“I don’t know…” Yasmin said. “There are so many risks to factor in.”
“You know what, babe? We could invite Jayden Taylor, get you both some one-on-one time,” Noor said, scrunching her lips into a smooch. Just in case anyone wasn’t clear by what “one-on-one time” meant.
“You reckon he’d come?” Yasmin asked.
“He’d be mad to miss it,” Daphne said.
“Fine. I’ll speak to Isaac tomorrow and see what he says. But I’m not making any promises!” Yasmin added with a smile.
Noor and Daphne squealed.
“Helen, you’ve been quiet. Are you in?” Yasmin asked.
There was no way I could miss out on this party. Especially if they’ve all already had their first kiss and I hadn’t. From the sounds of it, I had some serious catching up to do.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“You should invite your sister!” Noor said. “I’d seriously love to meet her.”
“Half-sister,” I corrected her. “And I’ll ask, but she might be too busy. She’s always out partying or on a date.”
No way was I inviting Aphrodite to Yasmin’s house party. If my lips were going to get any action, then I had to keep potential boyfriends away from Aphrodite. Next to the goddess of beauty, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
FIVE
I came home from the sleepover to find Aphrodite in the kitchen. She was hunched over half a dozen packages, unwrapping layers of bubble wrap. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw she was wearing a dressing gown. This time.
Aphrodite turned around when she heard me come in. “Helen! Just the girl I need.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. A piece of ivory paper clung to her skin like a mask, with slits cut out for eyes and mouth. It looked like she’d papier-mâché’d her face.
“You do realize Halloween was six weeks ago?” I said.
Even through the mask, I could tell Aphrodite was giving me a dirty look. “This is not a costume. It’s the miracle ingredient of the year. My placenta extract sheet masks finally arrived! It’s quite extraordinary how far mortal cosmetics have come in the last fifty years.”
Gross! I suppressed the urge to gag.
“I’ll take your word for it. What’s all this?” I asked, looking at the packages on the kitchen table.
“My latest online purchases. The other MUA at work – that stands for ‘make-up artist’ – raved about this underground cosmetics brand. Said I had to try it, apparently. This reminds me, Helen. Can I ask a favour?”
One thing I learned soon after moving in with my family: it’s good to know what the favour is before you agree to it. I still wasn’t over having to help Dad prep his latest batch of sauerkraut. I could still smell the vinegary cabbage.
I narrowed my eyes. “Depends. What do you want?”
“Are you free tonight? I need to test my new make-up out before I use it at work.”
“A makeover?” I pulled a this-is-so-tiring face.
“Come on, what else are you going to do on a Saturday night? Unless you’ve got a hot date I don’t know about,” she said, cackling a little too hard at her own unfunny joke. Was my single status so hilarious? “I’ll buy you whatever takeaway you want.”
Then I had a brilliant idea.
“You can use me as a guinea pig whenever you want. If you’ll do me a favour,” I said.
“Well?”
“My friend Noor wants to be a make-up artist when she’s older. Is there anything you can do to help her out?”
“Is that it?”
I thought for a few seconds longer. “And I want a delivery of salt and pepper chicken wings.”
Aphrodite smirked. “Aren’t you going to ask me for a real favour? Something that befits my status.”
“Like?”
“Oh, the possibilities are endless. I could grant you everlasting clear skin or make sure you never have a bad hair day for the rest of your little life.”
A life without split ends and spots (especially the whoppers lurking under the skin, right at the tip of your nose) did sound tempting. And if anyone could do it, it’s Aphrodite. But I didn’t trust her sly smile. Or the fact that she was probably only being nice to me because she needed something.
“If you could help out Noor, I know she’d appreciate it.”
“Suit yourself. I have a stack of old kit taking up space in my attic. I’ll leave them in your room, and she can have what she likes,” Aphrodite said.
Yes! I couldn’t wait to surprise Noor on Monday.
“I’ll take off my mask and be back down in five minutes,” Aphrodite said.
