by Maz Evans
‘And I told you – I do,’ Josie replied. ‘I hope you never know the pain of robbing your own child of their childhood, knowing the suffering you are causing them. It was a living death. And I hated every second.’
‘We’ll find a way,’ Elliot said, ignoring the iron fist of fear that was closing around his heart. ‘I’ll get some help.’
‘I don’t want help, Elly,’ said Josie. ‘I want freedom.’
Freedom. The word burst through Elliot’s conscience like a bullet. Everyone had the right to freedom. Especially his mum.
‘Please, Elliot. I’m begging you,’ Josie pleaded in his ear. ‘Don’t send me back to my body. Don’t send me back to my prison. Don’t send us both back to sadness. You love me better than that.’
Elliot threw his arms in the air. What was he supposed to do? Everything he’d wanted was in his grasp. He’d wanted to save his mum. He’d wanted any chance to get her back. He’d wanted her so badly, he’d put the whole world in danger. He’d wanted this moment for as long as he could remember.
In fact, Elliot suddenly realized, he’d wanted her back so much, he hadn’t stopped to consider one thing:
Maybe it wasn’t what his mum wanted at all.
‘Do you remember when we talked before, when the wishing pearl made me well for those seven minutes?’ Josie whispered.
Elliot nodded.
‘I never got to finish what I wanted to say,’ Josie continued. ‘It was this: I wanted to tell you that when the time came, you had to promise me that you were going to let me go. That you would carry on with your life. That you would treasure what we had, then go on to make your own life full of celebration. I’ve had the most wonderful four decades, filled with more love and laughter than most people know in a thousand lifetimes. I’ve had my time and I don’t regret a single second of it. But now, my darling, it’s yours.’
Her words wrapped themselves around Elliot’s heart and held it tight. He closed his eyes and allowed the simple truth to flow up from the core of his being – the fear that had governed his every thought and deed since he realized his mother was seriously unwell:
‘I . . . I can’t live without you.’
‘You already have,’ Josie soothed. ‘You’ve been living without me ever since my illness claimed me. Now you just have to let me go.’
Elliot felt tears spill freely down his face. He would do anything for his mum. But how could he do this?
‘We don’t have long,’ Josie said as the light faded another degree. ‘Please know you are not alone, Elly. You have your father.’
‘That idiot?’ Elliot said instinctively, before Nyx’s last trick flooded into his mind. Of course – that wasn’t his real father. His real dad was still out there. But would he be any better? He was a stranger. Elliot didn’t know anything about him.
‘Your father loves you more than anything in this world,’ Josie said, answering his thought. ‘He made a terrible mistake, but all he wants is to be the father that you deserve. And he will be, I promise you.’
‘Where is he?’ Elliot asked softly.
‘Searching for you,’ said his mum. ‘And, trust me – he won’t rest until he finds you. You got your stubborn streak from him.’
Somewhere a smile shone faintly in Elliot’s dark soul. He had a dad. A dad who loved him.
‘You need to go to him,’ Josie said, her warm glow surrounding Elliot. ‘It’s his time with you now. I’ve had mine. And I can’t thank you enough for it, my beautiful, brilliant boy.’
Elliot felt sobs shake his body. The dam was struggling to hold.
‘This . . . this is really what you want?’
‘More than anything in any world. It’s what any mother wants: for their child to live their best life. It’s waiting for you, Elly. Now go and get it.’
‘I want you with me!’ cried Elliot through torrential tears.
‘And you’ll always have me,’ promised Josie, her golden hand resting on his shoulder. ‘You’ve been to the Afterlife – it’s all around you. I’m always near, with Nan and Grandad, watching over you. You wait – when you next feel a smile inside, that’ll be me, kissing your head. Our love can’t ever die, Elly. It’s engraved on our very being. And one day we’ll be together again. We have a for ever of tomorrows to look forward to. But first, you must have your today.’
Elliot looked up at the faintest speck of fading daylight ahead.
‘I just want one thing,’ he whispered.
‘Anything, my darling.’
‘I want to hold you. One more time. Please.’
His mother’s gentle laugh rang out behind him. He locked it deep in his memories so he’d have it to cherish.
‘Then come and give your mum a hug.’
Elliot dredged up every bit of courage from the depths of his soul. This was it. This was goodbye.
He placed his hand over his mother’s golden fingers and slowly turned to face her.
And there she was.
