Odette

by Jessica Duchen

  She unpacked her shopping and took out her phone to call her mother. After dialling, she thought better of it and switched off again. Mum would hear the strain in her voice and would insist on interrogating her.

  Where was she going to spend Christmas anyway? Did she have to go to Dorset? For Mum’s sake, of course she did. Yet being in the house without Dad, she would feel like the Little Mermaid, treading on knives with every step.

  She sat at the computer, catching up on her admin and invoicing. When she logged in to her bank account, blue figures on the screen showed her that an article for the Cygnford Daily that would once have paid her £200 now paid £120. There must be some explanation – a misunderstanding between editor and accounts? Or else they’d cut the article and paid her for what they ran, rather than what she wrote? She’d have to check on Monday, unless the accountant had already departed on her ‘annual leave’. Mitzi had not given herself a holiday for four years. She could have used some time off after her father died.

  Outside, the traffic spelled Saturday afternoon, the forebodings of Christmas adding a hint of static to the air. At three, she made some tea, then realised she’d forgotten to buy milk. She pulled on her boots and set off down the stairs.

  As she opened the front door, something seemed to be pushing it in towards her, something heavy and soft. At her feet lay a heap of white feathers, bloodstained.

  In an instant Mitzi was on her knees beside it. Odette the swan had not crashed into another window, but her feathers were ragged and there were bloody streaks on her wings and neck. Her beak was hanging slightly open. Mitzi tucked her under one arm and sprinted back up the stairs.

  Her teeth clenched against the sight of the blood, Mitzi swabbed Odette’s wounds with antiseptic. Whatever could have happened? These cuts were not clean-edged, but jagged tears, raw and varied, some superficial, some vicious rips in her skin. Perhaps an animal had attacked her – a dog or a fox? She was lucky to be alive.

  She retrieved the box and the vet’s blanket from her recycling corner; the swan sank into it. Mitzi stood by, taking in the shape of her snaking neck. Looking after a sick animal was one matter, but…

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I took care of you last time. I’ll take care of you now. But what are we going to do next?’ The bird – no doubt shocked, frightened and exhausted – didn’t react. Poor thing. Mitzi stroked the feathered head with one finger. She left her to sleep and forced herself back to her work. Harry could pick up the milk later, on his way over.

  And what if Odette were there when Harry arrived? It wouldn’t be easy to hide her. Her transformation was due at sundown, which was getting earlier by the day… Mitzi thought fast and grabbed her phone. He didn’t pick up his mobile, so she called the house instead.

  ‘Oh, is Harry there? It’s Mitzi,’ she said to the housemate who answered.

  ‘Hold on, Mitzi,’ said Stuart. Like Harry, he and Chris were involved with the Cygnford Shakespeare Players: Stuart looked after lighting and admin, while Chris wrote the music. Chris also played jazz piano and taught harmony and counterpoint for the university, earning a meagre income that was still significantly larger than Harry’s. The house belonged to Stuart – or more accurately, to his mum.

  ‘Sorry, he’s out…’ said Stuart.

  ‘No worries, I’ll text him.’

  Tapping out her message, she pondered the big deal that a simple question about milk and timing had abruptly become.

  At dusk, the ailing swan woke, roused itself and made unsteady headway towards the bathroom. Mitzi stopped herself from following. She longed to witness the moment when bird became woman, but Odette had managed to push the bathroom door closed, and it seemed kindest to let the mystery remain the secret of its owner, or victim.

  A second later Odette, in her white shift, threw her arms around Mitzi, in tears.

  Mitzi hugged her. ‘It’s OK, you’re safe now. What happened?’

  ‘Mitzi, please forgive – but this time you not forgive, I know, oh, I beg you, forgive.’

  ‘Hush, Odette. Was it a fox?’

  Odette, crumpling onto the chair, shook her head. ‘Swans.’

  ‘Swans? Your own species?’

  ‘I am a stranger. Here swans have different beak from mine, they have pink beak.’

  ‘They’re mute swans. You’re a Bewick’s.’

  ‘So I am different, and they do not like strange bird on river.’

  ‘So they attacked you?’

