‘Are they really all friends?’ Pearl asks me, looking at the boys dubiously. ‘Isn’t being mean a bad thing?’
Bee is as unimpressed with the Year 8s as Pearl, and barks his disapproval at them.
‘Like I said before, boys have a strange way of showing they like each other,’ I tell her, at the same time thinking that, in her own way, Kitt is being quite mean to Pearl at the moment. All the impatient snapping and those dirty looks.
I really wish, wish, wish I could get Pearl on her own to talk to her about that – as well as all the other stuff that whirls around my mind.
At that second, I see Pearl tilt her head slightly, as if she’s just heard her name being called.
‘Hey, wasn’t that BRILLIANT this morning at assembly?’ Woody pants, as he catches up with us, the spikes of dark hair flopping on his forehead as he slows his run.
‘It was weird,’ I correct him, not certain that ‘brilliant’ is the word I’d choose to describe those eerie words flashing up on the whiteboard.
‘Yeah, but the way that visual came up just when Mr Thomlinson said, “This has to stop. NOW!” That was ace! I mean, what a fluke – you couldn’t have timed it better.’
Woody’s beside himself with excitement, as fired up by today’s events as the angels are exhausted.
‘You did take a photo of it, didn’t you, Riley?’ he asks me urgently. ‘Tell me you did!’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say, nodding. My hands might have been shaking at the time, but I got the shot – which was a stunned Mr Thomlinson turning and staring up at the whiteboard screen, moments before a member of staff got to the remote and switched the projector off.
‘Great. Good one, Riley. And, hey, I am so going to write the most amazing story about all this,’ he says, practically punching the air.
‘For News Matters?’ I ask, frowning. ‘But Daniel’s already asked Ceyda to do it; she’s the main features writer.’
The fact that he’s only just joined the newsletter team seems to have gone straight over Woody’s head. Even if he is amazingly full of ideas and enthusiasm, he can’t just come storming in and expect to take over. I mean, I was nervous about my role as newsletter photographer when he showed us that image on his phone. Ceyda’s bound to feel the same if Woody tries to nick her job from under her nose.
‘Yeah?’ he says, disappointment draining his grin away, though it’s back in a nanosecond. ‘But what if I get a different angle on it? Something no one else has?’
‘Like what?’ I ask.
Woody doesn’t get a chance to answer – there’s a rugby-style hollering from behind and we all turn to see the Year 8s suddenly hurtling towards Woody, the boy with the bag twirling it round his head like a gladiator weapon.
‘Uh-oh,’ he laughs nervously. ‘Better get going!’
He’s only a couple of metres along the street before he remembers something and shouts it over his shoulder to me.
‘Hey, Riley – got a message for you from Marnie in my class. She says you can come to her party tomorrow, if you want!’
Huh?
I’m about to shout a startled ‘What?! Why?’ after him but he wouldn’t hear, not with the Year 8 lads deafening us as they roar by in pursuit. Bee’s barking’s not helping either.
Though I’m pleased to see one thing – the strap on the schoolbag circling the boy’s head snaps, and the heavy bag flies round … and catches him flat in the face.
‘He deserved that,’ I murmur, pleased.
‘Yes, he did,’ Pearl agrees, and I turn and see that her eyes have a silvery sheen to them.
Kitt spots that too, and blasts Pearl with one of her intense glares. Even Bee’s looking at her, but he’s got his smiley dog face on as usual.
‘So, that’s good, isn’t it? We can all go to the party together,’ Sunshine says brightly. (Has she noticed the bag incident? Or is she just using her niceness to keep the mood light?)
Actually, I’m still a little too stunned to answer for a second; I don’t know why Marnie would suddenly invite me, since she obviously thought I was wangling an invitation when she was sprung by the angels on Wednesday.
But, before the second passes and I get a chance to collect my thoughts, Mrs Angelo wanders towards us, jingling car keys in her hand.
‘Did I hear you use the P-word, Sunshine?’ she asks, smiling.
Sunshine smiles back, but doesn’t know how to respond. Angels, I’ve found, are like people from a different country, who’ve only just learned a language. They can see when something is obviously funny, but they’re not great at deciphering jokes yet.