Once Aphrodite peeled off her sheet mask (revealing radiant skin – nothing new there), I sat down at the kitchen table while she did her thing. She was so quick and light with her hands. I barely noticed her apply a metric tonne of her foundation, which she mixed to the perfect shade of light brown for me. It turns out she took her job seriously and wanted to be good at it. She could have left out the commentary, though.
“An organic kelp smoothie every morning would clear up those spots in no time.”
“You’re not using wipes to clean your face at night, are you?”
“It’s never too early to think about an anti-wrinkle regime.”
Finally, she finished.
“That’ll do, I suppose,” Aphrodite said.
I hopped over to the mirror to see what she’d done to my face. The reflection of a girl with my big, curly hair stared back. But the similarity ended there. My face was now an expanse of smooth skin that appeared to glow from within. Cheekbones I’d never seen before were carved out of my round face, my eyebrows extended dramatically, and my eyes took on Disney princess dimensions.
I wanted to gasp. Maybe having Aphrodite play around with my face wouldn’t be such a bad thing? Especially if I get invited to more parties (thinking positive thoughts here).
“I’ll admit it’s not an everyday look. It’s the sort of face that works best in front of the camera. Speaking of…” Aphrodite pulled her phone out of her handbag. “I’ll need a photo for my records.”
Usually I was shy taking photos (I never knew what to do with my face), but the vain side of me wanted this look recorded for ever.
“It’ll take moments, Helen. Then I’ll order your greasy fried food.”
Aphrodite was true to her word. After she took the photos, my chicken wings arrived and I ate them at the kitchen counter while she fiddled with her phone.
“Don’t you dare sleep in that make-up, Helen,” I heard her say as I went upstairs.
My scalp and I had survived an encounter with Aphrodite. Even weirder, she was kind of nice to me as well.
SIX
Dear Mum,
I’m sorry that this letter is later than usual, but I’ve had a bizarre few weeks.
I’ll start with the good stuff. School began, and I made new friends pretty much straight away. You’d like Daphne, Yasmin and Noor. They’ve invited me to sleepovers, and even a house party. On New Year’s Eve!
It started out small but word is spreading fast. Yasmin and her big brother Isaac (well, mainly Isaac) seem to know loads of people between them. Boys from at least three other schools near ours are coming. Most of the girls are going because of Isaac. He and his mates on the school football team must know half of North London, and it doesn’t hurt that they’re 100% boy candy. Like me, Yasmin knows what it’s like to have vastly superior older siblings.
They must think I’m a bit strange, though. I haven’t invited them over to my house once. Can you believe that Dad’s banned me from having any friends over? Must be because of the weirdo gods about. If anyone got the slightest whiff of weirdness, the family could be in serious trouble.
Sometimes my new friends ask too many questions about my family (but never about you. There’s no easy way to ask about your friend’s dead mum, I guess). I’m sorry to say it, but I’m turning into a great liar. I know you hated lies, but in this case, I think
they’re allowed. Our family just can’t have anyone knowing the truth about our heritage.
Are all siblings as petty as Aphrodite? I can’t even risk asking her to hurry up in the bathroom, or she might play some awful trick on me. And I’m not talking whoopee cushions or rubber snakes, either. She would fully mess me up if I got on her wrong side.
Dad’s not interested in being a peacemaker, anyway. He’s too busy marking essays or cataloguing his Edwardian postcard collection. As long as she doesn’t use her powers on mortals, it seems like Aphrodite can do what she wants. But I have to be on perfect behaviour at all times.
At least I have Maria to confide in. It feels so good to speak to someone else who gets it. She’s like the half-mortal aunt I never had. She says Aphrodite is annoying because she’s bored. She can’t torment mortals, so she’s doing it to me instead. How can someone be around for millennia and still act like such a child?
Maybe Dad’s bored too, which is why he’s so fixated on my schooling. He’s dedicated Sunday afternoons to homework time. Honestly? He sucks at being a tutor. He tried to help with my history essay on the Tudors this afternoon. All he did was bring up useless facts (“Queen Elizabeth the First had quite the potty mouth, let me tell you!”) and insisted on trawling through his dusty books for research. Even when I told him that Wikipedia existed!
