Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. Chapter two/three...

Chapter two

Are we there yet?

The black rust mottled Ford Anglia choked as the key twisted in the ignition. The drive time without stress and scene should be five hours. Three sisters, two warmongers, one stressed mum, and an elderly steel wreck. What could go wrong, Sardines, anybody?

‘Mam, can we take a break halfway?’

‘Yes, the midpoint is Nans, we will take a break when we arrive.’

‘I meant at a service station.’

‘I am not squandering money on that rubbish. Mother has cooked dinner for us, so we need to arrive on time.’

‘I am not eating her food, Mam. Our Nan is such a crappy cook!’

‘You are lucky, Stella. Have you any idea how many children are starving in third world countries?’

‘They can bloody eat it, Mam! Let me guess, liver and onions by any strange coincidence?’

‘I don’t know Stella, possibly.’

‘I am not eating it; its stinks and it’s revolting!’

‘You will eat mothballs then, Stella.’

‘I would rather eat mothballs than that crap, Marla.’

‘The wheels on the bus go round and….’

‘Be quiet Bella!’ they screech.

‘I will make you a deal. If you behave, we can stop off on the return journey. Nan always gives you pocket money.’

‘Yes Mam, a sixpence each, not enough for a packet of chewing gum.’

‘Marla don’t be so cheeky; she doesn’t have much. Anyhow, that rubbish is unhealthy for your teeth, cowboys chew chewing gum, not ladies.’

‘She is rich Mam; I have seen her collection of rides. That house of hers, even though it’s horrid, is enormous.’

‘Wealthy or not, your Nan lives in a time warp. She believes sixpence is still an abundance of money. She adores you and that is the most important thing.’

‘Yeah whatever,’ mumbles Marla, her cheek pressed against the frigid glass. Her eyes locked on the lampposts as they sail past from left to right.

‘Did you Mam?’

‘Did I what Bella?’

‘You know, stand in front of the magic mirror.’

‘What magic mirror, what is she saying, Mam?’ utter the girls in the back seat.

‘I will reveal everything when we arrive at your Nans.’

‘Well Mam, did you?’

Bella observes a remote gaze in her mum’s eyes. Her expression transfixes the girls, anticipating her response. Her eyes, once fixated on the road ahead, now adrift in time and space. She sighs, puckering her lips.

‘Yes Bella, I stood in front of the mirror, many years ago.’

‘Who did you see in it, Mam?’

‘Who do you suppose she saw, Bell, the bloody milkman!’

‘She saw our Dad.’

‘Quiet Marla!’

‘If you can’t say something nice, then say nothing.’

‘Whatever,’ mumbles Marla, pressing her cheek against the glass window. Each lamppost signalling farewell to the sanctuary of the home, her record player, her friends. She sighs, pushing her finger against the damp glass and writing her name on it.

‘I saw your Father Bella.’

‘How did you feel inside that first time, Mam?’

‘Well, I realised he was handsome, very dapper. Back then men wore suits. The portrait in the mirror showed him sporting a navy suit, exquisitely tailored. My heart skipped a beat the very first moment we met. I never genuinely trusted in the potential of the miopsa mirror. I presumed it was smoke and mirrors. Pardon the pun. That day, September twenty-fifth, 1961, I stumbled across your dad by complete accident. Had it not been for a girl walking out into the roadway and your father slamming on his brakes, he may not have stopped his car. We may never have spoken to each other; the rest is history.’

‘I guess you were thrilled, Mam, when you first looked at him?’

‘I was excited and anxious too, but happy, and anyhow, I am pleased I stood in front of the mirror because I have you three. You bicker constantly, but you are my world.’

‘Hey Mam, we love you,’ insists Marla, leaning forward in her spot and placing her arms around her mum.

‘I love you too, particularly when you are not scrapping with each other.’

Marla leans back, squeezing her face against the steamy glass of the window. She recalls rose-tinted recollections of earlier times before her dad disappeared from her life. Back then the sun shone every day, no matter the weather. Back then, she was at her happiest.

Stella sits, browsing a copy of her fave pop magazine.’