‘Come here, baby,’ she said, holding her arms out to her son.
He looked at her beautiful, smiling face, ran his fingers down her cheek and threw himself into her golden embrace.
‘I love you, Mum,’ he wept.
‘I love you, my Elly,’ Josie cried, covering his head with a thousand golden kisses. ‘I’m always with you. I’m your smile inside. Remember that. Goodbye, my darling. Goodbye. If only for now . . .’
Elliot clung to her, his arms around his mother’s waist, but he could feel her evaporating in his embrace. He opened his eyes and smiled as his mother – his wonderful, perfect mother – faded in a stream of golden light, becoming one with the very air around her.
‘Bye, Mum,’ he whispered, and watched her flicker away to a single speck of gold.
For several endless moments, Elliot Hooper simply stood and stared at the spot where his mum had been, scared to move lest he lost even that last memory of her. But the strength that had helped him to let her go had drained away. The emotions he had been holding in check finally spilt out and overwhelmed him. His legs gave way and crumpled beneath him. Elliot wasn’t angry. He wasn’t screaming. He was just . . . empty.
He ran his fingers over the spot where his mother had stood just moments ago and curled himself around it. All the love that had nowhere else to go flowed through his tears as he lay there. Should he just stay there, on the cusp of life and death? He had no home. He had no friends. He had nothing.
He was totally and utterly alone.
Elliot had no idea how long he stayed there. It could have been hours, minutes or days. He had no idea if it was day or night – it was dark in the tunnel, save for the faint glow of the golden twine. But even the magical string couldn’t tell him where to go next. Elliot Hooper was totally lost.
‘Elliot?’
He blinked groggily. He must be hearing things.
‘Elliot? Where are you?’ came the voice again through the darkness.
He had no strength to answer, even if the voice was real.
‘There you are.’
A small hand found its way into his. It was warm. It was familiar. And it was really there.
‘Elliot, we’ve come to take you home.’
He roused himself. There, her face full of smiling concern, was Virgo. There was his friend.
‘Mate,’ came another voice, taking his other hand. ‘Not being funny, but you’re a hard bloke to find . . .’
Elliot’s heart quickened. It couldn’t be . . . He propped himself up and squinted at the face beaming down at him.
‘All right, bruv,’ winked Hermes. ‘Long time no see.’
And without a second’s hesitation, Virgo and Hermes threw their arms around him in a shield of unquestioning love. Elliot had someone.
‘We got you, mate,’ the Messenger God whispered, gathering up Elliot. ‘Now let’s get you home.’
‘Where’s home?’ said Elliot. ‘I don’t have—’
‘Home is where we’re all together,’ said
Hermes. ‘V – clamber aboard.’
Virgo jumped on to Hermes’s back, but quickly took Elliot’s hand back in hers.
‘It’s all going to be optimal,’ she whispered. ‘I just know it. And I’m always, always right.’
Elliot, exhausted, could say and do no more. He felt sleep starting to claim his body and his soul.
‘Let’s go,’ said Hermes softly. And, with a gentle whoosh, he took off into the air, carrying Elliot and Virgo out of the tunnel and into the dark night of the longest day.
11. Gods On
‘I’VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A SHOWER OF DODGY OLD DEITIES IN ALL MY BORN DAYS! NOW GET DOWN AND GIVE ME TWENTY!’
The Olympians dropped to the floor for the umpteenth time that morning and attempted another twenty press-ups.
‘Achilles . . . old boy . . .’ Zeus panted, ‘while . . . I’m . . . delighted . . . you’ve . . . joined . . . us . . . do you think . . . you could . . . take it a bit . . . easier . . . ? Please.’
‘EASIER?’ Achilles roared. ‘DO YOU THINK THANATOS IS GOING TO TAKE IT EASY ON YOU, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A SOLDIER? NOW GIVE ME TWENTY MORE! YOUR MAJESTY, SIR!’
‘I’ll give you twenty all right,’ grumbled Zeus. ‘Twenty thunderbolts right up your bally . . .’
‘If you can’t handle it,’ said Hera, switching from her left side to her right to perform her second set of one-armed press-ups, ‘I’m sure Achilles will understand. After all, you are getting on a bit . . .’
‘The only thing I am getting on is your ruddy nerves,’ said Zeus, straining at his third press-up. ‘And that’s just for fun.’
