One of the most cherished memories I have of the Ashton’s was the first night I spent in the house; Mr. And Mrs. Ashton had both finished unpacking the boxes that filled the living room. Nestling on the sofa in front of the fire, neither of them spoke a word to each other, and all you could hear was the crackling of the flames. It was so warm and cosy, similar to a scene from a movie. I admired the couple from a distance as they fell asleep, totally exhausted, in each other’s arms. It was from that moment I knew that this was where I belonged.
As soon as the twins were born the whole household was transformed, it rang and chimed with Liam and Anna’s laughter, Mr. Ashton entertained them with his countless bedtime stories, or the wailing which suddenly erupted in the middle of the night. I began to feel a bit neglected; Mrs. Ashton only ever gave me a quick glance or smile. The only other time she had for me was just before she went to bed when, for the majority of the time, she had a toothbrush lodged in her mouth and was pre-occupied with make-up removal.
I was always very truthful, I was a constant source of reassurance, telling Anna how adorable she was whenever she crawled up to me and pulled one of those faces that only a mother could love, though I soon grew to love her face as well. Liam, although he often had that day’s breakfast or lunch covering the majority of his face, was also adorable in his own way. His laugh always made up for the stream of milk trickling from his mouth and down his chin, or the scraps of food stuck to his cheek and the ones that somehow managed to make their way up to his forehead; Mr. Ashton didn’t seem to mind my honesty, although he rarely asked for my point of view.
As the years ambled by I watched Liam and Anna grow; two years old; six years old; thirteen years old. They grew so fast it seemed that if I were to close my eyes their lives would pass me up in a matter of moments. Liam was still the entertainer of the family; he grew up with stand up comedy and joke books. Anna was always quiet, but very polite. From the moment she was born, a tremendous weight was put onto her shoulders- she was to be the woman Mrs. Ashton never grew to be.
“When I was your age I had the chance to be a model,” I would hear Mrs. Ashton tell Anna every time Anna protested about wearing something her mother had bought her. “I did a few fashion shows and photo shoots, but I soon took all of it for granted. Suddenly I was classified as being “too fat” and was advised by my agent that I should move on and find another hobby” It wasn’t a story as such, it was more a lecture as she would then follow with- “You’ve got the body I never had, Anna, and I don’t want you to waste it.” There was nothing Anna could do or say to convince her mum that she had no interest in becoming a model and she found it an incredibly shallow and degrading job. I listened to her tell me all of this, but I was powerless to interfere.
Mrs. Ashton kept the family on a strict diet, she never kept junk food in the house, and she told Mr. Ashton and Liam that if they wanted any, they’d have to buy it with their own money, but she would restrict Anna from having any at all.
“Don’t waste that body of yours.” was the command that echoed through Anna’s mind, it haunted her. Anna grew up on a celery stick diet.
After a while the haunting, disheartening comments Mrs. Ashton made began to sink into Anna; she became obsessed with her looks and her body. Controlled by the reading on the scales. I would observe Anna prodding her food at the dinner table, only eating small fork fulls of it while watching the rest of her family devour it in a matter of minutes. She would then perform the same ritual she had been doing for the past month; throw the contents which remained on her plate into the rubbish and make her way to the bathroom. I witnessed this night after night; no one else ever seemed to notice.
Each night Anna would moan about her body, share her thoughts, her hatred, only I felt as though she was talking at me, and not to me. I persisted that she was thin, only my assurance never seemed to be heard by her. I stayed with Anna every night, though my presence never seemed to help; she would somehow convert my praises into insults. With hatred in her eyes, she would abuse me, strike me until her hands were red with rage, then collapse in front of me in tears. Any attempt at helping her was worthless. She began to get very thin; I could see her ribs and the bones in her arms, she had sticks as legs and a pencil neck which seemed as if it might break snap any minute. As soon as anyone came near she would cover them back up again with the thick sweatshirts she was now living in. I never told anyone about Anna, I cherished our friendship, and I knew that she trusted me, although every time I told her that she was thin, she never seemed to believe me.
One night Anna never returned home from school. Liam always got home after Anna, but this day was different, Anna wasn’t there. Mrs. Ashton received a phone call from the school saying that Anna had collapsed in the bathroom. Anna was brought home, still only half conscious, she was pale with red rings around her eyes. As Mrs. Ashton and Liam hauled her across the living room they looked as if they might break her. Her frail frame collapsed onto the couch in a heap of flesh and bones. She stayed there, motionless.
Mrs. Ashton was as pale as Anna was, she looked scared and confused at the same time. She stroked Anna’s hand as Liam held a damp towel to her forehead. A silent tear ran down her cheek. Among the tears and sobbing she whispered to Anna, as if her words could give her strength.
Trying to comfort his mother, Liam held back the tears in silence. Anna gripped her mother’s hand but her bony fingers were too weak to be stretched right around. As if trying to bring back the model in her, Anna smiled, but her dying eyes revealed to Mrs. Ashton that she was no longer on that road to stardom.
“I love you, mum” her weak voice trailed off as her grip loosened. Her body became dormant, and her eyes were lifeless. With tears streaming down her face, Mrs. Ashton quickly jumped up and rushed into the kitchen, screaming out to Liam to fetch some food, any food he could find.
“She needs to get her strength back.” She shouted from the kitchen.
Liam burst into tears as Mrs. Ashton came back into the living room with food piled up in her arms. Ignoring his cries, she began to lay the food out on the floor. Any attempt at stopping her was futile.
“No,” she shook her head in disbelief and broke free from his grip. She continued to open the packets of food she had brought out. “It’s not too late, she just needs food, she needs her strength back”
“Mum! Stop!” he grabbed both her hands and looked at her through teary eyes. He paused. “She’s dead”
Mrs. Ashton burst into tears and collapsed on Anna.
“Why?” Mrs. Ashton sunk from the sofa onto the floor in tears. “I gave her what she wanted!” she put her head in her hands.
“Mum, this was something none of us could’ve done anything about,” replied Liam, placing himself next to her on the floor. “We didn’t know.”
“We should’ve known,” Mrs. Ashton sobbed into the sleeve of her jumper. “I should’ve known.” She paused as she looked down at the pile of food in front of her. Uncertain whether to believe what had just happened was true, Liam stared vacantly at the fireplace. Silence filled the room. I watched as the heartache set in and the grief fell over them. There was nothing I could do, I tried to help, I’d been there and listened, but it wasn’t enough to save her.
Flustered and uneasy, Mrs. Ashton suddenly rose to her feet and started pacing up and down the room.
“She could’ve talked to me about it, I would’ve understood. Why didn’t she tell me? What did I do wrong? I only wanted the best for her, did I push her too hard?” her voice was shaking and her hands were trembling. In silence, Liam sat, dismayed, watching Mrs. Ashton pace faster and faster, clenching her fists, tears streaming down her face, the veins on her head protruding far enough to cast a shadow on her forehead, her visage turning a vermilion shade of anger. The pace of her voice became faster and faster when suddenly, in a fit of unforeseen rage, she picked up the vase from the mantle behind her and hurled it across the room with such tremendous force it could have broken through a wall. Unfortunately, failing to realise she was the cause of her daughters decline, Mrs. Ashton aimed for the next best thing. She blamed me, the object of innocent reflection; the vase I had always admired from a distance, the china one with meticulous patterns painted from top to bottom, was coming straight for me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I was frozen. As the vase hit, my life shattered along with the memories. The splintered pieces fell to the floor, the cracks in my mirrored face formed a distorted image of the remains of a wasted life.
Who would have thought a reflection could cause so much pain.
