© 1995 Linda Moore

On the way home, I bumped into a friend whom I hadn't seen in months and he gave me a lift to my doorstep with the bags - not a single one of the handles had snapped. I couldn't believe it when I put the shopping away - not one single mouldy spud, nor a dented can or bruised apple.

Took a look around the flat. Someone had done the washing up, washed the floor, dusted and vacuum cleaned. The usual despairing mess was tidy. Shiny. But... who'd done it? I mean, I was single... Divorced... my ex hadn't had a clue what to do with a duster, save blow his nose on it, and besides, I had the only key.

In a daze I went to my part-time job. The manager called me into her office, smiling like a child with a big bag of sweets. "Josie," she said, "you've mentioned often enough that you'd like to work full-time. We have a full-time position as a supervisor - your hard work and commitment to the firm has been noted. Would you be interested?"

I was the one smiling like a child with a big bag of sweets as I listened to the run-down of my new duties.

My job was a physical one and I often came home aching, desperate for a bath and bed. But that night the bath was waiting for me: steaming hot just as I liked it, with expensive-smelling bubbles. As I languished, looking around for my guardian angel, I smelt the delicious aroma of cooking steak - I hadn't eaten steak in well over a year because it was too pricy, yet it was my favourite meal.

I had a dream about playing a golden harp on a beautiful mountainside, but it was only when I got up and found the letter informing me that I'd inherited the entire fortune of an unknown relative that I realised I must be a goddess.

One look in the mirror confirmed it - I was surrounded by a faint but pretty aura, glimmering plainly in the dim light of my room.

As soon as I could, I left my job and was given glowing best wishes and an enormous bouquet of flowers that just refused to die. I kept them in a vase on my windowsill from where they cast a delicious scent around my entire house. I found an honest financial adviser - it was easy to tell, because I discovered I could read his mind - and he did the financial equivalent of planting my money and making it grow. I bought a country house and hired a housekeeper and a handsome young gardener who seemed fascinated as my vase of flowers continued to thrive. Apart from young, the gardener was virile and promptly became my lover, just as soon as I'd set an expensive and skilled beautician on my tired skin and fingernails, and had a Vidal Sassoon hairstyle fitted. I seemed to be growing younger by the day and was soon a legend, surrounded by adoring friends who would bend over backwards to be nice to me.

I took on a collection of lovers, on occasion several simultaneously, sitting back with a smile as I watched them vie for my attentions and read their jealous minds. Sometimes I refused to say which of my circle of admirers were lovers and which merely friends so that their attentions would be greater. The mental politics and plotting as they tried to work out who was in favour, and who was not, kept me entertained for hours.

So I had a harem, and also friends who genuinely loved me, attracted like moths to a flame. I was able to see the world without needing a single inoculation - I was immune to sickness. I had a decent education at last with private and often luscious tutors, and I even passed my driving test first time round - after just three lessons. Being a goddess was wonderful, the best religious experience I'd ever had...

And every night I had that same dream, of playing a harp on a mountainside, but nobody ever came to keep me company there.

I was walking round the shopping centre wondering what I could do. I'd become an accomplished trumpet player, pianist, flautist, chess player, tennis player, you-name-it player, and could speak a whole host of languages fluently. I had a house full of fine art, artistic people, blooming flowers which smelt a big sickly these days, expensive hi-fi, tasty men. I'd seen every country in the world and I was stunningly beautiful with a figure for which many a woman would have scratched my eyes out - I had only to think about slimming, and the excess flab would vanish. When I wished for something, it appeared. I could've dismissed the housekeeper and the gardener and the butler and all the rest of the staff I'd taken on, but it pleased me to be waited upon by mortals.

But I was bored. There was a huge emptiness inside my soul and I only paid lip service to pleasure, to luxury, to perfection, to understanding.

It seemed that my nocturnal sessions of harp-playing were becoming more discordant by the night. Last night I'd even dreamt that a string broke, with a startled twang, but I did have a spare which I fitted hastily, rather embarrassed.

Normally, my housekeeper would do the food shopping for me - I preferred department stores where I could hunt for something new, something I hadn't acquired already. So I went to the car park to find my Ferrari - but it wasn't there. Where it had been there appeared to be parked a small, red Fiat 125. I looked in my pocket and found an unfamiliar key which fitted the lock. I drove home, feeling faintly queasy.

Generally I drove in auto-pilot, knowing exactly where I wanted to go and expecting that the other drivers would move out of the way, casting admiring looks my way and allowing me to flirt. But this time, a my homing instinct was guiding me along different roads. I was beeped, cut up, and somebody even called me a stupid tart, winding down his window to be rude to me. It was a ni.htmlare journey and I was glad when, at last, I found myself standing outside my old two-bedroom mid terrace. With an impending feeling of doom, I discovered the key in my other pocket and walked in.

It was dusty, dingy, unloved. Everything was where I'd left it, just as I remembered. I considered using my wish-magic to clean it, but as soon as I tried I received something so akin to an electric shock that I knew I'd have to relearn some ancient skills. I found myself a duster, feeling bemused, and set about the task.

Some time later I found myself hungry, but my cupboards were bare. The only food I could find was a half-eaten and dusty Mars bar left on my bedside cabinet - slightly disgusted, I threw it in the bin. Realising the time, I raced to the supermarket - as best I could in the car I had inherited - and had a ni.htmlare with traffic lights changing to red as I approached. Then, everything had been moved around, and the lights were dimmed in readiness for closing time, and with the small amount of money I found in my purse, I could not afford steak - one of the few things that had never lost its appeal for me in the face of having it too often. When I reached the checkout the assistant was sullen and resentful at my late arrival. It came as no surprise when my carrier bag disintegrated just outside the car and I brought home apples bruised from rolling around the car park, chased frantically by my humiliated self.

