Angels Next Door

by Karen McCombie

  We were supposed to have written or made a presentation about the most memorable day we’d had during our first half-term at Hillcrest. But I’d been too wrapped up in moping over Tia to remember about it.

  ‘Oh dear,’ mutters Lauren, turning round to look at me with mock sympathy. ‘Forget to do your homework, did you? Tsk, tsk … You’ll be in trouble, Riley Roberts!’

  Great. I’ve forgotten to do my assignment and now Lauren’s loving making me feel bad about it.

  ‘Oh, Riley has done it,’ Sunshine suddenly says, a serene smile on her face.

  I fix her with a quick what-are-you-on-about panicked look, but Sunshine blithely carries on.

  ‘It’s just not quite finished yet, is it, Riley?’

  I don’t know if Sunshine is coming to my rescue because she likes me, or is winding Lauren up because she doesn’t like her.

  ‘Uh, not qui–’

  ‘Shush!’ Mrs Mahoney’s voice cuts across my words and the rustle of homework projects being dragged out of schoolbags. ‘But, before all that, let’s start with some new students who are joining your class today. Girls – you know who you are. Can you come here, please?’

  Appearing completely unfazed, my new neighbours get up. They go and stand in front of the long library check-out desk, which is laden with books, plus some sad and faded yellow roses in a vase. By the mournful look of the flowers, they must’ve been there since before the holiday.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ says Mrs Mahoney, ‘can we put our hands together and give a big Hillcrest welcome to Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl!’

  The main noise is the enthusiastic blast of applause.

  Secondary to that is the hubbub of curiosity.

  The third is one bold, easily heard word.

  ‘Freaks.’

  No prizes for guessing who said that.

  But something pretty unexpected has just happened: no one laughed.

  Instead, the whole class turn and frown at Lauren, like she’s just kicked a puppy. I spot Lauren bristle, stunned for once not to be the Queen of Everything.

  Meanwhile, Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl act like they either didn’t hear or don’t care about Lauren’s remarks. Sunshine’s head is tilted to one side, the fabric wings of her hairclips fluttering prettily. Kitt’s face is still and unreadable. Pearl appears to be humming to herself while her fingertips brush over the dead heads of the roses in the vase.

  ‘Well!’ booms Mrs Mahoney, trying to gloss over any unpleasantness. ‘I’m sure everyone will help you settle in, girls! And now …’

  As Mrs Mahoney drones on, I rummage in my bag for my school notebook, thinking I might sit here at the back unseen and quickly scribble some ideas down for the project I haven’t remotely started, no matter what Sunshine just said to Lauren.

  ‘Riley,’ someone hisses at me.

  I pretend not to hear, and concentrate instead on flipping to a blank page in my notebook. ‘Riley!’ the hiss comes again, more insistently.

  I know it’s coming from Lauren, but I simply tug at my pink ballet hairband and blank her.

  ‘Riley!!’

  Sigh … OK, so I can’t ignore her any more. I glance up and see Lauren hanging over the back of her chair, her waterfall of blonde hair draped over her arm.

  What? I mouth.

  Pound, pound, pound goes my heart, but I remind myself that she can’t hear that.

  In answer to my ‘what?’ Lauren throws a thumb over her shoulder, towards Mrs Mahoney, just as I tune into what she’s saying. ‘So how about it? Let’s have a round of applause for Riley Roberts!’

  Thunk!

  The shock of being singled out by Mrs Mahoney makes me drop my notebook on the floor. I reach down to grab it and –

  Clunk!

  – slam my forehead on the table in front of me.

  ‘Come on, Riley!’ Mrs Mahoney orders me cheerfully, waving me upright.

  I struggle to stand, swaying with waves of shyness and shock (and maybe concussion), and see my whole class, their faces swivelled in my direction.

  What is this all about?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help noticing three particular girls giggling their pretty heads off at my expense … and I’m not talking about Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl.

  ‘Lauren – you too,’ booms Mrs Mahoney, jovially waving her to her feet. ‘You can do the interview over on the sofa in the corner while the rest of us get on.’

