“That’s for a good reason, mate,” Apollo muttered.
“My wish is your command,” said Dad. He was practically bursting with excitement. “Last but not least. Helen, what will you have?”
I was at a slight disadvantage, seeing as I hadn’t been to any palaces, feasts or far-off continents. But I wouldn’t swap their exotic meals for my choice. “I’ll have curry goat, please,” I said. “Mum’s version.”
When I was eight, I had a three-day tummy bug and couldn’t keep a thing down. When my appetite returned, the only thing I wanted was Jamaican curry goat. Even though it meant going against her vegetarian principles, Mum called Grandma Thomas for the recipe and made a whole pot for me. After three days of plain crackers and water, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
“Very well,” said Dad. “Let’s hope this works!” He rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm through the hole in the horn. Not for the first time since moving here, I wondered if they were all in on a practical joke at my expense.
But then the smells appeared. The unmistakable scent of roast meat and almond biscuits mingled with the spiced fragrance of the goat curry. My stomach rumbled and I realized how hungry I was.
Dad pulled out several mismatched plates and bowls (yes, from the horn), directing them with a swish of his finger to the kitchen table. Aphrodite had introduced me to levitating objects, but I’d never bore of that trick.
The plate landed in front of me with a gentle thud. I inspected the food. It was uncanny – it looked, smelled and tasted exactly like my favourite ever meal. Even the plate (blue with a white floral border) looked exactly like the plates Mum used to have.
Tears pricked my eyes and I jerked my head down to hide it. Luckily, everyone was too impressed with their meals to notice me getting emotional over crockery.
“Oh, this brings back memories,” Apollo said, nibbling on a pigeon bone. He looked ecstatic.
We ate in silence, punctuated only by the sound of soup slurps and cutlery clanging against bowls and plates.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Dad said, getting up from the table. “My organic fermented broccoli is nearly ready!”
He opened the heavy glass jar of green mush and placed it on the table. “Dig in, folks.”
The rankest smell ever invaded our nostrils, forcing us to cover our noses. “Dad, it smells like bin juice!” I said while Aphrodite fled the room and Eros opened every kitchen window.
“Oh mate, this is going to put me right off my food,” Apollo groaned.
“So melodramatic,” Dad muttered. “I’m putting it back in the fridge. But you’re all missing out on an excellent source of probiotic bacteria.”
Aphrodite returned with a huge canister of air freshener, spraying it liberally around the fridge. Once it was safe to sniff, we returned to our meals.
I looked over to see what Dad was eating. He was working his way through a large round flatbread topped with different meat and vegetable stews.
“What’s that, Dad?” I asked in between spoonfuls of curry-soaked rice.
“Why, you’ve never had injera? I’m surprised your mother didn’t feed you Ethiopian food,” Dad said, smiling. “One of our first dates was at this Ethiopian place next door to her flat. She wanted to surprise me with a cuisine I’d never tasted before.”
I smiled, remembering the jars full of unfamiliar grains and pulses Mum was fond of cooking. “Sounds like the sort of thing Mum would love.”
“I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was familiar with Ethiopian food,” Dad continued. “In fact, I’ve been eating it for centuries. Anyway, this meal always reminds me of that night. We talked and talked until the manager was ready to shut the place down.”
The lump in my throat grew heavier. I realized that Dad must have loads of stories about Mum that I’d never heard before. Even though they split up when I was a toddler, they still had a few years together before I was even born. What was Mum like back then?
“Ah, Athena is here finally,” Dad said, interrupting my thoughts.
It took me a few seconds before I heard the front door open and close, followed by Athena appearing in the kitchen.
“Sorry I’m late, Father. The law firm is keeping me busy at the moment,” she said while unravelling the woollen scarf she didn’t need to wear.
Why, oh why, couldn’t Athena live here instead of Aphrodite? Athena wouldn’t judge me for wearing hoodies or point out my split ends like Aphrodite does.
I always feel brighter after I’ve talked to Athena, like her intelligence is a substance that rubs off. And no matter what the myths say, she is every bit as beautiful as Aphrodite. She’d scraped her black curls into a bun and wore her usual uniform of khaki trousers and a plain white shirt under her winter coat.
“It’s wonderful to see you all,” Athena said. Dad, Apollo and Eros rose to kiss her on the cheek. Aphrodite did not.
Athena pulled up a chair next to me and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. I realized this was the most of my immortal family that I’d seen in one room. No wonder Dad looked so pleased, being surrounded by his daughters, son and grandson. In fact, they all looked good. Their skin glowed with an amber hue that deepened as the evening went on. It was like they had an energy boost just by sharing the same room.
“Darling, you must tell me everything about your new job. It sounds fascinating,” Dad told Athena. She’d channelled her intellect and passion for justice into taking on pro bono cases at a local law firm. She helped people sue dodgy landlords, that sort of thing.
Aphrodite snorted. “Yes, please do tell us everything, Athena. I want nothing more than to hear about your contact with the great unwashed,” she said.
“Some of us like to put our skills to good use, Aphrodite,” she replied. “I must say, it provides the most invigorating challenge. I could use my powers to give us a head start in our cases, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Oh, I always put my skills to good use,” Aphrodite purred. “Just ask Paris.”
Apollo guffawed like they were on the playground slinging “your mum” jokes. What was the big deal about Paris?
“Enough,” bellowed Dad. “I told you both after the Trojan War that I never wanted to hear about that blasted apple again.”
That was it! I remembered why Athena and Aphrodite had beef. In one of my Greek mythology books, there’s a story about the Golden Apple of Discord. There was a beauty contest (um, patriarchal much?) between Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Somehow, this kid called Paris of Troy ended up being the judge. The winner’s prize would be the golden apple. Aphrodite used her so-called charms to dazzle Paris and won the golden apple, much to Hera and Athena’s anger. One thing led to another, and soon enough it ended in a colossal war won by a wooden horse.
All that over a sparkly bit of fruit? No, I don’t get it either.
“I mean it when I say I’m fascinated by your career path, Athena,” Dad said. “It must take tremendous self-control not to use your powers against the opposition.”
“Completely. Take my current case. This slimy landlord went years without doing repairs and now—”
“Ugh, this is depressing,” Aphrodite said not so quietly under her breath. “Look at how pathetic we’ve become. Sitting here, discussing mortals.”