‘Oh, I love her hairstyle. Look at this Bell,’ she announces, thrusting forward the magazine between the front seats.

‘Wow, it’s brilliant orange, Stella.’

‘Mam, will you dye my hair?’

‘Not that colour I won’t, Stella. She looks like she has a Jaffa orange on her head!’ she exclaims, glimpsing at the page.

‘You girls nowadays, with your earrings and lipstick and spunk music!’

‘Mam!’ they screech.

‘Me and your Dad…. it doesn’t matter.’

‘You cannot leave your comment there, Mam, spit it out.’

‘Well, back when me and your Dad began dating, we used to go dancing on a Saturday evening. I can remember it as if it were yesterday, Brick lane social club. Spit and sawdust underfoot, heaven above as we swayed arm in arm to the beach boys. That is what we did back then. You met at a dance and you danced. It took a long while before you raised the courage to smooch. Nowadays you are kissing boys before you know their name.’

‘Thank god the bitch boys are dead and buried,’ mumbles Marla, collapsing against the crimson leather seat.

‘Mam, it sounds wonderful. I hope one day I find someone who makes me as happy as you and Dad were.’

‘I can’t stand him!’

‘Who Stella?’

‘Dad, I cannot stand him. He treated you like crap, Mam. He can rot for all I care.’

‘I understand what you are saying, and I appreciate how you feel. He is your Father and I know he adores the three of you. The breakdown in our relationship is between me and him, and it is not a reflection on you three.’

‘Mam, we haven’t seen him since he left six months ago.’

‘He is possibly just getting himself settled.’

‘Yes, he is, Mam, with his new tart!’

‘Marla, stop right now. We do not use that expression. We don’t know her; she may be a perfectly nice and normal woman.’

‘She is Mam, say it.’

‘Say what Stella?’

‘Tart.’

‘No.’

‘I know you want to. You must have been yearning to say it for ages?’

Mum sniggers, providing the recipients of the rear-view mirror a devilish smirk.

‘I will say it on one condition.’

‘What’s that Mam?’

‘I can put the word Jam in front of it.’

‘Oh god, go on then!’

‘Jam tart!’

The girls erupt with laughter. Marla presses her moist cheek against the window as the lampposts slip past her view. Bella closes her eyes and Stella licks her fingers as she flips through the pages of her fave pop magazine. The rusty old car heaves and wheezes as it pulls its precious cargo along the motorway. The sunlight beams, toasting the maroon leather seats of the car. Marla yanks at the window roller as a refreshing blast of air pushes against her skin. She inhales and beams, eyelids closed.

As expected, they realise their worst fears as the rust mottled car huffs and puffs, choking to a stop.

‘What now,’ mutters mum as she pulls over to the hard shoulder of the motorway.

‘For gods’ sake, you three out. I need you to stand up there, out of harm’s way.

The girls climb the embankment and observe as mum fiddles around under the bonnet.

‘I knew this was a stupid idea,’ moans Stella, pulling a blade of grass and placing it between her lips.

‘Poor Mam, she gets the rough end of the stick,’ utters Bella.

‘Yes, and it’s all his damn fault!’

‘People fall out of love Stella, that’s life.’

‘Marla, you consider it fair what our Dad did to our Mam?’

‘I didn’t say that Stella, I am saying people stop loving each other. I won’t quit loving Dad because he and Mam are getting a divorce.’

‘That is your choice Marla, but I am on Mam’s side.’

Marla sighs and peers into the distance. The heat of the sun beats down on her brow. For a flash she is not squatting on the embankment of the motorway, consuming the belches of carbon monoxide. For a moment, she is far away, in another dimension, familiar to her and yet a daydream. A place she finds herself in moments of heartbreak and despair. The utopian world of colour and pleasant scent, with wonderful flora and fauna. A fairy tale land she has visited frequently, the realm she calls Marlopia.

‘Alright, we are back in business. You three, come down from there,’ shouts Mum, flapping her arms.

Marla, Bella, and Stella descend the embankment. Stella realises she has chosen the wrong footwear, slipping, and falling on her face. Bella helps her, Marla roars with laughter.

