by Helen Brain
Right then the servants bring in jugs of lemonade.
“Stay,” Cassie says. “Have some juice. You look so hot.”
I sit back. It is hot and I don’t feel like the long drive home in the midday sun. I’ll stay a bit longer. As long as Lucas isn’t here.
“That long hair of yours must be so heavy,” Cassie says, lifting my plait. “When last did you have it trimmed?”
“Trimmed? Never.”
She’s astounded. “You’ve never been to the hairdresser? Mother,” she calls, “Ebba’s never had her hair done.”
Evelyn is in the kitchen, but she peers around the door at me. “You poor thing. We must fix that at once. I’m going to call Pietro.”
“Pietro’s a genius,” Cassie says. “Everyone says so.”
Evelyn sends a servant down to the shrine. A few minutes later Pietro comes puffing in through the front door, beads of sweat on his upper lip. “Oh my word!” he exclaims when he sees me. “Do you need a makeover or what?”
He sees my face drop. “Don’t you worry, I’m gonna find the Cinderella lurking there under all that hair and invite her to the ball.”
“Come to the bathroom,” Cassie says, pulling me up. She leads me through the courtyard to a large room lined with marble tiles. It’s so grand. It’s like something from olden-days Hollywood.
“Are the taps real gold?” I ask.
“Yes. Prospiroh has blessed us with so much.”
I think of my bathroom at Greenhaven, the wooden floor, the ball-and-claw bathtub, the metal taps. It seems so dowdy compared to this. I wish my aunt had smartened it up.
Cassie finds me a stool to sit on while Pietro opens his leather bag and whisks out a linen cape, a comb and a pair of scissors. He flips the cape open and then ties it around my neck. He undoes my plait, lifts my hair and runs it through his fingers, examining every strand. Then he swings me around so I can’t see my reflection.
“Are you going to cut it?” I ask.
“Shh,” he says, tapping my hand playfully. “You have to trust me. Now lean over the basin so I can wash your hair.”
I watch Cassie’s face as he gets to work. She’s definitely approving of the process.
When he’s finished cutting, long red curls lie around the legs of the stool. I shake my head. The heaviness is gone. Cassie’s right. This is going to be so much cooler in the heat.
“Wonderful,” declares Evelyn, coming in for a look. She squeezes my arm. “You look gorgeous.”
Hal tries to come in, but they shoo him away. “You can’t see Ebba until the makeover’s finished,” Cassie says.
Next, Pietro massages a mixture into my scalp. It burns, but he pouts when I tell him. “You have to suffer to be beautiful,” he says.
While the lotion is drying, he gets to work on my eyebrows. I squeal as he plucks the first hair, but he smacks my hand again. “What did I say about no pain no gain?” he says, pursing his lips. “Now be brave, sister. The end result will be worth it.”
He finishes attacking my eyebrows and turns to my fingernails. He tuts when he sees my birthmark. “Such a shame,” he murmurs, stroking my fingers. “Such an ugly birthmark on such lovely hands. If you like I can find a tattoo artist to work on it. Turn it into a butterfly, or a unicorn perhaps.”
I hide my hand under my thigh. “No thanks.”
Cassie laughs. “Pietro wants everyone perfect. You won’t believe the number of sit-ups he makes me do to get my tummy flat.”
Evelyn puts her arm around his shoulders. “We can’t do without him.”
Pietro bats his eyelashes at her. “Thank you, darling.”
When my nails are done he washes the lotion out of my hair and takes me back to the courtyard. He makes me sit in the sun while three servants fan my hair to dry it. He outlines my eyes with kohl, and tells me to pout while he paints my lips with a pot of red balm.
Cassie is getting so excited, hopping around us, getting in the way, clapping her hands when he finishes putting blusher on my cheeks. “That robe’s such an ugly colour for you,” she says. “I’ve got just the one for your skin colour. Wait here.”
“Ebba’s not going anywhere. Are you?” Pietro asks, mock-slapping my shoulder.
A moment later Cassie is back with a beautiful, soft turquoise robe. “Here, put this on,” she says.
