Angels in Training

by Karen McCombie

  ‘Can you read everything that’s in my mind?’ I suddenly ask, freaking out at the idea of Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl having had open access to my mind all these weeks.

  ‘No … it’s only when people are stressing. They have a sort of purple haze surrounding them.’

  Pearl wafts her hand around her head to indicate where this haze is.

  ‘I’m purple?’ I say, turning to look at myself in the hall mirror, which is dumb, I know, since I’m not looking through angels’ eyes.

  ‘A tiny bit mauve,’ says Pearl. ‘I shouldn’t have looked.’

  ‘It’s against the rules, anyway, isn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to save your powers for important stuff?’

  I don’t mean to go all preachy and Kitt-ish on her. But, even though I’m grateful for the glimpse I got of Mum last night, I’m still uncomfortably aware that breaking those rules is going to wear Pearl out.

  ‘You’re important to me,’ says Pearl, biting her lip.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes, you’re listening to me. Sunshine and Kitt aren’t.’

  OK, OK. It looks like we’re going to have that conversation that I imagined would happen yesterday – before Dad, Dot, shopping and spirit-lifting got in the way.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ I say, waving her inside.

  ‘No – we need to go. I only have a little time. Are you ready?’

  Pearl smiles hopefully at me again.

  She is speaking in angel riddles.

  But I’m an ordinary girl who needs to change out of her PJs before she does anything.

  In the shopping centre across town, Sunshine and Kitt will be trying on clothes, as Mrs Angelo looks on approvingly.

  Up on Folly Hill, Mr Angelo will be throwing sticks for Bee to catch.

  Pearl – under strict instructions from her foster parents – is cuddled up in bed, having a long lie-in to get her energy back after the funny turn she had yesterday.

  Only she’s not, obviously.

  Pearl spotted an opportunity when it landed at her angelic feet. She waited till everyone went out, then got dressed and sneaked over to mine – with a plan.

  ‘Where, uh, are we going exactly?’ I ask for the fourth time, as I hurry to keep up with Pearl.

  ‘Sunshine and Kitt think I do it all wrong,’ she murmurs in reply, as we stride downhill through the winding neighbourhood roads, heading towards the west side of town (I think).

  I’m beginning to wonder if Pearl will be able to help with all my questions. She slips and slides away from even the simplest – like where we’re going and what her plan actually is.

  ‘They say I have to do the skills their way, but I’m not so sure,’ Pearl carries on distractedly.

  ‘Because you think they’re wrong about Marnie?’ I ask her, giving up on directions and trying to follow her train of thought.

  ‘Mmm …’ She nods, bounding along the pavement fast, in a hurry to get to wherever we’re going.

  ‘But why do you think that? Didn’t you go to her the other day in the playground? You saw she was in trouble.’

  ‘I’m sure it was just a catch, Riley,’ says Pearl, her gaze straight ahead. ‘I sensed that someone was ill. And when I got to Marnie her shine was weak – and that’s what Sunshine and Kitt saw.’

  ‘So … is she fading or not?’ I ask, unsure what she’s telling me.

  ‘Not enough to need our help. Everyone’s shine fades when they feel ill. But Sunshine and Kitt – they’ve decided it’s her and that’s that. Even though it’s not clear, not with the other stuff that’s getting in the way at school.’

  ‘What other stuff?’

  ‘The …’ Pearl lifts her hands and shakes them around, her white-blonde eyebrows knitted in a frown as she tries to explain.

  ‘Interference?’ I suggest, remembering the word that Sunshine had used sometime in the last few days.

  ‘Yes!’ says Pearl, nodding. ‘But today at the party we can get close to Marnie. There’ll be no interference. Then they’ll see that I’m right.’

  ‘Is that what you meant by “Tomorrow”?’ I ask, noticing the traffic’s getting busier as we leave the suburban streets behind. ‘Or is it … what we’re doing now?’

  ‘I meant the party. This – this is extra. This is for you.’ She suddenly smiles mischievously, turning her gaze towards me.

  Though her eyes aren’t their usual pale grey at the moment – they’re getting more intensely blue by the second.

  ‘Pearl, what’s going on?’ I ask her, my heart thumpitty-thumping.

