Mirror Mirror
Story by Jane Pendry. Illustrations by Bianca Milacic.
“She’s the fattest girl in the School, Consuela. Please don’t give her any more cakes or biscuits.”
Consuela nodded, looking as mortified and horrified as any staff member dare.
Hattie, the aforementioned ‘fattest girl in the school’, shrank into the kitchen chair as much as her chubby self allowed. Her mother picked-up the offending pink-iced cupcake and handed it to Consuela with a look of disgust.
“And Hattie. We won’t be buying any more cakes, sweets or biscuits. You’ll eat only at mealtimes and you’ll eat what you are given.” She paused, taking a deep breath before stating, with certainty, “It’s the fault of that boarding school. I shall tell the Headmistress that there must be no more cakes or biscuits in the boarding house.” Horrified, Hattie pictured all her Housemates, already less than warm towards her, as they realised the loss of their break-time snacks was because of her. She remembered the stiff silences and tutting irritation of her room-mate, Sally Ponsonby, the whispering glossy-haired blonde brigade, and the stinging loneliness of school.
Hattie’s mother, the magnificent Judge Maltravers, resplendent in stiffly coiffured hair, pristine make-up, and a black tailored suit that accentuated the paleness of her alabaster white skin, clip-clopped out of the room with an imperious air.
Hattie and Consuela, frozen at the moment, just stared at each other, barely breathing.
“You are perfe’t, Miss Hattie, jus’ as you are,” Consuela whispered. But Hattie knew she was not perfect. She was very far from perfect. Frozen to the spot, a plump tear arced over her round cheek.
The door swung open again, and Judge Maltravers reappeared in the doorway, her slight frame seeming to fill the frame somehow. “Consuela. Please let in the handyman. He’s putting up a new mirror this morning. It’s to go to the bottom of the stairs. They know where to put it. Hattie,” she added, trying but failing to sound maternal, “I rather think you might like it. It’s like a fairy story mirror. But you won’t be asking ‘Who’s the fairest of them all, will you?” She laughed. “No. Perhaps… Mirror Mirror on the Wall, who’s the fattest of them all?” Her brittle sarcastic laugh became a roar. “Then you can see yourself exactly as you are, and you won’t want to be eating cakes anymore.” Softening slightly, almost imperceptibly to the untrained eye, Judge Maltravers added, “It’s for your own good, darling. You’ll thank me one day.” And she patted Hattie awkwardly on her head. “And Consuela, any more sneaky snacks for Hattie and you’ll be back on the next plane to Columbia. Do you understand?” The Judge spoke in an almost friendly, collegiate tone.
Consuela’s family depended on much of her meager income. It was no idle threat. Consuela gulped and nodded.
And the Judge snapped out of the door with her clicking heels fast fading across the hall. The heavy oak front door closed behind her with a loud, firm click.
And they started breathing again.
“Sorry, Hattie. ‘Ees my fault. No mo’ cakes. No mo’ biscuits.” Consuela, looking almost tearful herself, shook her head and bustled away.
Hattie shrugged and choking back what threatened to be a flood of tears, ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and threw herself dramatically on her bed to sob out her frustration and humiliation. Finally, exhausted, she fell into a deep, deep sleep.
An hour or so later, she woke up with a yawning pit where her stomach should be. How she longed to fill it with cakes, and sweets. Then she remembered what her mother had said.
She sat up and wondered what she might do now. Normally she would go straight to the kitchen to steal a snack, but she didn’t want to get Consuela into trouble. She got up anyway and made her way down the stairs. And there, at the bottom of the stairs, was the most extraordinarily beautiful rococo mirror she had ever seen. Just like a storybook mirror.
Then she remembered her mother’s mocking words: Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s the fattest of them all? She wanted to avoid the mirror. She didn’t want to see herself wobble down the stairs, but the mirror was huge. It could not be completely avoided.
