Love for ever,
Helen xxx
THIRTY-THREE
Pants. Toothbrush. Hair gel. Testimony notes. I ran through the checklist in my head as I packed. It all seemed so pointless. So what if I didn’t have spare socks? The trial was going ahead and my fate would be decided in a couple of days.
I rooted through the back of my wardrobe to find my overnight bag, and saw something I’d long forgotten. It was the memory box that Mum and I made together.
Whenever we went somewhere special, we kept a memento and tucked it into a shoebox. I flicked through the contents. Seashells and grubby coins nestled alongside passport-sized photos and ticket stubs. I fished out a small sheet of green paper – it was a printed flyer for the Bugsy Malone show I put on while at drama school one summer holiday.
I hated every minute of it. I hated having to do drama while my school friends went to the same play centre. I hated being the only black girl in the class. And I hated having to do anything that drew attention to myself.
But Mum’s friend was a teacher at the school and got me a heavily discounted place. For Mum, it was a no-brainer.
The only good thing about that show was the outfit Mum made for me. I was one of the lowly chorus girls, which, to be quite honest, suited me just fine. No lines to remember, just a rendition of the Charleston that we choreographed during lunchtimes.
Mum wouldn’t go to the costume store for the flapper outfit, like the other girls in the show. “Why spend good money when I’ve got a perfectly fine sewing machine at home?” she said.
I knew better than to argue with Mum but I was dreading it. “Why spend good money when I’ve got a perfectly fine oven at home?” was something she said whenever we passed Pizza Hut and I begged for a Hawaiian. Mum would roll up her sleeves when we got home and present me with her version of a pizza. Just for the record, broccoli and chickpeas should never be on a pizza.
So when Mum decided my dress was going to be a DIY job, I got a little nervous. But I had no reason to be. It was the most beautiful dress in the show by far. The sequinned fabric shimmered purple and blue in the light. I’m sure the fabric had higher aspirations than to grace a clumsy eight-year-old, but it did the job. With a touch of scented roll-on body glitter and a matching shawl over my spaghetti-strapped shoulders, I’d never felt more glamorous.
I can’t remember much about the play or my performance (other than vomiting with stage fright). I got ketchup from the after-play hot dogs on my shawl and the dress was dispatched to the bottom of a cupboard. It probably got lost in the house move, after Mum’s accident.
Looking through the box made me feel a strange mix of happy and sad. Weirdly, it made me feel just as connected to Mum as writing the letters did.
A knock on the door interrupted me, and I rushed to put my memory box away. I didn’t want anyone else to see it – this was between me and Mum.
“Come in,” I yelled, once the box was hidden away.
Aphrodite poked her head through the door. I’d barely talked to her since she destroyed our house. But now was as good a time as ever to break the wall of silence between us.
“Did Father tell you about the dress code for the trial?” she asked.
There was a dress code? Just another one of the crucial details he forgot. What else had he forgotten to tell me?
I shook my head. “Nope. I was just going to wear one of my old church dresses.”
“Typical,” she muttered. “Unsurprisingly, the fuddie-duddies at the Council prefer if those on trial wear traditional attire. Luckily, I have a few gowns in your size.”
Aphrodite placed a bundle of cream cotton on my bed. They turned out to be three maxi-dresses in a toga style.
“Um, thanks and all. But it might be a bit cold for this?” I said. Those old courtrooms looked like they might be draughty (or at least they did on TV).
“I can assure you that the court will be temperature-controlled, Helen.” Aphrodite smiled. “Sometimes I forget that this all must be extremely strange for you.”
Was she showing empathy for another living being? Now that was strange.
I shrugged. Strange, inconvenient, so terrifying the thought made my heart pound: all of the above applied.
“You should know that I … well, I think you’re very brave. Braver than you realize,” she said.
“The Council summoned me so I kind of had no choice. You do know that, right?” I said, rolling up the gowns to fit into my suitcase.
Aphrodite nodded. “I know. And I also know that you’re taking this trial very well.”
“Are you forgetting that this is my mistake to fix? If I hadn’t said anything to Marco, then—”
“You were trying to save us, Helen. If Apollo and I hadn’t been so foolish, this would never have happened. Believe me when I say that this isn’t your fault.”
When she said that, the guilt I’d been lugging around didn’t seem to feel so heavy.
I sighed. “Thanks. I hope the Council feel the same way.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“Helen? Are you up? It’s time to get ready for the trial.” It was Eros, nudging me awake at an ungodly hour. At least he had the good sense to come armed with a cup of tea.
I showered, got dressed, nearly tripped going down the stairs (note to self: watch out for the toga), and met my family in the kitchen for breakfast.
Their ability to look fresh-faced at all times was especially grating at seven a.m. Aphrodite’s long dark hair cascaded in blow-dried waves over her shoulders, and Apollo’s skin glowed radiantly. I, on the other hand, could do nothing more than scrape my hair into a bun. Apollo, Eros, Dad and Athena all wore traditional togas, too. Unlike me, they didn’t look as though they were playing fancy dress. The togas suited them.
The kitchen was strangely quiet. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own world. Apart from Athena, who was in bossy-pants mode.
“Good morning, Helen,” she said as I poured myself a bowl of cereal. “Do eat quickly. I’d like to take you through the itinerary before the cars arrive.”
“It’s too early to be this organized,” I muttered under my breath.
Athena didn’t say anything. Instead, she slapped a printout on the table in front of me. I cast my eyes over it as I crunched my cornflakes.
Helen’s Trial Itinerary
Friday a.m.
Depart from home in chauffeured cars for the Royal Courts of Justice.
Arrive at Royal Courts of Justice. Entry through the side entrance only.
The audience, Council and judge are seated. The trial begins promptly with a review of the charges.
Lord Zeus, Lady Aphrodite, Lord Apollo and Lord Eros provide their testimony.
Lady Helen provides her testimony.
Friday p.m.
The trial resumes for cross-examination from the Council.
Closing dinner with Mount Olympus officials.
“Now, Helen, it’s crucial that you arrive at the correct entrance for nine o’clock,” Athena said. “We wouldn’t want you getting lost and starting the trial late. The judge, like all of us, will appreciate punctuality.”
“Why would I get lost?” I asked. Did she really not trust me to go through doors on my own?
Athena did that tight fake smile again. “You won’t! But you will be travelling in your own car, so might not enter the court at exactly the same time as us.”