  ‘You can see what you need to see, Riley,’ she tells me, ‘and Sunshine and Kitt will see that I can use the skills in a different way and not lose my glow … We’re here!’

  What do I need to see? What is her glow? I don’t ask, because I’ve just realized where we are.

  On the pavement opposite a row of shops.

  It’s not the trendy or busy side of town, but plenty of people are passing, stopping, looking in windows, thanks to the position of the railway station further up the road.

  A man is coming out of the newsagent’s; another is walking into the betting shop. A teenage girl is on her phone outside the chemist’s; a woman with a buggy is staring at kids’ clothes in a shop called Little Ones. Two old ladies are sitting chatting animatedly inside a cafe.

  And then I remember another old lady, another catch …

  It was when the new family moved into Tia’s old house next door. I’d gone for a walk up Folly Hill with Dot (and her trusty stick on a lead) and come across the strange-but-interesting Angelo sisters by the statue. Of course I didn’t know what catch was at the time, but it’s what happened when Kitt suddenly foresaw the old lady walking over the brow of the hill. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough time for Kitt to stop her from tripping over Dot and Alastair as they ran (and dragged).

  I remember the old lady’s hair, puffed and backcombed like candyfloss. I could smell the cloying sweet scent of hairspray as I helped her up.

  I remember the quizzical look she gave me as she studied my face.

  I remember her saying, ‘You know, dear, you look exactly like someone I used to buy flowers from. What was her name? Annie – that’s it! Annie’s Posies, that’s what the shop was called. Used to be right by the station. Do you know her?’

  I remember lying and saying no, I was so shocked to hear someone talking openly about my mother.

  ‘Which one was hers?’ I murmur, frantically scanning each shop in the parade, as if they’ll give me clues.

  ‘That one.’

  And, with no regard for traffic, Pearl steps out into the road. Luckily, the stream of vehicles is moving slowly.

  ‘Sorry! Thanks!’ I gabble, holding my hand up to cars as we wend our way to the opposite pavement.

  Pearl knows where she’s going. Her glittery baseball boots walk past the woman with the buggy and we are through the glass-panelled door of Little Ones.

  All around us are pine cots and wicker Moses baskets, painted wooden toys, dainty pastel Babygros and cute patterned bedding. The shop has an old-fashioned feel, with a thick polished counter at the back.

  No one is behind the counter right now. The one member of staff I can see is showing a customer how to fold and unfold a brightly coloured buggy.

  ‘Come,’ says Pearl, and she takes my hand and draws me towards the back of the shop. ‘Feel …’

  What I feel is stupid, ridiculous, self-conscious. What will people think? Why would two twelve-year-old girls be in here? Specially when they’re stroking a counter, for goodness’ sake.

  I’m not going to do it.

  I’m going to wriggle my hand away from Pearl’s surprisingly tight grip and get out of –

  Here …

  She’s here.

  Or maybe I’m there.

  The smell. The scent of all those flowers.

  And there are flowers everywhere, every colour, every type. SO many flowers … How does she remember all th
eir names? How does she know which will go with which?

  ‘Oh, Annie! Those are beautiful. Thank you,’ says a woman’s voice, but I can’t quite make her out – it’s hazy round the edges.

  ‘My pleasure,’ says my mother, in view now that she’s come out from behind the counter with the beribboned bouquet in her hand.

  Mum is pretty, even prettier than she is in the photo. Her fair hair is bundled back into a messy ponytail. There’s no tea dress today, just jeans and a checked shirt worn over a pale green T-shirt … which in turn is worn over a big bump.

  Me.

  ‘Not long now, eh?’ the other voice says. ‘Thought of names yet?’

  ‘We’re playing around with a few,’ Mum says with a smile, staring down. ‘Riley’s the favourite at the moment.’

  ‘Riley! Well, that’s unusual,’ says the other voice. ‘I look forward to meeting you, Riley.’

  The woman talking leans forward to touch Mum’s tummy, and I recognize her. The hair … it’s not as puffy as it becomes when she’s older, but I still recognize her from Folly Hill, that day back when –

  ‘Can I help you?’

  The flowers are gone.

  Mum is gone.