  Odette covered her face with her hands. ‘I not know what to do,’ she said into her palms. ‘I am not swan for swans, not person for people – I am nothing, Mitzi, nothing at all…’

  Mitzi gave her a tissue and sat beside her, awkward, while the girl mopped her streaming eyes. ‘Odette, you’re beautiful and wonderful and people love you. You’re from somewhere else, that’s all. The swans would be the same with any stranger on their territory. Humans behave like this too, you know. It’s horrible, but it’s not personal, it’s not about who you really are. They don’t look that far.’

  Odette’s eyes were bloodshot. ‘What shall I do? How can I go home?’

  Home? To the log hut she’d built on her own? To those desperate winters and long, lonely migrations? ‘Don’t try and think about it now – you’re in shock. I’ll make you a hot drink and you must rest. My brother’s coming over later and I’m cooking for him, so you can join us, but it’d be best if… if you didn’t tell him anything. Remember your promise?’

  ‘I say nothing – but what we will tell him?’

  ‘I’ll think of something. Now, do try and stop crying.’

  ‘Is relief to cry.’ Odette half smiled. ‘As swan, I cannot cry. Is such relief.’

  Mitzi turned away to put on the kettle. She never cried. Perhaps that was why the pain never went away… She knew this theory perfectly well, having heard it enough times from a tweed-jacketed bereavement counsellor. Acting on the advice was less simple.

  Equipped with sweet tea, tissues and the camp bed, Odette was soon ensconced again in the study, amid Robert’s crates and boxes, where she quickly fell asleep. In the kitchen Mitzi began to chop vegetables and mozzarella to make pizzas for three. Under her knife, onions fell into split layers and tomatoes into flat ovals, thin juice coating her fingers. Tears or none, Odette was back. What was she going to do about it?

  It’s not as if she’s a paying lodger with a contract and a job, Mitzi thought. She’s a hundred per cent dependent on me, just because it happened to be my window that got in her way… The lodger idea was useful. That was what she would tell Harry: she had advertised online and found—

  The bell rang, Harry’s usual insistent press. Mitzi said a silent prayer, then let him in.

  He bounded up the stairs, two at a time. He was wearing his old leather jacket, jeans, his usual cap and a black t-shirt emblazoned with a skull, and in one hand he brandished a carton of milk.

  ‘You got the message, then.’

  ‘Better still, I got the part.’

  ‘You’re going to play Feste?’

  ‘For the sun it shineth every day! You didn’t come to the Dream, Mits.’

  ‘I wanted to, but like I said, something came up. Let me get the dinner on.’

  Harry headed automatically towards the fridge. Mitzi, wondering how to raise the topic of her new flatmate, caught her breath as Harry’s foot missed the edge of the swan’s box – but his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘It’s in St Mark’s Theatre. New venue, state of the art technology, the works.’

  Mitzi began to load the three amply filled pizza crusts into the oven. Harry did a double-take.

  ‘Three? Your new financial whatsit chap’s coming over?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘You haven’t – um – invited someone for me?’ He leaned towards her, eyebrows working hard.

  ‘Harry, um, this has happened rather quickly, but I’ve got a sort of a lodger and she’s joining us later.’

  ‘A what?
Madam Mitzi Live-Alone? You didn’t have one of those the other day.’

  ‘Her name is Odette and she’s Russian.’

  Harry’s mouth fell open.

  ‘She’s not feeling too good at the moment. She came off her bike,’ Mitzi improvised. ‘She’s not used to cycling.’

  ‘Is she pretty? How old is she? I want to meet her!’

  ‘She’s in the – her room – sleeping.’

  ‘When will she wake up, then?’

  ‘Harry.’ Mitzi, arms akimbo, growled against her brother’s grin. ‘She’s not for you. Got it?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Take my word for it.’

  At that moment there came the sound of soft footsteps behind the study door; it opened a slit into the lamplit little entrance hall. Odette herself peered out, cautious as a shy cat, her hair spreading around her shoulders, the cuts and gashes on her face dim in the soft light, but defined against her pallor. Mitzi saw Harry’s eyes widen and heard him draw in his breath. He seemed temporarily, and most unusually, lost for words.

  ‘Odette,’ she gulped, ‘this is my brother, Harry. Would you like to come and eat with us? Harry – meet Odette…’

  ‘Ochin priatna,’ declared Harry, swinging into performance mode and flashing his widest smile.