Christmas back at Gran’s can’t come soon enough. I’ll have two weeks without school, Dad confiscating my phone for no reason, or Aphrodite judging my outfits.
Grandma Thomas can’t wait to see me. She spends every phone call asking me what I want to eat over the holiday. I’ve told her that I’m well fed, but she doesn’t believe me.
I’m even looking forward to seeing Shara and Chantelle. After living in this house, a few days with my hyperactive cousins sounds like bliss.
Love for ever,
Helen xxx
SEVEN
When I finished writing my letter to Mum, I put it in the shoebox under the bed. Along with all the others. Maybe one day I’ll read them again.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and that usually meant a car boot sale somewhere off the North Circular for Dad. But for once he was home, along with Aphrodite.
Today was a special day. The best early Christmas present ever, besides a new pair of Air Max. My cousin Eros (technically my nephew as he’s Aphrodite’s son, but that sounds weird) was coming back from travelling in India!
Eros and I have always been close. Unlike most of my family, he stayed in touch with me long after Dad introduced us. During my few visits to see Dad in Edinburgh over the summer holidays, Eros always made sure to spend a couple of days with me. And he came to Mum’s funeral, too. He’s like the Beyoncé of my immortal family.
I heard the front door creak open and slam, followed by loud voices talking happily in the living room. He was here! Voices aside, I could feel he was back too. It sounds like hippy nonsense, but trust me on this. Eros has an aura of wholesome love that follows him like fragrance. When he’s near, I’m more at ease and relaxed. Maybe that’s why we get on so well.
“And where have you been, young lady?” Eros asked when he saw me walk through the door.
I skipped into the living room and gave him the biggest squeeze.
Other than the smell of patchouli that hung around him like a halo, Eros still looked the same as he did when I first met him. It’s a strange quality that all the gods seem to have. They don’t look young, but you can tell they’re not spring chickens. He has the same tight black curls framing a brown-skinned face that could be fifteen or thirty-five, and a lopsided smile framed by dimples.
Even Aphrodite was smiling, and for once it wasn’t because she caught sight of her reflection. She was pleased to have her eldest son back. It’s easy to forget that Aphrodite is a mum and Eros is her son, not a sibling. He’s certainly more mature than she is.
Maybe dealing with matters of the heart made him more emotionally mature. Being the god of love has armed him with an uncanny understanding of relationships. He’s the best agony aunt a girl could want. His bow and arrow days are long behind him (could he make someone fall in love with me if I asked? I have wondered…) but he’s awesome at giving advice.
We all sat around the kitchen table while Eros told us about his adventures in India. I ate the dinner that Maria left for me while Dad, Aphrodite and Eros had a glass of the special Greek spirit that Dad keeps under his desk. I was allowed a sniff, and the stench wafting from the bottle was enough to put me off ever trying it. I hoped this didn’t mean they’d be up half the night singing. They may be immortal, but that doesn’t stop them from getting drunk.
With Eros back, the house started to feel livelier. He’s Mr Popular in our family and everyone wanted to catch up with him. Maybe that’s because he’s one of the few gods who isn’t totally self-obsessed? Just try asking Aphrodite for relationship advice. Her eyes glaze over the second she realizes she isn’t the centre of the conversation.
It wasn’t a surprise when Dad told me to keep Sunday evening free for a family gathering. When I told him it would interrupt my hair-washing routine, he was predictably dismissive.
“How long could it possibly take to wash one’s hair, Helen?” Before I could explain my detangling and conditioning routine, he walked away muttering something about humans finding endless ways to fill their short lives with nonsense.
That’s rich, coming from the man who has a filing system for every back issue of Railway Digest.
But my coconut hair mask wasn’t the only reason I wanted to skip this family gathering. It was bound to be annoying as hell. All the gods seemed to do is moan about their lives, or how much better things were in ancient times. Even Eros couldn’t make me want to sit through that. The modern times couldn’t be all that bad, could they? We have Wi-Fi now. And soap.