  A woman with a badge that reads We LOVE your LITTLE ONES is talking to us.

  She’ll get no sense out of Pearl; my friend is standing with her head tilted, a far-away look in her vivid silver-grey eyes.

  And I don’t know how she’ll get any sense out of me cos I’m so shaken by what I’ve seen, where I’ve been in these last, amazing seconds.

  ‘I – I …’

  ‘Riley?’

  At the sound of my name, spoken by a kind and familiar someone, I turn round.

  ‘Mrs Sharma!’ I gasp, seeing my old form tutor. She’s holding the handle of the brightly coloured buggy, her tiny baby cuddled in a baby carrier on her chest.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’

  I’ve always liked Mrs Sharma. She didn’t need to have angelic powers to see I was struggling after Tia moved away. She might even have been able to help me more, if her baby – little Raina – hadn’t been born quite so soon. (Mrs Sharma going into labour when we were both accidentally locked in the caretaker’s office was, er, interesting.)

  ‘We … um …’

  Excuses rattle round my brain, then fizzle away under the beam of Mrs Sharma’s warm, encouraging smile.

  Maybe I should risk telling the truth.

  ‘I think this used to be my mum’s shop, years ago,’ I blurt out.

  Wow. It feels scary – and good – to tell.

  Like some kind of weight is lifting off my shoulders. I feel lighter, brighter.

  ‘Really?’ says Mrs Sharma.

  I can see it in her eyes; she’s thinking of my school files, of the entry that mentions the fact that my mum died. Form teachers always know that kind of family stuff. If she’d been around when the Angelos had started at school, she’d have read about them being fostered.

  She reaches out and pats my arm. ‘It must be strange for you coming here and seeing –’

  ‘Sweetheart?’ the sales assistant interrupts her, talking directly to me. ‘I don’t think your friend is feeling too well.’

  Uh-oh. Pearl. Her skin is so pale it’s practically translucent.

  Maybe it’s time for lies now.

  ‘It’s OK. She gets like this when she hasn’t eaten … and she hasn’t had breakfast today,’ I say quickly, linking arms with Pearl. ‘We’ll go and get some food. Bye!’

  ‘Bye, girls,’ Mrs Sharma calls after us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Pearl says faintly, as we get outside into the fresh air. ‘I wanted you to see her, but I don’t feel too good now.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ I say hurriedly, spotting a bus coming that will take us close to home.

  As I flag the bus down, I make a real effort to block my thoughts.

  I don’t want Pearl spotting any shimmering shades of purple.

  Cos my emotions are in a total tangle right now. There’s guilt, at Pearl putting herself in possible danger, doing what she’s done today on my behalf.

  But there’s also so much joy that I could skip and whoop.

  When I stood in my PJs in the hall this morning, wondering what I should do with myself, I had no idea I’d end up seeing my mum living, breathing, smiling …

  Well, almost.

  And, after all the years of nothing, almost feels pretty wonderful.

  It’s here …

  ‘Big kids’ parties are rubbish,’ Dot announces.

  That’s pretty harsh, considering she wasn’t even invited to Marnie’s party. But here she is, in the sheeny-shiny nylon princess dress she insisted on wearing. Even Alastair is dressed up, with a sparkly ribbon tied round his driftwood neck.

  Dad’s rush job at work this morning turned into a nightmare, and looking after Dot turned into a nightmare for him too. She was getting bored, and he found her drawing smiley faces on the newly printed business cards of a firm of solicitors.

  So I found myself babysitting.

  ‘Shh,’ I tell her now. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s not a very nice party, is it?’

  Actually, I think I agree with her. The house is amazing – as huge as everyone said it would be – but there’s a funny atmosphere here.

  Me, Dot and the angels have wandered around all the crowded downstairs rooms, and it feels like people are acting either grumpy or kind of crazy.

  I guess I’m grumpy cos of Dot – much as I love her – being dumped on me. Sunshine and Kitt (especially Kitt!) seem grumpy with Pearl, since they sense she’s been up to something, even if they’re not a hundred per cent sure what it is.

  But lots more people here seem grumpy. Lauren Mayhew and her buddies Joelle and Nancy are standing in the hallway, with faces as sour as fresh lemon, whispering and scowling over every girl, boy, outfit and hairdo that arrives through the front door.