As Hattie walked down the stairs, determined to look away from the mirror, she couldn’t help but glance as she passed. And what she saw amazed her. She stepped back to face the mirror.
And she saw herself.
She looked strong and athletic, pink-cheeked and happy. Her hair was glossy and healthy. She was full of vitality. She looked down at herself. Her clothes still pinched a little. She still felt uncomfortable in her skin. She still felt sad.
Suspicious and cautious, Hattie turned to face the mirror full on.
Yes, it was definitely her. But it also wasn’t her. And then behind her image, she saw the most amazing thing. She took a step to the side, as behind her reflection appeared a lady in a vibrant blue dress with a tight bodice and full skirt. The apparition had jet black curls spilling out of her sparkling tiara, which looked like it was dripping with sapphires, opals, and diamonds. The apparition was holding a wand with a cobalt blue star, covered in sparkling gems of iridescent blues.
And then, to add to Hattie’s astonishment, the vision unfolded and spread her cobalt blue wings behind her.
She was unmistakably … a fairy godmother.
And the weirdest thing was that she looked just like Consuela.
“Step into the mirro’ Hattie,” said the Fairy Godmother, who also possessed a Columbian accent. ‘I am Bluebell, your Fairy Godmother. And I have always been there for you.”
“I must be dreaming,” thought Hattie. “Or mad.”
“You are no’ dreamin’. You are no’ mad. Step into the mirro’. Here, tek my hand.” And from out of the mirror appeared the Fairy Godmother’s hand, not broad and coarse like Consuela’s, but small and delicate. Hattie took her hand and found herself floating, up and up off the ground, and effortlessly through into the mirror.
Just like that.
And there she was. Half inside the mirror, as if it had been made of liquid, with a young, beautiful, bejewelled, and be-feathered Consuela.
“I will show you things that will make you sad, and glad, and you will see clearly.”
Hattie was barely listening. She was talking in the garden with its deep green perfect lawn, the extraordinary topiary animals – lions, bears, peacocks – and its tall elegant trees. Above her, she saw the flash of brightly-coloured birds darting between them. And ahead, a castle with deep pink stone walls, towers and turrets, and arched mullion windows towered above her. Her mouth fell open.
“Come with me to the hall of mirro’s,” said Fairy Godmother Consuela as she swept majestically along the path, her blue satin train floating behind her, her tiara twinkling in the light, her movements swift and delicate. Hattie bumbled on beside her, awestruck and excited until they reached the heavy oak double doors with strong iron fittings and fixtures.
But Bluebell didn’t try to open the door.
Instead, the door spoke. It said: “Who goes there? And what do you want?”
“Hattie has come to see the Hall of Mirrors,” said Bluebell.
“Hattie,” said the door, drawing out her name slowly with its throaty deep voice, “are you prepared to be sad… and then to be glad… and to see more clearly than you have ever seen before?”
Hattie hesitated. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be sad. Nor was she sure she wanted to see clearly, whatever that might mean. And the door’s voice was rather menacing. She looked at Consuela who nodded kindly, so she thought it must be okay.
“I am,” she said tentatively.
The doors slowly opened themselves, with a creak and groan, and let Hattie in.
The hall was vast, with large flagstones, and huge crystal chandeliers, their candles casting warm light and long shadows across the pink-stone walls, illuminating ancient portraits of kings, queens, princes, and princesses. Hattie could have sworn she recognised their faces but their clothes and wigs were so strange. She barely had the chance to take in this extraordinary sight as Bluebell took her hand and swept her up the broad sweeping staircase. Together they floated, up the red carpet and over the brass fittings, alongside a polished mahogany handrail. Up and up to a landing with another large door.