  Odette, eyes fixed on Harry in apparent amazement, mumbled the Russian greeting in return.

  ‘It’s so very lovely to meet you.’ Harry assumed his most polished, musical tones. ‘My dear sister didn’t even tell me that someone was moving in with her.’

  ‘Hal, will you check the pizzas?’ Mitzi interrupted. ‘Odette needs to get dressed and she’s a bit short of clothes, so I need to find her something of mine.’

  ‘Madam, thy wish is my command! Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George!’ Harry swung away towards the kitchen.

  ‘That’s my not-so-little brother,’ remarked Mitzi. ‘He’s an actor.’

  Odette gazed after him, eyes luminous.

  Mitzi hurried to her bedroom to find the red jumper and black skirt. Soon Odette, wearing them, emerged slowly into the lamplit living room, blinking. Harry, who was still holding the oven gloves after swapping pizzas between shelves, nearly dropped them.

  ‘That’s the best-behaved pizza anyone could hope to meet on an average day,’ he remarked. His gaze settled on Odette and lingered.

  On the table where the swan had made her crash landing, Mitzi arranged a green and white cloth, with padded undersheet to protect Robert’s precious mahogany, plus white crockery and her best Ikea wineglasses. She rummaged under the sink for two candles, matches and a silver candlestick that had not been touched since she moved in, associated as it was with Pete. Over the sink, the flames warmed her face and hands as she twisted the wax stems deeper into the holders. She glanced round, trying to catch Odette’s eye – to find that the swan girl and Harry had sat down opposite one another, gazing wide-eyed over the plates. The candles, placed between them, cast gold-flushed light onto both faces; Mitzi tried to memorise their expressions for later reference, possibly sketching. A whiff from the oven reminded her that the pizza, if not attended to, would burn.

  ‘And once again,’ said Harry as Mitzi dished out, ‘no meat? Not a scale of fish? Not one feather of poultry?’

  ‘You know there isn’t.’

  ‘I don’t know how you survive on green stuff all the time. I’d be worm-feed in two minutes. What about you, Odette, are you veggie too?’

  ‘I eat mostly plant,’ said Odette uncertainly.

  ‘You see, you vegetarians just don’t get enough protein, so you waste away to skin and bone. What you need is a big Christmas dinner with roast turkey or goose or swan…’

  ‘Harry!’ Mitzi protested.

  ‘You think me too thin?’ Odette looked so hurt that Harry recoiled.

  ‘I think you,’ he said, ‘the most beautiful girl I have ever seen… The thing is, I’m a bloke, and I’m hungry and – Mits, you could have cooked that kamikaze swan that tried to kill itself on your window. Good dinners for a week there.’

  Odette, who appeared more than reassured, was trying to suppress a fit of giggles.

  ‘It’s illegal to eat swans – they all belong to the Queen,’ said Mitzi. ‘Now, why don’t you tell Odette about the play?’

  ‘What one, play—?’ said Odette.

  ‘I’ve just been in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Shakespeare. Do you know Shakespeare in Russia?’

  Odette sat up and closed her eyes for a moment; then she let forth a stream of Russian, declaiming in a strong, beautifully articulated tone. Harry’s eyebrows shot upwards.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘From Gamlet. To live or to live not, he says. But me, I not understand Gamlet. I think if you alive, you must live. Is wonderful living – I love living!’ Her face had begun to glow with the joy of being human in congenial company. Mitzi, her heart sinking into her slippers, could almost see Harry’s mind twirling faster and faster. She couldn’t remember the last time he had dated the same girl for more than a fortnight. And Odette needed someone to break her spell.

  ‘You are always actor?’ Odette asked.

  ‘Well, right now I’m looking for an agent and doing some auditions in London. Otherwise, I hang around Cygnford and do what acting I can, and I work regularly with the Shakespeare Players. But this summer’s looking good. I’m going to be Feste in Twelfth Night, and we’re taking it to the Edinburgh Fringe. Next year we’re going to do this huge Shakespeare project all over town. What about you? What brings you to Cygnford?’

  Odette bit her lip. ‘Is by chance… I land in Cygnford. I like, I think maybe I stay here.’