‘You were talking about the party tomorrow?’ Mrs Angelo tries again.
‘Oh yes,’ Sunshine says with a nod.
‘Well, that’s good timing. Because I’m taking you girls shopping right now for some party clothes. You arrived with practically nothing and you deserve something new. So come on – hop in the car!’
Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl seem slightly bemused and confused by the idea of party clothes, or any kind of new clothes. When they’re not in school uniform, they only ever dress in variations of the same thing: dungaree dresses, black tights and lace-up boots for Sunshine; leggings and layers for Kitt; and T-shirts, denim skirt, stripy socks and glittery baseball boots for Pearl.
I think Mrs Angelo takes their hesitant smiles for breathless excitement, and turns to lead the way to the car.
‘Here, Bee – are you coming for the ride as well?’ she says, opening the boot for the dog to jump in.
And like the good (foster) daughters they are, the angels follow too, with only Pearl glancing back at me.
That glance – is it to let me know she heard what I was thinking a minute ago? Or is it a sign that reads Help! or Now! or DO something!?
Whatever it means, I get it. This could be that one chance, that one rare moment for me and Pearl to be alone together.
And, amazingly, my non-impressive mind comes up with a plan.
‘Mrs Angelo,’ I call out. ‘I just remembered I have this really pretty dress I’ve grown out of. Pearl is smaller than me, and I said she could have it for the party, if it fits?’
Lies, lies, lies.
Except for the bit about Pearl being smaller than me, of course.
‘Oh yes! It sounded so pretty,’ says Pearl, astounding me with her ability to lie too. ‘Can I stay and try it on while you go shopping?’
‘Um, yes … but what if it doesn’t fit, or you don’t like it?’ says Mrs Angelo, holding the back door of the car open so Sunshine and Kitt can slide in.
They’re not sliding in; they’re standing still, staring at Pearl, at me, wondering what’s going on. Even Bee is looking quizzically out of the rear window.
‘If it’s not right, then I have other nice stuff – T-shirts and cool … things!’ I say, floundering in my fibs.
‘Okey-doke, fine by me. See you in an hour or so, Pearl!’ Mrs Angelo calls out, while waving Sunshine and Kitt into the car.
Sunshine and Kitt have no choice but to get inside, leaving me and Pearl waving them off.
Then we turn, look at each other and grin happily, with a little shyness thrown in there too.
‘It’s only us!’ I say, hardly daring to believe it.
‘Yes,’ says Pearl, nodding her head and making her stubby plaits sway.
There’s so much to talk about that I don’t know where we’ll start.
I guess I could just ask her how she’s feeling; if Kitt being grumpy is bothering her.
Or I could find out why she thinks Marnie’s not the girl who’s stopped shining, and what she makes of the red messages happening at school.
Then I could ask her all the questions that’ve been buzzing around my head for ages, like:
a) how exactly the skills work,
b) what it feels like to have wings, and hide wings, and
c) can she remember anything of her life before she turned up in Chestnut Crescent?
I can even as
k stupid stuff like why she collects marbles, I think to myself, remembering the glass ball I spotted under her bed.
Hey – we could chat about Mum, maybe.
Basically, we are free to talk with no one else getting in the wa–
‘RILEY! PEARL!’ yells Dot, clambering out of Dad’s car with Coco in tow, fresh from school.
The two little girls dive-bomb us both, lunging hugs at us, as thrilled as if they hadn’t seen us for a year.
‘Hello!’ Dad says cheerfully, thunking the car door shut. ‘On your own, Pearl? Don’t often see you without your sisters!’
‘We’re all invited to a girl in Year Seven’s party tomorrow afternoon, and I said I’d lend Pearl something to wear,’ I explain. ‘Sunshine and Kitt have gone shopping with Mrs Angelo.’
‘A party, eh? You’ll have to tell me all about that,’ says Dad, piling supermarket bags out of the back of the car. ‘And, speaking of shopping, do you big girls fancy giving me a hand getting this stuff in the house?’
OK, so our time together will be delayed by a few minutes.
