending the crisp cream pages. Since I was up I thought it was about time for a cup of tea, so I headed to the kitchen, filled the copper kettle, and placed it on the gas stove.

Contentedly, I turned around and stared at the chaos which had overtaken my lovely little cottage. Old clothes were strewn everywhere, Articles from newspapers printed several weeks apart were spread over all available surfaces and there was a stack of plates and mugs piled ceiling-high next to the sink. ‘Not bad’, I thought, and began the inevitable monthly clean-up which brought my life back to some semblance of order. The ritual, which really could have waited another few weeks in my opinion, was made necessary by the impending arrival of my doting mother, who might die of fright if she saw my house in its natural state.

Grabbing a bin bag, I went into the lounge and started grabbing all the old takeaway containers and crisp wrappers I could see. If you think about it, being as messy as this is a sort of art form, I mused, not many people could withstand this much disorder. I leaned on the edge of the sofa and reached my arm down the side of the coffee table, stretching as far as I could go and walking my hand around to see if it could find anything, when suddenly I yelped and pulled back in shock. My index finger was bleeding from a small ring of tooth marks. There was something alive down there. Without thinking I yelled “Who’s there?” Then berating myself aloud, “Well that was a stupid thing to say.”

“Yes it was a stupid thing to say, have you forgotten me already?” came the reply in a high pitched, grumbly voice. I almost leapt out of my skin in fright and threw the bin bag over my head in my haste to run away, making it to the safety of the kitchen just as the kettle started whistling. Trembling with fright, and very, very slowly, I peered round the edge of the door to look at the lounge.

“Turn that thing off and come and help me!” This was weird. Really, really weird. I couldn’t see anyone, and no one could fit in the tiny gap between the sofa and wall. But there was definitely a voice coming out of that room, and from the sounds of it, talking to me.

“Hello…” I whispered meekly.

“Hello? Why are you hello-ing me at a time like this? Get over here and lift me up or I’ll curse you into the next century! Hurry up I can hardly breathe down here.” Sprung into action by some sort of manic urgency, I hurried over to the sofa and pulled it away from the wall. Then, carefully now, I tentatively peered around the back and to my absolute astonishment, I saw the antique mirror I’d bought yesterday squirming around on the floor. Little arms and legs had sprouted from its base and were writhing around, evidently attempting, with little success, to push the mirror up off the floor. Reaching down slowly I picked up the mirror and with its limbs still flailing around, placed it on the coffee table facing the opposite wall.

Upright now, the little legs poking out of the bottom of the mirror stomped around and it turned to face me. The glass was the same as it had been in the shop, but the frame around the base had warped and welded itself into a very thick pair of legs wearing great big boots, a squat torso with short arms on either side and a little mouth snarling up at me. On top of the glass was a pair of bushy eyebrows, if gold filigree can be bushy, which frowned at me aggressively.

“Well finally!” The little mouth was very expressive when shouting. “Where is your common decency? I’m grateful to you for getting me out of that old crackpot’s shop but elsewise we’re off to a very bad start!” The mirror made a harumphing noise and attempted to cross his arms, but since his hands didn’t reach each other at full stretch, the impression was a bit like a baby trying to fit its arms around its head. “How much did he get for me anyway?”

“Err… get for you?” I tripped over my words, then realising he was talking about the old man from the shop I brightened. “Oh right, yes, I paid him sixty pounds, though I haggled him down from a hundr-“

“SIXTY POUNDS!” I thought the little mirror might explode with rage as it began stomping up and down the coffee table, waving its arms in the air and ranting. “SIXTY POUNDS IS CRIMINAL! I’M WORTH OVER A THOUSAND SURELY! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE COMMON GOOD AND RESPECT OF PEOPLE IN THIS DAY AND AGE? I MEAN REALLY!” The mirror carried on marching and shaking fists until in what probably wasn’t the desired effect, I stopped being frightened and began to find the whole thing rather funny. Suddenly I wasn’t trembling anymore but was actually chuckling to myself. This had to be the most cantankerous mirror I had ever met. Snapped out of its tantrum by my laughter, it plodded towards me and pointed with a very accusatory finger as far as its little arm could reach in my direction. “And what, pray, is so funny about that?”

“Sorry,” I said. “it’s just, I’ve never met a talking mirror before.” The mirror had no eyes to roll, so instead it put its hands in the air, raised its eyebrows and rolled its entire body by standing on tiptoes and drawing a circle in the air. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be laughing but this had such a bizarre effect that I had to stifle a smirk.

“Well how could you have, I’m the only one!” it snapped, “Honestly, why is everyone so slow these days? Now Narcissus, he was a smart chap, he knew how to behave when talking to a supernatural mirror, he loved me, couldn’t keep his eyes off me.”

“Wait, wait, wait” I tried to process this new information. “Do you mean, the Narcissus? How old are you?”

“Come now, a question like that before we’ve even exchanged pleasantries?” It tutted at me dismissively, as though up to now it had been the model of civility. Puffing up its tiny chest importantly, it began to explain. “My name is Julius and I have been on this earth for many thousands of years, in one form or another. I’ve seen civilisations come and go, empires rise and fall, and now for some inexplicable cosmic reason, fate has brought me into your hands. For the next fifty years, I am here to advise you, to guide you and to show you how to bring to fruit your great plans for the world. For destiny never sees fit to match me with anyone less than the foremost minds of their generation. And this is where you will tell me about your part in this. Are you a great statesman, a genius in your field, a fearsome warrior perhaps? Tell all, my friend, and together, we will change the world!”

Julius held one hand aloft, and with a Shakespearean flourish, he clenched it into a fist on the final beat of his little speech, looking at me expectantly. I jumped up from my seat on the sofa and clapped and cheered, exclaiming “Brava, brava e bellissima!”

Looking quite gratified he gave a little bow, then smiled at me eagerly. “So… which is it, what is your profession?”

Starting to realise that he seriously expected me to do something very grand, I reddened and murmured sheepishly, “Erm, I’m a junior editor.”

Julius deflated a little, then seemed to regain himself as he searched for a way to turn this, less than ideal news, around. “So, you harness the power of the written word and use it to influence millions of people around the world?”

“Well, we’re a pretty small publisher’s, and mostly I’ve been making tea for the others, but occasionally they let me give something a first proofread” I offered hopefully. “I’m hoping soon they might actually let me have a go at one of the smaller books nobody else wants.”

There was a pause, as Julius’ mouth opened and closed trying to find the right words to say. Finally he squeezed out, “Well… that sounds nice”, before falling to his knees and wailing in despair. “Why does this keep happening? I used to be paired with people of consequence. God, I miss those days. Solving the great crises of the day.”

“Hey I’m right here.” I butted in angrily. “I could be of consequence, I’ve got my own crises. This whole house is a mess and my mum’s coming to visit. Do you know what she’ll say if I don’t get my arse in gear and clean this up?”

Julius raised his head slowly to look at me and sighed, “What else is a magic mirror for, eh? Oh, this is going to be a long fifty years”. Then he hopped to his feet, jumped off the coffee table and, grabbing the dustpan and brush, began to sweep.