“Gorgeous,” Pietro says, approvingly. “I’ve taught you well, Miss Cassie.” He claps his hands and the servants drop the fans and leave. Then he and Cassie hold up the cape to form a barrier and I slip off my old thick robe and drop the silky turquoise one over my head. It feels amazing against my skin.
“Now, what are we going to do about those sandals?” Pietro says, with his finger on his chin. “They are beyond hideous. Where did you get them?”
I blush. I was hoping he wasn’t going to get as far as my feet. “From … from the colony.”
“Exactly! I knew it. Serviceable and durable. Ghastly. We’ll have to find you something pretty.”
“What size are you?” Cassie asks. “I’ve got hundreds of shoes. Here, try these on.”
She slips off her shoes and pushes one towards me. I knew this was going to happen. I’m bright red. “They … they won’t fit me.”
“Ebba!” she exclaims, “your feet are enormous!”
I know that. I hope Hal didn’t hear her. It’s embarrassing enough having them on show without having someone shriek about them.
Pietro pats my shoulder. “No worries, sister. I’ll get the shoemaker to run you up some gorgeous sandals this week. And some robes. You deserve only the best. A beautiful girl like you.”
Cassie claps her hands. “Ooh, yes. This is such fun. You look fantastic. Can we do the reveal now, Pietro?”
He stands back and examines me from head to – well, not to toe; he can’t bring himself to look at my hideous sandals again – to the hem of my robe. He flicks up my hair around my shoulders, and pats his tummy, very pleased with himself. “I think we’re just about ready. What a transformation. What a transformation!”
I can’t wait to see what they’ve done to me. They both look so delighted. Cassie’s eyes are shining as she leads me to the hall, where there’s a large mirror in a fancy gold frame.
“When I count to three you can open them,” Pietro says. “One, two … three.”
I open my eyes and my mouth drops open. It’s not me reflected there. This girl has a long neck, high cheekbones and brown shoulder-length hair with a fringe. Her eyebrows frame her eyes, making them look bigger and greener. Cassie and Evelyn are delighted. They clap and laugh, asking me again and again if I love it.
This isn’t me – plain, gawky, red-haired Ebba.
“You are gorgeous,” Pietro exclaims happily. “You look like a princess.”
Then a servant strikes a gong. Lunch is served. Hal’s face is a picture as I come through the door into the family dining room. He can’t stop looking at me. “Wow,” he says. “Just wow.”
“She looks like one of us,” Cassie says happily.
OF COURSE LEONID and Aunty Figgy don’t like it. “You should never have let those people get their hands on your beautiful hair,” Aunty Figgy exclaims when I get home. “Just look what they’ve done to you. You look like one of them!” She’s really angry.
“Well, I like the way I look,” I tell her. “Everyone kept saying I was a witch because of my hair.”
She shakes her head and squeezes her mouth shut like she’s trying to stop the words escaping. Her shoulders are hunched up as she picks up the broom and starts sweeping the kitchen floor, like she can sweep me out with the dirt. Who is she to tell me how I can and can’t look?
“I was hot,” I say. “My hair has never, ever been trimmed. Pietro says I had the worst split ends he’s ever seen.”
She huffs. “There was nothing wrong with it, and the colour was beautiful. And now they’ve gone and ruined it.”
“It will wash out – that’s what Pietro says, and he’s the bes
t hairdresser in the federation.”
She leans the broom against the cupboard and stands up straight, hands on her hips. “You should be proud of your red hair. It’s just like Theia’s.” She straightens the sprigs of lavender in the vase that stands at the statue’s feet. “If you forget your legacy, you forget who you are.”
Not likely, I think. How can I possibly forget it when she’s there reminding me day and night? But she’s looking fierce, and I don’t dare backchat her. Instead I break some news I’m sure will thrill her.
“I’ve got some friends coming over for lunch on Friday,” I say. “There will be six of us. Can you please make a nice meal?”
Her face darkens. “What friends?” she almost spits. “That boy who’s hanging around here all the time – the High Priest’s son?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “The High Priest and his family are not your friends, Ebba. You’re a Den Eeden. And you’re asking for trouble inviting people like that onto Greenhaven.”
“They’re my friends,” I say firmly, “and they’re coming, whether you approve or not.”