‘I have mud all over me, Mam, stupid bloody car. I am so embarrassed to be spotted in this goddamn motor!’ snaps Stella, clambering into the back seat.

Marla remains mute. She thinks about her Dad. It pains her inside that Stella has turned her back on him. It devastates her even further that he abandoned her mum, but she cherishes him and misses him.

‘Okay, let’s try again,’ mumbles Mum. She twists the key, awakening the primitive beast as it coughs back into life.

‘May I take a peek, Stella?’

‘At?’

‘Your pop mag.’

‘Unfortunately, not, Marla, only fashionable people live inside the pages of my magazine.

‘Really, why do you read it then?’

‘I read it because I am a fashion icon Marla, unlike you.’

What seemed like a week of driving, for Mum at least, the car chokes outside the wrought-iron gates of the haunted house that held their Nan hostage.

‘We are here. That wasn’t too bad, was it, girls? I just need to unlock the gate,’ utters Mum.

‘Thank heavens for that, my bum is killing me, I need to stretch Mam.’

‘Another instalment of hairy moles, mothballs and liver, courtesy on Nan’ mutters Stella, pressing back in her seat and rolling up her fave pop magazine.

‘How long are we staying here, Mam? I am going out this evening with the girls.’

‘Stella, please be quiet, we are here for as long as it takes!’

They gawk at the unwelcoming sight of the dark, ghostly house. Its demonic windows glaring back at them. The black front door is ready to open and consume their flesh and bone.

‘Oh Joy, welcome to purgatory,’ gasps Marla.

Chapter three

Reflection and revulsion.

‘Is it me or does our Nan live in the most haunted-looking house on the street!?’

‘It’s you, Bella. This has been a family home for many generations. One day I will inherit it and if you three choose too, you can live here.’

‘No thanks Mam, I prefer to live in a cardboard box than in there.’

Marla knows that every childhood fear, every monster under her bed, every demon lurking in the dark had been eaten by this haunted house, and as soon as she crosses its threshold bile of dread will be puked on to her.

‘It’s not that grizzly, Marla. I remember growing up here. Mother and I had so much fun.’

‘I bet it was lovely, Mam,’ utters Bella, glowing.

‘What did you do Mam, chase ghosts?’

‘Not entirely, Marla. Heed my words, best behaviour, do not mention her…’

‘Mole Mam, yeah we get it.’

‘Marla, what the heck is that!?’

‘What?’

‘That thing around your neck?’

‘It’s a dog collar, Mam, it’s the rage.’

‘Yeah, it suits you, Marla. You do look like a dog!’

‘Shut up Stella, take it off now, I don’t want your Nan getting upset.’

‘Why should Nan get upset, I am not asking her to wear it?’

Mum scolds Marla with her eyes through the rear view mirror.

‘Off now!’

‘For god’s sake, okay, I don’t see why I have to be here. Nan hates me!’

‘Nan does not hate you, Marla. She struggles to understand your dress sense. Please refrain from using the lord’s name in vain. I will say it again, to the three of you, best behaviour!’

As the gates close behind the exhausted tin can on wheels, the echo of steel against steel seals their fate. Liver and onions, hairy moles, mothballs, and fear.

Bella pushes further into the tired crimson leather, hoping it will devour her whole as the car crawls up the barren pathway. Stella uses her fave pop magazine as a makeshift telescope, gawking through it and glaring in discomfort at the haunted dwelling. Marla pulls a stud earring from her pocket and shoves it into her earlobe and prays. Mum misses the moment, much to her relief.

The black hole is uninviting, bleak, the gateway to hell as the three of them described it. A vile stench consumes the air surrounding them. Stella presses on her nostrils. She refers to it as the odour of death. It is the stench of liver and onions, the last nail in her coffin.

Mom paces forwards, the girl’s yards behind, trudging closer, nearer to no return. She raps the lion head knocker, signalling the horror fest. Creaking echoes around them as the door opens. Bella gulps and holds onto her Mum’s arm.

‘Eau de death,’ whispers Stella.

‘This place is nothing more than dread.’

‘It’s okay Bella, Stella I heard that, mind your language.’