This door was an elegant door, simple, grand in its proportions. This time the door opened all by itself to reveal the largest room Hattie had ever seen. At one end, enormous stained glass windows cast jewelled colours across the floor. The room was even bigger than the school assembly hall. At one end was a throne, so magnificent, so ornate and so grand it could only be for a king or queen. And all along the walls of the room were mirrors. Mirrors of all shapes and sizes, in all styles, from the very austere and modern, to the gothic and the Art Nouveau, and everything in between. The grand sparkling chandeliers were reflected in the mirrors, filling the room with light.
And was that music she could hear?
It was as if an orchestra was in the room, and the music, faint at first, was building steadily. Violins and violas, a soothing cello, triumphant trumpets, chattering clarinets, and whispering oboes…
Hattie grabbed Bluebell’s hands and began to dance. She felt so free all of a sudden and when she looked down she discovered she was wearing a diaphanous gown just like Bluebell’s, but in delicate pinks and whites. It was so beautiful. The fabric was so light and delicate that as she moved it floated up and around her in swirls and delicate folds, the fabric in constant motion like ripples on water. And on they danced, floating and spinning, twirling and laughing together to the music. Round and round the vast hall Hattie danced, swiftly and lightly, delighting in the swirls of satin and silks fluttering around her, and revelling in the enveloping music until she was quite out of breath and dizzy.
She had never moved so much in her short life.
And as the music faded, Hattie and Bluebell found they were standing right in the heart of the hall under the largest chandelier of them all.
“And now ‘ees the time for you to look in the mirro’s. Are you ready to be sad… to be glad… to see more clearly than you have ever seen before?”
Hattie felt so happy and so carefree. Happier than she had ever felt. Yet now she was expected to say she was ready to be sad? Bluebell sensed her hesitation.
“There can be no light withou’ dark, Hattie. Don’ be afraid!”
So Hattie selected a mirror that was modest compared to many of the others. It had a simple gold frame and was small, perhaps two feet high and one foot or so wide. She crouched down to look in the mirror and this is what she saw:
A young woman. Handsome and elegant in her wedding dress standing at the entrance to a church. She looked so beautiful. So composed. And here she was on the happiest day of her life and Hattie wondered if this might be the glad bit of her experience.
But she couldn’t have been more wrong.
As she started to walk down the aisle, Hattie suddenly realised it was her grandmother’s wedding day. And by the altar there stood her groom. He was very distinguished in full military dress uniform – high ranking she thought, a Brigadier or a General even. But old. So old. At least 40, if not a few years older. Her grandmother looked as if she was little more than 18.
Two elderly ladies sitting at the very back of the church were chatting to each other. One in a green hat; one in a blue hat. Hattie had no trouble overhearing what they were saying.
Green hat said to blue hat, “What a very fine match. She is a lucky girl.”
Blue hat said to green. “Well, yes. But she doesn’t look very happy, does she?”
And green hat said, “What’s happiness got to do with it? It’s a very good match indeed, and she is most fortunate. She can host all his dinner parties, she can bear him his children, she is financially secure. What more could she possibly ask?”
As she watched her grandmother walk down the aisle, Hattie saw her glance to her left at a young, handsome man in a well-cut suit, with a gentle handsome face, who was sitting in one of the aisles amongst the crowd. He smiled faintly in return, and then looked swiftly away.
And now Hattie understood. She sat down on a velvet chair, and she cried. Her grandmother’s heart had been broken. It was clear she had never wanted to be the elegant hostess, the mother of five, running a large household and rich beyond avarice. Instead, she had married a man who could not love her and whom she could not love.
After a while, Hattie dried her tears and stood up.
Bracing herself, she selected another mirror, an altogether grander affair: large, imposing, and bevelled with an imposing Napoleonic frame.
And when she looked into the reflection, this is what she saw:
A girl sat at a large kitchen table. She looked familiar but Hattie didn’t recognise her. And this girl was happily stirring cake mix (Hattie felt a hunger pang although she hadn’t thought about food for what felt like hours). There was a housekeeper or a cook in the kitchen who was helping her. They were both laughing as the girl put her finger into the mix and lifted it to her tongue. Then into the room came her grandmother - again younger and straighter than Hattie knew her to be, and still strikingly handsome.