Later that day I see her sitting in front of the statue of the Goddess in the window. She’s got a look of total concentration on her face and she doesn’t hear me when I come into the kitchen. The smell of buchu fills the room. I don’t want to disturb her, so I creep away.
AUNTY FIGGY HARDLY speaks to me for the next two days. She’s muttering as she cooks and cleans, praying to the Goddess for protection. It starts to get on my nerves. Why can’t she just relax and be happy for me that I’ve made some friends? She just wants me to live here alone like an old lady, seeing nobody, doing nothing. I wish I’d let Mr Frye fire her after all.
But on Thursday she comes into the sitting room, where I’m practising my reading. It’s mid-morning and I’m expecting Hal to arrive for my next reading lesson, and I can’t wait to see him. I’ve been practising every spare minute.
“Ebba,” she says, “please listen to me.”
I put down the book with a sigh. “What is it, Aunty Figgy?”
“I don’t think you understand. Greenhaven land is sacred. You can’t just invite any Tom, Dick or Harry here. You’ve got to be very careful.”
“Hal and Cassie aren’t any Tom, Dick or Harry,” I snap. “They’re my friends. And they’re bringing some of their friends to meet me and to see the house. It’s you who don’t understand. You’re so prejudiced against the High Priest that you won’t hear me. The people at the shrine are lovely. They really made me feel at home. And it’s not like I’m going to let anyone damage my home. I care about it too, you know.”
“Ebba,” she says. Her tone is patronising like I’m five years old, and it pisses me off. “Greenhaven is the only place where Theia is still allowed to reign. That’s why I don’t want you inviting Prospiroh’s people here. They want to destroy you, us, Greenhaven.”
I snort. “I hardly think Hal and Cassie want to destroy me, Aunty Figgy. I think you’re forgetting that the High Priest saved me.”
She shakes her head. “No good will come of it, no good at all.”
“Well, I don’t care,” I say. “I’m the boss, and if I want to invite my friends for lunch, I’m going to, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Unless you want me to tell Mr Frye?”
That shuts her up. She turns on her heel and flounces out, leaving me seething. I’m not a flipping child, damnit.
AT NOON THE next day the grand table in the dining room is set for six. Aunty Figgy may be sulking, but she’s prepared a generous meal. There are loaves of home-made bread, dishes of roasted vegetables, goat’s-milk cheese and pickles, butter and apricot jam, and a big cake made of figs, honey and walnuts. It’s not sophisticated food like Hal’s family eat, and I hope they don’t think it’s too simple.
I run to the door as soon as I hear the High Priest’s carriage coming down the driveway. Out jump Hal, Cassie and their friends Pamza, Oliver and Dax. They’re laughing and joking as they come up the steps, and they greet me with huge hugs.
I feel so warm and happy as I squeeze them tight. I’ve got friends at last and I’m going to show them my house and farm. Isi takes one look at the crowd of laughing kids, runs into my room and crawls under the bed.
Then someone else gets out of the carriage. Lucas. He’s his usual skinny, hunched, uptight self, looking around with a sour look on his face like he’s the sin inspector or something.
“Sorry about him,” Cassie says, gesturing with her thumb towards her half-brother. “Just as we were leaving, he came running up and got into the coach. I told him he wasn’t invited, but he insisted on coming anyway.”
Oh no. Not him. But I have to be polite. “You’re very welcome, Lucas,” I say, shaking his hand. His fingers are cold and knobbly. “Come inside. You must all be thirsty. Would you like some lemon cordial?”
“I’m starving,” says Hal. “I hope you’ve got some of that famous bread Uncle Fergis is always raving about.”
I gesture to the table, and his face lights up.
“Oh, yum,” says Oliver, slicing the crust off the hot bread and spreading it thickly with butter. “Can we tuck in?”
“You already have,” laughs Cassie, smacking his hand.
They don’t wait for me to answer. They sit down at the table and start eating. Everyone except Lucas.
“Wouldn’t you like some bread and cheese?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and sits down at the far end of the table, alone. “I’m fasting,” he says, and I feel rebuked, as if laying out delicious food is a sin.
It’s confusing. I thought Prospiroh was happy with abundance. Or maybe my food isn’t good enough for him? But Cassie and Hal and their friends have no problems with Aunty Figgy’s cooking.