  And Marnie Reynolds, she’s over by the sound system in the games room, and she’s not looking too thrilled either, even though this is her party.

  I guess I should go over to her and say thanks for the invitation and sorry for the unexpected five-year-old. But getting across the games room isn’t going to be easy, because of all the craziness.

  A bunch of girls are shrieking and spinning each other round to the music, bumping and crashing into everyone anywhere near them.

  A couple of lads who’ve been playing snooker are having a pretty full-on argument. (I’m going to have to cover Dot’s ears if it gets any more heated.)

  Someone has put the giant telly on and is flicking madly through the channels, which is doing my eyes in.

  A bunch of boys have opened a window overlooking the garden and are pretending they’re going to chuck someone out of it. (I think it might be Woody – he really has terrible taste in friends.)

  ‘We should go to Marnie,’ says Sunshine. She looks amazing. Under her dungaree dress she’s wearing a silver spangled T-shirt. Mrs Angelo’s added a dab of silver glitter to her cheekbones too, and her long, lapping waves of hair are pinned back with a cluster of clips in the shape of silver stars.

  ‘Shouldn’t we just go and find some crisps instead?’ Dot suggests, holding on tightly to Sunshine’s hand while she clutches Alastair with the other.

  ‘It’s important that we speak to Marnie,’ Kitt says to her. Kitt has new leggings – still black, but with a blue-beaded trim round the ankle. It’s the same deep blue of her new baggy T-shirt, made out of some kind of shimmering material.

  ‘There’s no point – it’s not her,’ says Pearl. She might not have been on this morning’s shopping trip, but Mrs Angelo bought her a new dress and bag anyway. The bag is made of a dusky rose velvet, with a strap long enough to be worn across her chest, across the pretty, embroidered bodice of the short white smock. The smock would be totally cute on Pearl, if she didn’t look paler than the colour of the dress itself.


  ‘What’s not her? What’s not a point?’ Dot pipes up, staring at her big-girl pals and probably wondering why nobody’s smiling.

  ‘We don’t know that till we seek,’ Kitt snaps at Pearl, but switching to quiet words now.

  ‘You have to trust me; she’s not the one, I’m sure!’ Pearl silently stands up for herself.

  ‘What’s happening, Riley?’ Dot asks me, just as confused by this new, wordless weirdness going on.

  ‘Stop it,’ Sunshine urges her sisters in her own unspoken way. Same as me, she can plainly see that one angel’s anger and one angel’s exhaustion equals carelessness – and danger.

  ‘Hey, why don’t you check the tables in here?’ I bend down and say to Dot. ‘I bet you there’ll be a bowl of crisps on them!’

  Hurray for the promise of potential crisps. Dot lets go of Sunshine’s hand in a nanosecond and disappears into the mayhem.

  As I try (and fail) to see where she went, I notice that the bunch of boys by the window have given up on attempting to chuck Woody out. I’ve just seen a cushion whirling through the air, landing, I suppose, somewhere on the big lawn out there. I hope they don’t do the same to any crisps they come across, or Dot might go feral and bite their ankles.

  ‘But we can’t trust you,’ I hear/see Kitt say sharply as I turn back to my friends. ‘You’re doing things wrong, Pearl. Your powers are ebbing. Your glow is going. And you’re not listening to any of us!’

  Is Kitt including me in that? She must be, otherwise she would’ve said ‘either of us’.

  But that suddenly makes me cross. Pearl is so sweet and has been so kind to me, and I don’t want Kitt making me part of her problem.

  ‘Look,’ I lean in and whisper to Kitt, since a whole sentence of quiet words is beyond me. ‘You’re not giving Pearl a chance. She did the most amazing spirit-lift and spring on my dad last night and this morning she did a telling, all by herself!’

  I had hoped that Kitt would be impressed; Sunshine too. But, from the sudden glower on Kitt’s face and the saddened frown on Sunshine’s, I can tell that’s definitely not happened.

  ‘Oh, Pearl …’ murmurs Sunshine, as if Pearl’s just been to the doctor and had a terrible diagnosis of some kind.