‘Sure,’ I say, grabbing groceries alongside Dad and Pearl.
‘We’re going to play dog shows with Alastair,’ Dot announces, grabbing the front-door key from Dad and charging off to open up the house for us.
Dot’s bedroom is directly above the kitchen, and as we dump the bags on the pine table we can clearly hear stomping small feet, plus muffled giggles and woofs.
‘Before you disappear and do your fashion show, can you try and make some space in the freezer for this stuff, Riley?’ Dad asks me.
‘Course,’ I reply, taking the pile of chilly packets he’s passing to me.
As I yank at the stiff, frozen drawers and shove things around, I hear Dad chattily ask us a question about tomorrow.
‘So whose party is this? And where’s it happening?’
‘It’s a girl called Marnie. You don’t know her,’ I answer him, down on my haunches with my back to him. ‘And her house is one of those fancy ones up by the golf course.’
I’m expecting him to say something.
Maybe ask if Marnie is in our class, or make a comment on how big those houses are round there.
But he says nothing.
And Pearl is saying nothing.
What’s going on? Are they too absorbed in the excitement of stacking tins of beans on shelves or unpacking the toilet rolls?
I shuffle round – and freeze like a packet of fish fingers.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my heart lurching at the scene in front of me.
Dad is standing absolutely motionless, a box of Dot’s favourite breakfast cereal clutched in his hand, in mid-air.
Pearl is staring at him, head tilted girlishly to one side, eyes solid silver.
‘You want him to talk about your mother, don’t you?’ she says in a soft, breathy voice.
‘Yes! Yes, of course! But what about Dot and Coco? They could come in any second!’
Pearl wafts a delicate white hand towards the ceiling, and I shut up. There’s no sound coming from up there. Two little girls are playing a game of statues, whether they like it or not.
‘I’m doing a spirit-lift. He’s remembering something.’
Struggling to my feet, I go closer to Dad and see he’s not totally still; his eyes are making tiny darting movements, as if he’s watching something on a screen. And a smile is tugging at the corners of his lips.
‘What’s he remembering?’ I ask.
‘I’m not strong enough at this skill to see,’ says Pearl, becoming paler by the second. ‘But we’ll find out now …’
She flicks her hand in the air, and Dad gives himself a shake and shifts his weight to his other leg. But his eyes are still hazy, hypnotized.
‘I’d forgotten about the smell … it hits you as soon as you open the door of the shop …’ he murmurs. ‘All those scents mixed together! And the colours, the colours of all the flowers … There’s Annie! Look at that huge bouquet in her hand. She’s wrapping a wide yellow ribbon round the stalks, quick, quick, quick, and then the bow … I love the way she has her hair all piled up on top, wisps trailing … She’s smiling at me, and looks so pretty, even with that orange smudge of … what is it? The pollen from lilies, that’s it … I love that smile – makes me glad I sneaked out of work to bring her lunch as a surprise … We can sit here eating our sandwiches, pretend we’re in a tropical paradise … Turn the radio up so we can block out the sound of the traffic and the trains rumbling by … Oh, Annie, you are so beauti–’
The sound of the doorbell jars Dad back into the reality of here and now and breakfast cereal. From above there’re some thumps and muffled giggles as the unexpected statue game ends.
‘I’ll get it!’ I hear Dot roar, and there’s a thundering of four five-year-old feet as she and Coco charge down the stairs and throw themselves at the front door.
‘Is it me, or is it hot in here?’ asks Dad, putting the box down and rubbing his forehead.
‘It is a bit warm,’ I agree with him quickly, although what he’s just said has given me the shivers.
‘Oh, dear – and you’re looking pale all of a sudden,’ says Dad, ushering Pearl to sit down on the nearest chair.
She is pale; pale and faint from the effort of doing two skills back to back after an already tiring day.
And now a horrifying thought hits me.
The last time she was this exhausted, Pearl couldn’t stop what happened next. Back then, with a rustle and a crackle her wings had started to lift and show. But at least that was in the privacy of the girls’ loos at school, not in my kitchen with Dad right there, two inquisitive five-year-olds close by and whoever’s at the door!