Honestly, some people have no idea how lucky they are. The gods have everlasting life! Beauty! The freedom to do what they like! If I, an un-kissed loser with no romantic prospects, could stay positive about life, then they could too.
It had been a while since I’d last seen any of the other gods from my extended family. How long would it be until they brought up the fact that I had no powers? Or call me a “half-lifer”? Maybe they wouldn’t dare say that word in front of Dad. He did say it was a slur.
I lay down on my bed, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Mum,” I said to myself. “I know it sounds ridiculous to be nervous about this. But I am. I wish I had your don’t-give-a-damn attitude. Wherever you are, can you lend me some?”
I opened my eyes, wriggling my fingers and toes. The churning in my tummy had slowed down. I was still dreading an evening with no one but immortal beings but reminded myself that my bedroom was just upstairs. I could always pretend that I had French homework due for Monday and make a dash for it (I mean, I do, but I’m sure Mr Parsons won’t mind if it’s a day late. Hair washing is clearly more important than Pierre’s trip to the zoo).
EIGHT
“Helen! Come and say hello,” Dad called from the kitchen. I went to the living room, where my half-brother Apollo was subjecting Eros and Aphrodite to a song on his guitar.
I’ll never forget the time I went to hug Apollo and he fist-bumped me instead. I haven’t tried again since. That was a few years ago, but he looked pretty much the same as I remembered. His dirty-blond hair was tied up in a messy man bun, and his skin was tanned to a deep bronze. He looked as though the phrase “sun-kissed” was invented for him. I guess an everlasting tan is a major perk of being the sun god. That, and the fact that he spends his summers DJing in Ibiza.
Oh gosh. I hoped he wasn’t going to hold our arms together, compare skin tones and say he was nearly as brown as me. Firstly, it wasn’t true because I will always beat Apollo on the melanin front. And secondly, it was a truly corny thing to say.
He was deep in concentration, singing along to a tune he strummed on his guitar. Eros and Aphrodite were indifferent, but I found myself sitting
on the sofa and tapping my feet. The beat was infectious. When the song finished, I was the only one who clapped.
A smile lit up his face when he noticed me clapping. “How’s it going, Helen? Long time no see,” said Apollo. He looked pleased to see me, but Apollo looked pleased to see everyone. Kind of like a golden retriever.
“I’m fine, thanks. I just started at a new school, and—”
“You’re still at school? What a drag,” Apollo interrupted. “I’m up to the usual: DJing private parties, recording my next album and some private music tutoring. It’s easy money, but every one of these kids is dying to be the next Ed Sheeran. Like, show some originality.”
“God, that sounds dreary. Hanging around with children all day. Just awful,” said Aphrodite, shuddering.
Apollo shrugged, pretending that her comment didn’t bother him. “I’d take private school brats over D-list celebs any day.”
Shots. Fired. We all knew that Aphrodite was far from satisfied working on a breakfast TV show, even if it was the most viewed show before ten a.m. I pursed my lips to keep from giggling (I didn’t want a repeat of the crazy-green-hair incident).
Just as Aphrodite looked ready to explode, Dad called us in from the kitchen for dinner. That was strange. Maria’s the only one who cooks around here, and she didn’t work on Sundays. Was Dad going to make something other than coffee? Impossible.
We took our seats at the kitchen table, but there wasn’t a hint of food anywhere. Not on the stove, or in the oven.
“Is the takeaway on its way, then?” I asked Dad.
“Takeaway? Of course not! This is our first family meal in your presence. As you’ve all made an effort to keep this evening free, you will be served a very special meal indeed,” he said. Some of us had been given no choice but to come, I thought.
“I found one of my most beloved objects while unpacking. All you need to do is think about the most splendid meal you’ve ever eaten and it will create it for you. That is what you’ll have for supper,” Dad said. He looked very pleased with himself.
Oh My Gods Page 4