  Huh? What are we doing? I should’ve been listening and not scribbling, I fret as my thunked head thuds.

  But all I can do is follow Lauren as she sashays her way over to the slightly frayed and stained red sofa that Mrs Mahoney has mysteriously exiled us to.

  ‘Ready?’ Lauren smirks at me as she settles herself down and sticks her phone and a digital voice recorder down on the small space between us.

  ‘For what?’ I ask, knowing that she’s totally buzzing on me being so clueless.

  ‘For your interview, of course!’ she says with a roll of her eyes. ‘About what happened with Mrs Sharma?’

  Lauren’s talking to me like I’m a particularly stupid toddler. But I don’t understand why she’s talking to me at all.

  ‘I’m on a try-out for the News Matters team,’ she explains wearily. ‘You’re my trial interview. So you’d better be good.’

  I don’t want to be ‘good’. I don’t want to be interviewed by anyone, especially Lauren. And I don’t want to be in the online school newsletter for everyone to ogle at.

  ‘So go on, then,’ says Lauren, clicking a button on the recorder and flopping back on the sofa. ‘What’s it like to be “a hero”?’

  She holds her fingers in the air to mimic quote marks. For some reason that small gesture really throws me; it’s as if she’s suggesting I’ve made up the whole Mrs Sharma drama. Or that I’m not a ‘real’ hero, which I know I’m not anyway.

  Whatever she means exactly, I’m now in a total muddle and feel even less able to speak. ‘I didn’t … I mean … it wasn’t like a big thing. I guess.’

  ‘You don’t think Mrs Sharma nearly dying is a big thing, Riley?!’ Lauren says in fake surprise.

  ‘She nearly died?’ I ask, absolutely stunned. Had something happened to her at the hospital that I didn’t know about?

  ‘Well, no, but she could’ve. Her or her baby!’ Lauren says with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘I mean, there could’ve been complications, or germs. It can’t exactly be hygienic to deliver a baby in a cupboard.’

  ‘But she didn’t have her baby in a cupboard!’ I reply. ‘We were in Mr Bradley’s office …’

  ‘So you’re saying you actually delivered Mrs Sharma’s baby? Cos I heard you weren’t even there. That it was a medic who helped her give birth, not you.’

  ‘Well, no … I mean, yes!’ I protested.

  This conversation was making my head go twisty. It was like the one I had a couple of days ago with Dot, except instead of having it with someone small who loved me, I was having it with someone my size who didn’t even like me.

  ‘Well, what did you do?’ Lauren demands, sounding slightly exasperated.

  My scrambled brain replays the scene in the site manager’s room at high speed. The stuck doorknob. The panic. The hair-pulling. It was all a blur, like it took place over just a few moments, not ten loooonnnngggg minutes.

  How could I put all that into words? Why isn’t Tia with me? She could explain it all calmly and coolly, looking Lauren straight in her heavily mascaraed eyes, daring her to trip me up with tricky questions.

  But there’s no Tia; there’s only little useless me, sitting here with a thumping heart and matching forehead.

  ‘I spoke to her about panting,’ I say finally.

  It’s suddenly like the moment in the gym on Monday morning – a long second’s silence before giggles erupt, though this time it’s just Lauren and not the entire class, at least.

  CLICK!

  The fingers of one hand cover Lauren’s laughing mouth, while the ind
ex finger of the other flips the recorder button to off.

  ‘That’s it?’ I say.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Lauren nods, the sarky smile fading, being replaced by a look that seems to dare me to challenge her.

  What’s Lauren on about? It doesn’t feel like she even asked me any proper questions. But maybe I should just be glad it’s over with, since it was as much fun as being trapped in a lift with a wasp.

  I begin to move, to go back and join the rest of the class, when Lauren speaks again.

  ‘Cheese!’ She giggles, and – FLASH! – I’m instantly blinded.

  ‘Thanks for the photo, Riley!’ says Lauren, in a voice that sounds as if she’s smirking, though I can’t see for the white whorls in my eyes.

  Listening to the tippetty-tap of Lauren’s black pumps as she walks away, I try to blink my sight back, my heart thundering at the unfairness, her meanness, my uselessness.