Now if Hattie’s mother was a thunderbolt, her grandmother was a ten force gale, a tornado, and a thunderstorm all taking place at the same time.
In she swept, knocking the bowl off the table, splashing the chocolatey goo all over the floor. “What do you think you’re doing, Margaret? Look at you! You are already fat. Fat. Fat. FAT. Why I think you are the fattest girl in your school.” Upshot the girl, who stared defiantly at her mother for a second or two, before bursting into violent tears and running out of the room.
It was only as the image faded that Hattie made sense of what she had just seen. She turned to ask Bluebell, “Was that little girl, my mother?”
But Bluebell wasn’t there. Hattie was all alone in the hall of mirrors. She sat down on a chaise longue under the grand Napoleonic mirror and this time she wept. For her mother. For the pain, the hurt, and the confusion that had become her inheritance.
And when she was all cried out, a third mirror caught Hattie’s eye.
Plain, almost modern, with no frame at all, and hung from a simple brass chain. She was by now quite scared of what it might reveal, yet there was something inside her that nudged her to stand before it.
This is what she saw:
A young man in uniform. Not a dress uniform - battle fatigues. He was dirty, muddy, and sitting in a trench just staring. Staring and staring. Blank-eyed. Dead-eyed. Lost. Whatever he had seen was too much to take. She recognised him. He was the soldier her grandmother had married. Although he had seemed old to her, he had also been strong and handsome. Now he was shot to pieces. He was the owner of the famous thousand-yard stare.
“How many dead?” she heard him ask, deadpan and defeated.
“Over 300, sir. All gone over the top, or lost in the mud, sir.” And the dead-eyed soldier hung his head. No tears. No emotion at all.
As the picture faded Hattie began to sob. She sobbed for the pain and the suffering of her grandfather. And she wept for the pain that had been passed down to her mother, and then to her.
Now, she understood. She, Hattie, carried their pain, their loss, and their trauma. Perhaps she carried the pain and trauma of all her ancestors? Passed down and down, and on and on, until someone broke the cycle.
Somehow she knew that she had seen all that she needed to see. She was so sad and so glad. And now she could see so clearly.
When she finally stopped crying, she lay down on the chaise longue in the grand hall, and fell into a deep, deep restful sleep.
And when she opened her eyes, she found herself back on her bed.
Exhausted, elated, sad, and happy, all at once.
She ran down the stairs and there was the mirror. Consuela was dusting it. They both stood still and regarded themselves, and there were their images reflected back to them. Consuela in her blue dress with her cobalt wings, and Hattie, as fit, as healthy, as vital, as loved, and as a whole as any girl could be.
Hattie wanted to dance with Consuela and to keep dancing.
And so that’s what they did. Down the stairs, across the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the garden, twirling and laughing together.
When Justice Maltravers came home, she strode into the kitchen, steeling herself for a confrontation with Hattie over the inevitable snacking. But there was Hattie, happily sitting at the kitchen table, doing her homework.
“Hello, mummy,” said Hattie with such joy and love. “I hope you had a good day.”
Her mother looked at her with amazement. Hattie had always been such a miserable, sulky child.
“Oh - and by the way, mummy, I love your mirror. It’s gorgeous.”
And just as her mother opened her mouth to respond with something biting and sarcastic, as was her habit, Hattie added, “I can see myself clearly now. It was so thoughtful of you to buy it for me.”
Her mother, confused and surprised, found her words had quite dried up.
Instead, dim, distant feelings were rumbling somewhere deep in her hardened heart. Feelings that felt strange and old, but vaguely familiar. She stood looking at Hattie for a few seconds longer. She couldn’t put her finger on what these feelings were. Her face felt tight and strange. She reached up to touch her mouth to see what it was doing.
And found she was smiling.