“Your kitchen girl is unbelievable,” Pamza says. “I wish ours could make food like this. Where do you get the produce from?”
“It’s all from Greenhaven,” I say. “From our own farm.”
They think that’s incredible. They think everything about Greenhaven is astonishing. After lunch they want to explore and they swarm from room to room, opening wardrobes, unpacking trunks and drawers. Then the boys go outside to climb the big ficus tree that towers over the front garden. Only Lucas is quiet. He’s found a book in the study, and is sitting alone, away from the mess of dirty dishes at the dining-room table, reading.
Cassie and Pamza find a hatbox in one of the bedrooms, and bring it into my room, where we can watch the boys through the window.
“Here, Ebba. Stop watching my brother and try on this hat,” Cassie says, nudging me. She hands me a pink frilly hat and Pamza chooses a black pillbox hat with a veil.
“Incredible,” Cassie exclaims as she fluffs up the ostrich feathers on the brim of her straw hat. “It’s like something a superstar would wear in the old world. I wish they still made kinetikas. I’m sure I could have gone to Hollywood.” And she picks up the hand mirror to see what it looks like from behind.
Pamza’s taken off her hat, and she giggles as she tries on a brown wig she’s found in the bottom drawer of the dressing table.
It reminds me of Jasmine’s curly brown hair. I feel a pang of longing for her. What would she think of these girls? Would she like them? Would she just scratch through my dressing-table drawers without asking?
“He’s so handsome,” Pamza says, stopping preening for a moment to look out of the window.
“Who’s so handsome?” I ask. “Dax?”
“Hal, of course. Just look at him. He’s so athletic. He’s climbing that tree like a squirrel.”
He sees us watching him and waves from between the branches.
“I wish the High Priest would arrange his marriage,” Pamza says wistfully, “and put us all out of our misery.”
Cassie pulls a scarf over Pamza’s head. “Here comes the bride,” she sings. “I’d like to have you for my sister-in-law, Pamzy. Then I can be your bridesmaid.”
“I bet if Hal could choose, he’d p
ick Ebba,” Pamza says. “He talks about you all the time.”
I don’t know what to say, but she gives another giggle. “You’re blushing, aren’t you, Ebba?” And she tickles my cheeks with a lock of hair from the wig.
“You know what this outfit needs?” Cassie says. She’s pulled on one of the minidresses she’s found in the wardrobe.
Pamza giggles at the sight of her legs. “I can’t believe they wore dresses as short as this in the old days,” she says. “No wonder Prospiroh sent the Purification. They showed everything!”
Cassie giggles with her. “Don’t tell my mom and dad, hey?” She admires herself in the mirror, tucking her long hair behind her ears. “It needs a necklace. Didn’t your great-aunt have any jewellery?” She opens the carved wooden box on the dressing table, and the next thing I know, Isi is halfway out from under the bed, growling. Her hackles are raised.
“What is it, girl?” I ask, ruffling the fur at her neck.
She’s staring at Cassie and her ears are back.
“Isi, stop it,” I say. Then I see. The room goes cold. There’s an unfriendly force swirling up around me. And the amulet is blinking on Cassie’s neck.
She’s entranced by it. “I adore this. It’s just amazing. Can I have it, Ebba?” she begs. “Please, pretty please?”
Isi is still growling. She’s edging towards Cassie, snarling.
“Put your dog outside, Ebba,” Pamza says. “It’s scaring me.”
I pull Isi into the bathroom and shut the door. She whimpers.
“It’s just gorgeous,” Cassie says. “Please, Ebba. I gave you that turquoise robe. Can’t I have this?”
I don’t know what to say. Lucas has stopped reading. He’s watching us through the open doorway, his eyes narrowed.
“Um … I can’t give it away,” I stutter. “I’m really sorry. I’d give it to you, I promise, but my mom gave it to me. It’s the only thing I’ve got from her.”
“Oh!” Cassie looks like I’ve slapped her. “I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me your mom gave it to you. It’s just so pretty,” she says wistfully, twirling it around her finger. “I’ve never seen another one like it. And it looks so awesome on me. Maybe we can swap for some more of my things?”