Upon my return I noticed a vase of wilting flowers on the windowsill. I threw them away, tipped the slimy water down the sink and went to bed feeling very small. My dreams weren't coming true any more and my bed was cold without anyone but myself to warm it. I was on my own. Again.

That night, I broke all the strings on my harp. I had no spares. It was the end of an era.

I awoke in the morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing. Groaning, I pulled on the rather tatty old towelling dressing gown that was to hand, missing the silk kimono I'd once had. Rather foggily I opened the door and blinked.

It was my gardener: but silhouetted in the doorway as he was, I detected a faintly shimmering glow around him like an all-over body halo. A little startled, I waved him in and almost automatically offered him a cup of tea, realising as I did that I'd forgotten to buy milk.

He shook his head, his deliciously long fair hair rippling with waves of light. I found myself sinking into his deep blue eyes and tore myself back, confused. It was definitely my gardener... yet why was he wearing a long white robe instead of his customary jeans and T-shirt? It was a detail that hadn't registered at first...

"Tea's not my drink," he said in a voice like distant thunder - soft, but powerful. "I prefer mead, I'm afraid."

"I've some lager," I offered, goggling.

He shook his head. "Not my kind of amber nectar, I'm sorry."

Then reason came through. "You're a god?" I exclaimed.

"Why, yes. I was one all along - turned my aura and anti-mindreading shield off so I could keep an eye on how you handled things." He shook his head rather ruefully. "Not very well, it seems."

He proceeded to explain. The gods had devised an experiment whereby a human being would be given godly powers to see what she would make of them. I'd been chosen at random and they'd taken bets as to whether I'd use the powers for selfish or humanitarian ends.

"I'm losing my bet," the gardener said. "Not once did you use those gifts to help others, to ease their pain. You had a harem of men, but did not introduce a single one of them to one of your lonely friends - if you even noticed that they were lonely... You had all the languages you wanted at your disposal, yet did not act as ambassador or peacemaker to any nation. You had a fleet of cars, yet persistently drove past cold, tired hitchhikers without offering a lift. You used your power to feed your vanity and your appetites, to make life easy and lavish, and to lock your soul up in chains."

I flushed with shame, feeling remorse inundate me. He was right, and I couldn't believe how dreadfully I'd misused the power. It had gone right to my head and I'd never stopped to think about what I'd been given, to be truly thankful. to share. I tried desperately not to imagine myself as a worm cringing back into a hole, lest that thought come true... And I'd felt, ultimately, nothing but boredom and loneliness - without ever daring to face it and wonder why, in case it hurt.

I just was not cut out to be a goddess.

The gardener stared at me, his lip twitching. I had the distinct feeling that he had read all my thoughts - after all, I'd been able to but had only used the skill for its entertainment value rather than doing anything about the corruption, fear and pain I'd often noted.

"Look," said he. "I don't like losing bottles of good mead and I've several staked on you. I'll give you your power back for one last week - the stakes won't be as high for me because I've intervened, but your remorse is genuine so I'll extend the terms a little."

He waved his hands, and the world went black. When I awoke I was in my beautiful big house with all my knowledge, and I was glowing again.

I had a very busy week. I sold all but one of the cars and donated the money to a variety of charities. I made long-distance calls to embassies and negotiated peace agreements with exceptionally eloquent speeches. I watched the six o' clock news and saw scenes of war: I immediately changed all the soldiers' guns to bananas, and switched on the nine o'clock news to see the very startled reports and reactions. By ten o'clock they'd seen the funny side of it and were negotiating away from bananapoint.

I had rest homes and shelters stocked and refurbished, and picked a screaming child up off the street to heal her bleeding knees and return her home. I found I liked healing and took pleasure from a series of nocturnal visits to hospitals. The newspapers were full of it the next day: "Guardian angel heals patients." "Miracles in Manchester". I did all the normal miracles and thought of some new ones. Much more fun that manicurists, fast cars and trumpeting now that I thought about it.

By the end of the week I was exhausted - but refreshed in spirit, happy and satisfied.

The gardener called round after the week was over, looking fairly smug. I guessed that he'd kept his mead, after all.

"That was much better," he told me. "You've restored my faith in you. That war in the Middle East won't happen now and a lot of people have full bellies for the first time in their lives - others can see or move without pain. But, you know, there's always a twist - and I can't allow you to continue with your powers. If miracles happened every day the world would become complacent, learning nothing..."

"Oh yes," I agreed, feeling rather relaxed at long last. "And not just complacent, but dull..."

The gardener nodded, smiling wryly. "I could discuss philosophy with you forever; you'd make a fine trainee divinity, after all. But that's not why I'm here. I've come to relieve you of your powers, but I'll leave you three gifts - you can choose what you want to keep. Choose wisely."

That all happened a long time ago. I'm an old woman now and I've led what would be called a full life. I lost all my languages, but I liked the sound of some of them and relearnt them at night school. I assisted in a shelter for the homeless, raised money for charities, and remarried in time to bear two children of whom I am proud. My one week of true divinity had taught me much about myself, and I'll never forget the look on the gardener's face when I told him that all I wanted to keep was a healthy mind, body and spirit. I've been working on that ever since.

There's a secret I have, as well: when I die, I will be able to honour a standing invitation to become an apprentice goddess, partaking of the gardener's mead cellar and, erm, "discussing" philosophy with him forever. In preparation for that time, I'm learning how to tune and play a harp - one of the few instruments with which I never bothered while I had my powers. These days, though, I always keep a spare set of strings in my pocket.