  Oh, I wish, I wish, I wish …

  I wish Tia hadn’t disappeared to the other side of the stupid world.

  I wish I could stand up for myself.

  I wish I wasn’t alone.

  I wish –

  ‘It’s going to be all right, Riley.’ I hear that comforting, far-away whisper in my ear as the white mist clears and my vision begins to return.

  And the first things I see clearly are the faces of Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl, staring earnestly at me with their eyes the colour of skies on different days. Mrs Mahoney is showing them some info sheets about using the library, but, since they’re staring my way, I don’t think they’re listening.

  As I blink some more I see something else. A small thing that blows my mind.

  Pearl: her fingers are still idly playing with those wilted yellow roses.

  But under her tender touch something seems to have happened to them. A few minutes ago, they were floppy and dead. Now their sunny heads are stretched up towards the fluorescent lights on the library ceiling.

  Hey, I’m the girl who’s good at imagining things that aren’t real, right?

  But this is different.

  This is happening.

  And it’s not just Pearl coaxing a bunch of supermarket flowers back to life.

  What about Sunshine casually brushing off the fact that her dog has some completely impossible in-built homing device?

  Or Kitt’s power to see into the future, since she knew to stop me before the car moved outside school earlier?

  Their eyes too … It’s like they’re different colours every time I look at them.

  Just who have Mr and Mrs Angelo ended up fostering? The daughters of illusionists, like those people on TV magic shows who can levitate on the street or make viewers watching at home believe they’re stuck to their sofas?

  Suddenly, I have a brand-new wish.

  I wish these girls hadn’t moved in next door, because they’re seriously freaking me out …

  Approaching our house, I drag my fingers along the fence, tracing the wavy lines of glitter.

  At least where yesterday’s wavy lines of glitter were … Had Dad or Hazel wiped them off? Or maybe it rained in the night and washed them away. But, hey, there’s plenty more where that came from, I think, remembering the sparkly silver fingerprints on the cuff of my blazer this morning, and the marks on the front door on Monday morning.

  Dot was going to have to have a glitter amnesty, or I’d be raiding her craft box and confiscating it myself …

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  I hesitate with my hand on the gate.

  The hammering is coming from Tia’s house. OK, the Angelos’ house.

  I step back, just enough that I can see down the side of the building to where the old chestnut tree stands huge and gnarled in the garden.

  Oh! I’ve been spotted spying. Not by Mr Angelo, who’s bent over a stack of wood, but by Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl, who all wave while Bee barks. (So he obviously did find his way home from school this morning …)

  I manage a wiggle of my fingers and hurry inside, overcome by shyness and uncertainty again.

  After the weirdness going on in the library this morning, I stayed well away from my new next-door neighbours, and they seemed not one tiny bit bothered by that.

  At break and lunch I’d seen them drifting, watching, looking, whispering.

  In class I’d slouched down in my seat, while everyone else – including Lauren, Joelle and Nancy – sat upright and open-mouthed as Y7C’s three newest students breezed through every question in every subject, as if maths, physics, French or whatever were as simple as nursery rhymes.

  And I’d deliberately taken my time leaving after the home bell blasted, so I wouldn’t run into them. (I stood and read an announcement on the noticeboard saying Mrs Sharma and her baby girl were doing fine. Five times.)

  At last I’d scuttled out to find no Sunshine, no Kitt, no Pearl – no Bee – waiting for me by the gates, which was a relief. Or disappointing. I couldn’t figure out which …

  ‘Hey, Alastair,’ I say now to the lump of wood in the doggy bed as I push open the front door.

  Pleased to see me, Alastair rolls over on his back to get his tummy tickled (not).

  ‘Hello?’ I call out more loudly, hanging my schoolbag from the peg in the hall.

  No answer – the radio is up loud in the kitchen and Dot is up louder still.

  Padding silently along, I stop just before the kitchen doorway and peek inside, like a spy in my own home.

  The slight, twanging pain in my chest – maybe it’s the first sign of heart problems, but I think it’s probably a twinge of jealousy cos Dot is perched on the kitchen counter, singing her heart out and wafting a washing-up-liquid bottle around. It’s got wonky-shaped wings taped to the sides and black and red paint splodges decorating it.