A frail, pallid-skinned old man wearing a black pinstripe suit opens the crusty old door.

‘Good afternoon and welcome to Medizza Manor. Please, come, Magdalene is expecting you.’

There is a moment’s pause, an awareness of overpowering dread and then resignation. They walk the polished black and white tiled floor, a blunt reminder of past visits. Marla gulps, Bella grips Marla’s arm for dear life. Stella catches her reflection in the grandfather clock, admires herself, tousling her crimped locks.

‘Please ladies, go with me to the parlour for refreshments.’

They follow the elderly fellow, shuffling toward another doorway to the depths of misery.

Bella fidgets. Stella checks her reflection in a mottled mirror, flouncing her crimped locks once again. Marla pulls a piece of chewing gum from her pocket, shoves it into her mouth, and grumbles. Her frame slouched, her heaving and puffing for everybody to hear. The ancient man shoves the door wide, freeing a deluge of dust and a potent odour of mothballs. Nan stands at the window, her towering, elegant frame, and silken grey locks topping a black velvet frock and white pearled necklace.

‘Eliza, my darling, you have deemed it wise to adorn me with your presence,’ are the words that veil their anxious approach. Nan glides along the floor, arms aloft, her lips puckered, bracing to bludgeon their cheeks. Her cigarette holder exhaling bluey-grey smoke rings into the shingles.

‘Hello again, Mother!’ she responds in a harsh tone, planting a targeted kiss on the opposite cheek to the one with the hairy mole.

‘Oh my, haven’t you grown? Last time I met you, you were little specks,’ she proclaims, clutching the girls in unison and heaving them toward her bosom.

‘We visited you three weeks ago, Mother, not a lifetime ago.’

‘Hair splitting are we darling, anyhow I digress, let me look at you,’ utters Nan, scanning the girls one by one.

‘Ahh Stella, look, you have a slight chest, how delightful, you are growing into a woman.’

‘Nan, I am eighteen, I…’

‘Stella,’ utters Mum, pressing her index finger against her lips.

‘Will you be requiring my help further, my lady?’

‘Not for now, Jeeves. I will ring the bell; you may leave us.’

The old man looks to the heavens for divine intervention.

This is spiffing. Come, we have much to discuss. I have prepared your favourite meal.’

‘Stella eyes Marla. Marla raises her eyebrows. Mum eyes them both as they trudge through yet another door into the vile stench of the dining room.

‘I don’t see why we can’t have burgers and chips.’

‘Shush, you will turn into a bloody chip, Stella!’

‘Mother, isn’t Jeeves, mister Oakes, from two doors across the street?’

‘Yes, well, in the literal sense he is, but he is decrepit, destitute. I enjoy his company, he is a lonely old soul, poor thing.’

‘By making him your personal slave?’

‘Marla, hush, well, that’s very charitable, Mother. But why Jeeves, I thought his name was Bill?’

‘Bill schmill darling, Jeeves' is a much more apt title.’

‘Who are the people in the paintings, Nan?’

‘Ah Bella, these people are your forefathers. We, the Medizza family, have lived in England for thousands of years. This one, for instance.’ Nan points out an overweight-looking man donning an eyeglass, his overweight frame covered in a velvet robe ‘---He is your great, great, great uncle Roberto Medizza, the third. He was an affluent and prominent man. Did I tell you he owned most of Nottinghamshire?’

‘Yes Nan, endless times,’ mumbles Marla.

‘He squandered much of the family estate on harlots and whisky. He fell foul to a severe case of gonorrhoea at fifty-seven. Ghastly, such a young age.’

‘Nice,’ moans Marla with an echoing tone of cynicism.

‘Right then, enough of that, ladies, please be seated.’

‘This place gives me the heeby-jeebies,’ whispers Bella.

‘It gives me the shits!’ replies Marla.

The multitude of stuffed grizzly looking creatures encased behind glass sit in silence and stare. They play witness to the macabre luncheon. There gawks, grizzly enough to send the bravest packing. Marla pulls out the studded dog collar from her pocket and places it next to the crystal wine glass. Nan pushes on her spectacles, eyeing Marla’s movements.