‘Look, it’s … everyone,’ Dot merrily announces, appearing in the room with Coco and waving enthusiastically for ‘everyone’ to follow her.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ says Mrs Angelo, as the kitchen is immediately filled.
Bee pads in and flops his head on Pearl’s lap, while Sunshine and Kitt walk either side of Pearl and place a hand on each of her shoulders. I think they’re gently pressing down, pressing something down. Their hands are healing Pearl, infusing her with calm, keeping those wings from unfurling.
‘You know, I’m such a fool,’ Mrs Angelo carries on. ‘We set off and then it dawned on me that I’d forgotten my credit card. And, since we had to turn back, the girls wanted to pop in here and give Pearl one last chance to come along with us!’
Sunshine and Kitt knew, didn’t they? I can tell from Kitt’s stony face. And I bet you a zillion pounds that she and Sunshine had something to do with Mrs Angelo forgetting her card.
‘Actually, I’m glad you did turn back,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t think Pearl’s feeling too well.’
‘Is she going to be sick?’ asks Dot, eyebrows shooting up with excitement.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ says Dad, trying – and failing – to shoo her and Coco away.
‘Really? Oh, Pearl – look at you!’ gasps Mrs Angelo. ‘Let’s get you home.’
There’s a flurry of activity as everyone helps Pearl to her feet and leads her towards the front door.
‘Hope she feels better!’ Dad calls out, as the angels, Mrs Angelo and Bee make their way down the garden path.
‘Hope you don’t barf!’ Dot yelps helpfully.
‘Thank you,’ I say in my head, hoping Pearl can pick it up.
She does.
She turns.
She mouths a word at me over her shoulder: Tomorrow.
I understand the word, but not the meaning.
Tomorrow, as in Marnie’s party? Or tomorrow, as in us getting the chance to talk alone together?
I guess I’ll just have to wait till tomorrow to find out.
Ready or not?
Dad gave me a present when I started at Hillcrest in September.
‘Now that you’re at secondary, you’re old enough to let yourself in and be alone in the house occasionally,’ he’d sa
id, passing me a set of keys dangling from a cute letter ‘R’ key ring.
Nice idea, Dad.
But it never works out like that. Our house is always full, or at least it feels that way, cos of Dot skedaddling around, pretending to be a tiger or a fairy or a vampire shark or whatever.
And, if I get home from school first, I usually only have five minutes or so of me-and-only-me time before either Dad or Hazel arrives back from picking up Dot (and often Coco) from primary.
But – yay! – this morning is different.
Hazel’s working an early shift at the hospital and Dad’s had to go into his printing shop for an hour or two, even though he doesn’t usually work on Saturdays, cos of some rush job that’s needed for Monday. Dot’s gone with him, cos she loves the fact that she can photocopy all of her scribbly drawings there. (She took them into her class last time and tried to sell them for 10p each. She came home with 22p and a squashed fudge.)
So today the house really is all mine.
‘What should I do?’ I ask Alastair, who’s hunkered on the tartan blankie in his dog basket.
His surprisingly sensitive eyes (drawn on by me in marker pen) seem to look up, but he doesn’t answer (no surprise).
I suppose I could laze and watch TV. Have an epically long bath. Try clothes on and decide what to wear to this afternoon’s party. Try and figure out – like I did all last night – what Pearl meant by ‘Tomorrow’.
BING-BONGGG!
Or answer the door.
I only open it a little way – I don’t need the postman to see my super-comfy but slightly ratty pyjamas.
‘Hello, Riley. Are you ready?’
Pearl is standing on the doorstep, smiling at me. Maybe she’s hoping that I’ll think she looks better than last time I saw her, but she doesn’t really.
‘Ready for what?’ I ask.
Does she mean the party? But it’s only 10 a.m. We don’t have to be at Marnie’s for hours, I think to myself.
‘It’s not the party. And I’m feeling good, honest.’
I stare at her, my mouth flapping as much as my baggy pyjama bottoms. I did not say that stuff about the party out loud.
Angels in Training Page 8