  Hazel is smiling at her dippy daughter while trying to undo some sticky tape that’s tangled in Dot’s hair.

  That cute mum-and-little-kid scene, it never happened for my mother and me. How sad is that?

  And the way Hazel is gazing at Dot, as if she’s the most amazing, adorable person in the whole wide world … how great would it be to have someone look at me that way?

  OK, so Dad does it from time to time. At least he did it a lot more before he got together with Hazel. Now his smiles and love have to be shared around the three of us, and sometimes it feels like I get the smallest piece of the ‘family’ pie.

  ‘RILLLEEYYYYYYY!’ roars Dot, suddenly spotting me. ‘Look, I made a rocket at school today. SWOOOOSHHH!!’

  ‘Great,’ I say as I wander closer to take a look at her handiwork. ‘But fancy keeping it away from me? You’ve made enough mess on my jacket already!’

  I’m talking about the glitter on my cuff, but Dot is oblivious and doesn’t bother to react. She’s way too busy swooshing her rocket around.

  ‘Stay still, Dottie, darling,’ says Hazel, trying to sound strict but half laughing. Then as an afterthought she adds, ‘How was school today, Riley?’

  Hazel always asks the questions she thinks she’s supposed to ask, without being remotely concerned about my answers. When Dad first introduced us I guess he hoped we’d be all best buddies and sharing girly chats together once she and Dot moved in, but it’s somehow never happened. Like I say, I’m polite to Hazel, and she’s polite back.

  And so it’s only polite for me to answer her question.

  But how?

  Do I tell her the truth?

  That I spent the day getting told off by teachers for daydreaming/not paying attention in class because I was either …

  a) fretting over who I could contact on the News Matters team to ask them not to run Lauren’s non-story about me

  b) writing lists of ways I could get out of going on the Wildwoods Theme Park school trip on Friday

  c) wondering what on earth Tia would make of the Angelos …

  I hadn’t ended up with an answer to my first two noodlings, but I figured I did know what practical, no-messing Tia would say about the last one. />
  ‘Are you serious, Riley? There’s nothing “witchy” about Sunshine and her dog! She must’ve just trained him really well.’

  ‘Honestly, you NEVER notice anything. But I bet Kitt is just super-observant, so she heard the car engine rev in the street and guessed it was about to move.’

  ‘The roses? I bet you a tenner Mrs Mahoney had put fresh water in the vase five minutes before you all turned up in the library – THAT ’s why they all perked up. It was nothing to do with Pearl!’

  See? That’s why Tia was like my guardian angel – she could protect me from my sometimes mad self by telling me what was really happening, and what I should think …

  ‘Riley?’

  Hazel is staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  So how was school today? Well, because I don’t want Hazel to think I’m mucking around/having a brain meltdown, this is the answer I give her: ‘It was OK.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ she says, turning back to the sticky, wriggling mess that is my sort-of-stepsister. ‘Dottie, stay still, darling!’

  Since I’m not really needed, I mooch through to the living room, and plink on the computer.

  The screen radiates into life. And with a tap or two I’m checking, and there are precisely … let’s see … zero messages for me. (Sigh …)

  It’s no surprise, not with all the flights and travelling and stopovers Tia and her family have to do over the next few days, but I still flop my head on to my arms on the desk and let out such an enormously long sigh that I might just deflate altogether.

  And then –

  Tickle.

  Prickles of tickles.

  The hairs on my arms are standing up, the same as the other day, when the Angelos were moving in.

  I lift my head a little and look left and right, listening, hardly breathing. There’s no one, there’s nothing.

  Slowly, I straighten up. And just as I come face to face with the computer screen, out of nowhere a single tiny white feather flutters down and lands on the keyboard.

  BING-BONG!!!

  The doorbell goes, making me jump.

  ‘I’LL GET IT!’ I hear Dot yell as she thunders down the hall.

  I pick up the feather and swirl it round between my fingers, wondering where on earth it’s come from.