‘Achilles, sir!’ Hera yelled, jumping to her feet and performing a perfect salute. ‘Permission to do fifty sit-ups while the troops complete the drill!’
‘QUEEN HERA, YOU ARE AN EXAMPLE TO THEM ALL!’ Achilles barked back. ‘PERMISSION GRANTED! ATTEN . . . TION!’
Achilles snapped his arm to his head to return Hera’s salute, and it promptly fell off.
‘AS YOU WERE!’ he ordered, screwing his right arm back into place with his left. ‘TOOK A MORTAR AT PASSCHENDAELE! NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT! PERFECTLY ARMLESS! HA HA!’
‘Is this strictly necessary?’ Athene grumbled. ‘Wars are won as much on tactics and strategy as brute force. Shouldn’t we be coming up with a battle plan?’
‘ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND YOU’LL BE DOING STAR JUMPS UNTIL THE NEXT ICE AGE!’ Achilles screamed at the Goddess of Wisdom. ‘STOP EXERCISING YOUR MOUTH AND START WORKING THOSE BINGO WINGS! NOW!’
Achilles stamped his foot on the floor, making his left leg fall off.
‘MUSKET WOUND FROM THE BOER WAR!’ he explained, hopping over to retrieve his fallen leg. ‘MADE THIS ONE OUT OF OLD BICYCLE WHEELS! WORKS LIKE A CHARM! JUST NEED TO WATCH OUT FOR PUNCTURES!’
‘Sho, shweetie,’ Ares cooed at Aphrodite as they pressed-up face-to-face in the corner. ‘I shee you’re shtill ash beautiful ash the lasht time I shaw you.’
Aphrodite giggled, while Athene retched loudly next to them.
‘I’m not falling for that again,’ she lilted.
‘That’sh not fair,’ Ares winked. ‘Eshpeshilly shinshe I’ve fallen for you . . .’
He went to kiss Aphrodite’s hand mid-press-up, but, with neither of their right arms to support them, they both came crashing down on the floor.
‘You shee,’ said Ares, propping himself up on his left elbow. ‘I’ve fallen for you sho hard.’
‘Teeheehehehehehehehe,’ Aphrodite simpered, returning to her press-ups before Achilles could shout again.
‘This new juicing regime is giving me strength I never knew I had,’ said Dionysus blandly, looking as if he might vomit at any minute as he strained to push out a press-up.
‘I never heard such a loada guff,’ Demeter grumbled, efficiently pumping out her exercises next to Hestia. ‘You need a good pie and mash. I’ll juice it for you if you want, you great nelly!’
‘Brother!’ yelled Poseidon, jumping up at the sight of Hades rushing into the hall. ‘Yer back up faster than a dodgy prawn. What news?’
‘Long stawry,’ said Hades, looking over the floor of prostrate Gods. ‘Let’s just say I haven’t exactly been myself lately . . . Geez, someone lose a contact lens?’
‘NONSENSE!’ Achilles blasted. ‘I’VE GOT PERFECT VISION! HAD BOTH EYES REPLACED AFTER A NASTY RUN-IN WITH THE NORMANS IN 1066! THEY CAME FROM AN OWL! MY NIGHT VISION IS SPOTLESS!’
Achilles’s head rotated 360 degrees.
‘IN FACT, YOU COULD SAY I’VE GOT EYES IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD. HA HA!’ he roared. ‘NOW, LET’S SEE YOUR SQUATS. I WANT THOSE BACKSIDES SO LOW I COULD BUFF THE FLOORBOARDS WITH YOUR BUMS.’
‘Have you got Elliot with you?’ Zeus panted, running over to Hades.
‘’Fraid not,’ said Hades. ‘But I did pick up these big lugs on the way. Figured we’re gonna need all the help we can get. Hit it, boys!’
He held his hands up with a flourish. A few solemn guitar chords played outside the hall and a lone voice sang:
I know I said I’d always try
But now this week I’m gonna die
I love you like my blue suede shoes
I love you like the life I’ll lose . . .
‘Blimey,’ whispered Hermes. ‘Come back, Persephone, all is forgiven . . .’
‘Some intro that was, Jason, you moron mornay!’ shouted Theseus, striding in behind Jason strumming his guitar.
‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ boomed Hercules, pacing up the hall and slapping Zeus on the back. ‘I’m used to dealing with emergencies. This is nothing – last week I had to fight off thirty crazed angry women, armed with nothing more than a party popper.’