‘Did you bring the dog Marla dearest?’

‘No Nan, Teddy is at home, it’s a dog collar, all my friends wear them.’ she counters, planting her hand over her forehead fraught with embarrassment.

‘In my day, women were ladies. We have come so far in the wrong direction. I was having lunch in town last week with Mildred from across the road, and she informed me she had seen a man. Well, I say a man, this one had a full face or makeup.’

‘It’s the fashion Nan, it’s the nineteen eighties, not the olden times.’

‘Fashion Smashion Marla, your Grandfather Albert. Now he was a real man. Suave and extremely abundant in the trouser department, I can tell you.’

‘Nan!’ the girls scream in unison.

‘Well, it’s true, he was a real man.’

Jeeves pushes a dinner trolley into the dining chamber. Accompanying him, the stink of liver and onions. Stella shudders, glugging on a glass of booze in pursuit of Dutch courage. Marla grins, picking up her knife and fork, tucking into the liver. She offers Stella a sardonic smirk before placing a lump of meat into her mouth, making sure she exaggerates her moans of pleasure, much to elder sister’s annoyance.

‘New stuffed toy Nan?’

‘Ah, that is a wombat, sent to me from your Uncle Augustus in Australia.’

‘It’s gross, Nan, it looks like the stuff of nightmares, truly.’

‘Marla, my dearest, you know you will turn into a panda if you keep wearing that black eye makeup!’

‘Fashion Nan, it’s the fashion!’

‘Ha Panda eyes!’

‘Stella, hush, eat your food!’ orders mum, struggling to swallow the leather liver swishing around in her mouth.

Nan pulls a gold pocket watch from her purse.

‘Eat up young Medizza ladies, the mirror will be ready quite soon.’

‘So, what takes place, Nan?’

‘Well Bella, each decade for one day only the marvellous miopsa mirror presents the Medizza woman who stands before it, their future love interest. Your Mother stood before it, as did I and my Mother before me.

‘Great Aunt Maud, I recall she didn’t stand before it.’

‘Yes, and look at her now, Marla, rattling around in that enormous house of hers. She is a reclusive old spinster.’

‘Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,’ mutters Marla.

‘Anyhow, I cast her out of the family circle many years ago, and good riddance to her if you ask me.’

‘That’s not fair Nan.’

‘Bella, hush!’

‘No, Mam, we should have a choice!’

‘You have a choice, Bella. Aunt Maud sought to shatter the mirror, believing it to be cursed thus I excommunicated her.’

‘So, let me get this right, we stand before the mirror and the mirror relays an image of our partner?’

‘Yes Stella, that is correct.’

‘What if the person staring back is, well, you know?’

‘Wanting in the looks department, dearest?’

‘Yes, Nan.’

‘Yes, that scenario can be a proper rotter. I recall my cousin Luciana standing before it forty years ago. To be generous, the man that stared back at her was no oil painting. Fortunately, he had a wonderful personality.’

‘Ah, that’s lovely, Nan, did they stay together?’

‘Gosh no Bella, his personality only took him so far. She just couldn’t get past that face of his stuff of nightmares, I can tell you.’

‘What happened to Luciana Nan?’

‘Spain, darling, she ran off with a barman. Matias was a handsome devil, olive skin, oiled hair, sculpted abs. Ooh, he was so…’

‘Mother, you were with Father!’

‘Sorry darling, yes, I digress. I am not sure if she is even alive. Died of exhaustion from too much sex I presume, lucky girl.’

‘Nan, way too much information!’

‘Yes, where was I, ah yes, now as the sun is high in the sky, the moment has arrived to show your suitors? I believe it is time to see your love interests. Come, come we have limited time, so exciting, spiffing,’ utters Nan, flouncing across the room toward the door.

‘Hurry now, ladies, upstairs,’ she asserts.

‘This is a joke!’ mumbles Marla, shoving past Stella.

The girls slouch their feet across each marble step as they move up toward the landing and the infamous miopsa mirror. Nan stops at a black door and gestures to them.