  ‘I see… well, I’m very, very glad you decided to land on my sister. So, what else have you been doing? Apart from falling off bicycles?’

  ‘Mitzi and me, we go eating – and we have wonderful drink named chicken tail.’

  ‘Cocktail,’ said Mitzi.

  Harry pushed back his chair and gave a roar of laughter. Odette joined in. Mitzi wished she could stop worrying for long enough to be part of it too.

  ‘So, look. We must do things, you and me, and go places,’ Harry offered, while they made good progress with Mitzi’s best pizzas to date. ‘If you want to do anything, anytime, just call me. Mitzi will give you my number.’

  Presumably, Mitzi reflected, munching, Odette had never used a telephone. Thank heavens he had offered up his number, rather than asking for hers…

  ‘How long are you staying?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Is difficult. You see, I not know how to go home.’

  ‘And where’s home?’

  ‘I live in Siberian forest. Very beautiful place, no people. I live there long, long time.’

  ‘You don’t look old enough to have lived anywhere long, long time,’ Harry smiled into her eyes. Odette blinked.

  ‘Please excuse,’ she said, pink-cheeked, and rose to go to the bathroom.

  Harry gazed after her, breathing in as if the air were preserving the perfume of innocence that lingered around her. ‘My God, Mits,’ he said, as soon as they heard the bathroom door close. ‘Where did you find her? She is unbelievable!’

  ‘True.’

  ‘But… bloody hell.’ He sat up, gazing after her. ‘Seriously, I think I’m in love.’

  ‘Harry—’

  ‘Come on, don’t wet-blanket everything! Give me a chance!’ He flopped back in his chair, eyes glazed, long legs extended. With his mud-tinged trainers, faded jeans and high-cheekboned face – open features, blue eyed, fair skinned – could he really resemble the new-look prince Odette was hoping to find? Mitzi’s very own, infuriating little brother? Surely not?

  ‘You go for a different girlie, if not two, every week,’ she reminded him. ‘And you always want the ones you can’t have. Odette’s got enough to worry about without you pestering her.’

  ‘Just you wait. If I ask her to the Christmas ball at Bardingley, you’ll see, she’ll say yes at once
.’

  ‘That,’ said Mitzi, ‘is exactly what I mean.’

  Odette was back a moment later, and Harry fixed her with his broad smile.

  ‘What are you doing Tuesday?’ he said. ‘Because I was wondering: would you like to come to a ball with me on Tuesday evening?’

  ‘A ball? Wonderful! Mitzi also?’

  Harry caught Mitzi’s eye with a quick ‘told you so’ wink.

  ‘I’ve got something on,’ Mitzi said.

  ‘It would be the two of us, plus some friends of mine, who you’ll love. It’s a special fundraising do, a charity for preserving some of the ancient sites in this area, but I’ve got freebies from my musician housemate because he’s playing. We can stay as long as you like – it’s an all-night job.’

  ‘Music? Oh, I love to go! And on Tuesdays I always speak English anyway.’

  ‘Da!’ Harry encouraged, despite his surprise. ‘I’d take you out tomorrow too if I wasn’t rehearsing. You won’t change your mind?’

  ‘Oh, no. I never change mind.’ Odette beamed at him.

  ‘Can I have that in writing?’

  Mitzi rose to draw the curtains. Some rearrangement was taking place in the darkness behind the branches of the tree: the silhouette of a squat body and the silent ruffling of feathers. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s that owl again. Harry, did I tell you there seems to be an owl living in the chestnut tree?’

  ‘Where?’ Harry peered out.

  ‘Did you see it, Odette?’ Mitzi turned.

  Odette was standing behind them, her shoulders sagging. ‘Owl?’

  ‘They’re not so common round here.’ Harry took in Odette’s expression. ‘Scared of them?’

  ‘Where is owl?’

  Like an optical illusion bringing the tree to life, the creature separated itself first from the trunk, then from the gnarled branch; silent, it launched a wide wingspan and took to the air, gliding out of sight towards the river. Mitzi and Harry gasped in joint admiration.

  Odette seemed to be shielding her face with her arms, almost as she had when Mitzi first saw her.

  ‘Odette? What…?’