‘The Amazons giving you grief again?’ said Zeus.
‘Hen night gone bad,’ sighed Hercules. ‘How was I to know that they didn’t want a sleepover with real hens?’
‘I’m ready to FIGHT!’ roared Theseus. ‘And I won’t rest until Thanatos is served seventeen different ways with a side order of pureed Daemon. AAAAAAARGH!’
Theseus hurled his meat cleaver across the room, where it landed with a clunk in Achilles’s foot. The Olympians gasped.
‘Oh, my Gods! I am SO SORRY!’ Theseus screamed.
‘NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT!’ yelled Achilles, popping the foot off the bottom of his leg. ‘CAN’T FEEL A THING. HAD IT REPLACED AFTER A NASTY JUNGLE SKIRMISH IN VIETNAM. THIS ONE’S MADE OUT OF BANANA LEAVES. ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY, BUT SLIPPERY AS A BUTTERED PENGUIN!’
‘I’ve written a playlist of my own songs to, like, help us set the mood for battle,’ droned Jason.
‘That’s totally awesome, man,’ said Apollo, whipping out a flute. ‘Let’s jam.’
‘Cool,’ said Jason, strumming on his lyre. ‘Shall we start with This is My Final Curtain (Defeat is Certain) or Death, It Won’t Be Too Long Now?’
‘Where is Elliot?’ Zeus asked Hades quickly. ‘Is he OK?’
‘Yes. And no,’ said Hades. ‘Geez, Zeus – I dunno how to say this, so I’m gonna give it you straight . . . The kid gave Thanatos the Chaos Stones. I’m so sawrry.’
The Olympians gasped and muttered amongst themselves. Zeus dropped his head.
‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ he sighed after a weighty pause. ‘He’s just a child. There’s only so much he can bear.’
‘And it gets worse,’ Hades continued. ‘The Daemon army is free. It’s just a matter of time before Thanatos makes his move. We need a plan.’
‘Told you so,’ muttered Athene smugly.
‘A plan, you shay?’ said Ares, swaggering over to Zeus. ‘Well, that’sh my shpeshiality. I shuggesht . . . Whoa!’
‘SORRY!’ barked Achilles as Ares skidded on his discarded foot. ‘Those banana leaves get everywhere!’
‘Ash I was shaying,’ Ares continued, smoothing his hair back down. ‘We need shtealth. We need shecreshy. We need shubterfuge.’
‘We need a ruddy translator,’ grumbled Hephaestus. ‘What you on about, boy?’
12. Home Sweet Home
Patricia Porshley-Plum looked happily over Home Farm. It was so satisfying to see hard work pay off. Indeed, everything other people had worked so hard for was finally coming together. In just two days, this blight on the landscape would be sold at auction. Some rich idiot would buy into the brochure’s promise of ‘a country retreat away from the hustle and bustle, with unspoilt idyllic rural views – a chance to live the quiet life’.
Of course, what that idiot didn’t know was that she was keeping half the land to build her new housing development, thus totally spoiling the ‘idyllic rural views’ and filling ‘the quiet life’ with rows and rows of identical, soulless houses. But by the time they had signed on the dotted line, it would be too late. Patricia Porshley-Plum would have had her money. But more importantly, she would finally have had her revenge. The Hooper brat had obstructed her plans long enough. And now he had disappeared, nothing could stand in her way.
She’d done what she could to make the house look presentable – it had taken hours to scrub and polish a house that had been cared for by a young boy, and the effort had left her exhausted. Truly, arranging all those cleaners and paying them almost minimum wage had been quite the trial. But it didn’t really matter – the house would most likely be destroyed and she would be toasting the wreckage with a glass of champagne when it was.
Patricia went through her final checks. Fresh flowers on the tables? Check. (After all, how were all those dead people going to enjoy them on their graves? Such a senseless waste.) Smell of freshly baked bread? Check. (It was extraordinary what twenty seconds in the microwave could do to a Spendapenny Budget Loaf.) Legal paperwork in order? Ch—
‘I’m going to give you once last chance, Patricia.’
‘Sweetie-pops,’ she chimed, facing her unwelcome guest. ‘So lovely to see you again!’
She locked stares with Dave Hooper. It wasn’t the first time this week.
‘I mean it, Patricia,’ said Dave. ‘If you go ahead with this auction, I’ll . . .’