‘This door has not been opened for ten years. Any air or light could induce the mirror to malfunction. Which may well be a disaster. One of you could end up marrying a commoner, god forbid. Only the finest for my Granddaughters, where is that bloody key?’ she mumbles, routing through her handbag.

‘She is such a damn snob,’ whispers Marla to Bella.

‘Ah, here we are,’ she sputters, setting the key in the lock and tugging on the door.

Jeeves, close the door dearest and light the candles’ orders, Nan, floating across the marble floor.

‘Which of you stands before the miopsa mirror first?’

‘I’m not. Bell, you go first.’

‘You are the eldest, Stella, do it. Time to put the eldest sister card to good use.’ Sneers Marla.

‘Whatever Marla, I am not scared. I will do it, Nan,’ announces Stella, barging past Marla. She stands, arms folded before the cloaked mirror.

‘Are you ready to view your prospect, Stella dearest?’

‘Yes Nan, I am ready, let’s do this.’

‘So be it, my dear.’

The old man drags the dusty velvet cloak from the mirror.

‘Quazi Commanditi!’ commands Nan, lifting her arms in the air.

The candles flicker as mist veils the glass. Stella taps her feet, staring forward toward her reflection. The cloud disappears. She squints, her dread of what may be behind the fog overwhelming. A silhouette stands behind the glass. Before her stands a svelte woman with shoulder-length red hair sporting a crimson silk gown.

‘Oh, that’s not acceptable. The first time an error has occurred in over a hundred years. Oh, I am so sorry, Stella dearest. Jeeves, have you opened the door to this room?’

‘No lady Medizza, I have not.’

Mum shakes her head in dismay at her mother’s response to the image in the miopsa mirror.

‘Mother Stella likes girls and boys.’

Stella peers at the vision standing before her, behind the glass. She flicks her crimped locks.

‘She’s nice. I am content with her,’ she announces.

‘Is she sick, Eliza darling?’

‘No Mother, she is not sick.’

‘Nan, I am here, standing in the same room!’

‘What do you mean, she likes girls and boys? Is she one of those Lebanese?’

‘The word you are looking for is Lesbian Mother, and no, she is not.’

‘What do you mean you like boys and girls, Stella, a tad greedy darling, don’t you think dearest?’

‘Not particularly Nan, I just enjoy the company of both sexes.’

‘Well, if you say so, dearest.’

Stella has a last look into the glass mirror, blows a kiss to the image before her, and steps backward.

‘May I go next?’ as Bella shuffled toward the mirror.

‘Yes, of course, Bella dearest, I take it you are not sick?’

‘Mother, Stella is healthy, she is different.’

‘Whatever you say, Eliza dearest, are you ready, Bella?’

‘I am as ready as I'll ever be, Nan.’

‘Quazi Commanditi!’ shrieks nan.

The mist fades again, revealing a tall, chiselled, handsome man dressed in a suit. He is wearing a name tag entitled Michael.

‘Corr, he’s fit,’ notes Marla walking toward Bella to have a closer view.

‘He is okay, I suppose,’ mumbles Bella.

‘Okay, he is gorgeous Bell, I hope I get someone who looks similar to him.’

‘Okay, you losers, it’s my turn,’ utters Marla.

‘Last but not least, darling.’

Marla stands before the mirror. Having seen the two that had gone before her, she is upbeat.

‘Quazi Commanditi!’ she yells.

Marla squints as the fog clouding the mirror slips away. A silhouette materialises behind the glass.

‘What the heck is that!?’

‘That is no good, darling. Something like this has never happened before now. Jeeves, are you sure you have not opened the bloody door?’

‘Of course, I am sure, my lady.’

‘Mam!?’ screams Marla.

‘Mother, what the heck is that? Is there a reset button?’

‘We cannot start again, Eliza dearest the mirror has conveyed the image. I am confident it is not as dreadful as it appears, darling.’

‘Well, Nan, that depends on how you interpret the word dreadful. I can see a hooded freak dressed in a black robe holding what seems to be my severed head. Could this get any worse?’

‘Yes, dearest, I can see your point. I am confident that when you meet this individual then…’

‘Meet this person, why on earth would I want to meet with someone holding my bloody decapitated head?’