‘Which you shouldn’t have done,’ Sunshine says flatly, her face still covered. ‘Everything was going really well without you breaking the rules, Kitt.’
‘Yes, I know,’ grumbles Kitt. ‘Don’t lose your temper. Don’t seek revenge, for yourself or for others.’
‘Or Riley!’ Pearl pipes up.
(Revenge? Has that got something to do with Lauren? With cobwebs and spiders and blasts of silver-white light …?)
‘You can talk!’ Kitt turns and says spikily to her sister. ‘I’ve had to cover for you breaking the rules loads of times, Pearl! And you, Sunshine. You kept letting your thoughts be heard! I had to watch the two of you all the time!’
So that’s why Kitt didn’t encourage our friendship. She was busy protecting Sunshine and Pearl, not hating me.
But these rules they’re talking about … Is it something to do with that chart I saw on the wall of their bedroom?
‘Sunshine,’ I whisper, hoping the most straightforward of the Angelos can help me make sense of what’s happening before my head explodes with shock. ‘What … what does it all mean?’
At my words Sunshine slowly drops her hands.
Her face lifts.
And, as her eyes open, a silver-white beam of light spills from them, illuminating the whole space with breath-taking brightness.
(The unearthly glow of light from Tia’s house when I was up on Folly Hill with Dad …)
With an immense rush and crackle of unfurling, Sunshine’s own wings reach up, up, up towards the ceiling.
Kitt and Pearl slip either side of her, their own eyes blazing with matching light, Pearl’s giddiness and Kitt’s exhaustion gone for the moment as they stand sentry to their sister.
‘Riley, do you know what we are?’ asks Sunshine as Kitt and Pearl mouth those same words.
The room – the stupid, ordinary tiled room – feels like it’s vibrating.
The sensation is rising through my feet, gentle tremors travelling up my body, making the hairs on my arms prickle and tickle.
(Prickles and tickles … like feathers stroking my skin …)
‘Wow, Dot and Coco were right, weren’t they?’ I murmur to myself. Angels really had moved in next door to us.
‘I-I knew there was something special about you … I just didn’t think you’d b-be what you are,’ I stumble and stutter, not managing to say the amazing ‘angel’ word, as if it was too magical to say out loud. ‘But, but why are you here? Living in my road? Going to my school?’
The intensity of the light suddenly fades, so I can look into the girls’ now steely-silver eyes without wincing.
‘We’re here to help,’ Sunshine says, her wings rippling behind her.
‘Who?’ I ask.
Sunshine puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me to the long mirror above the sinks. ‘You,’ she replies as all three girls stare fondly at me.
‘Me?’ I croak.
‘We’re here to look for humans who’ve stopped shining. Well, we’re learning to,’ Kitt explains, her energy leaving her and her wings trembling as she leans on the nearest porcelain sink. ‘You’re our first.’
Me.
So basically I’m a test case for trainee angels?
‘Hold on, I’ve stopped “shining”? What does that mean?’ I ask in a panic. ‘Am I dying?’
‘No, you’re not dying, Riley!’ Sunshine assures me. ‘But if a human’s shine fades altogether it can never come back, and it can leave you with sadness for all of your life.’
‘We sensed you fading,’ says Kitt, who seems to be fading herself. ‘Your shine was already weakened, because of what happened to your mother.’
‘You know …?’ I murmur.
‘Yes, but that wasn’t the main reason for fading,’ says Pearl, curling an arm round mine. ‘It was because of your friend.’
‘Tia leaving?’ I say, still barely breathing, barely believing what I’m seeing.
‘Yes, but it had begun to happen before that,’ Sunshine says, gazing at me sympathetically in the mirror.
Before that? What do they mean, before that?
‘Look, listen …’ Sunshine whispers, taking my hot hand in her cool palm, Pearl wrapping icy fingers round my other hand, Kitt resting her head on Pearl’s fragile shoulder.
Like a hiss on a wire, I hear it; I see it.
Tia talking, me listening.
Tia joking, me laughing.
Tia in technicolour, me in black and white.
Tia being wonderful, smart, beautiful; me being ordinary, ordinary, ordinary.
It wasn’t her fault.
It was mine.
Like Woody, I was in awe of Tia. And as we’d got older, especially since we’d started at bustling, busy Hillcrest Academy, I’d allowed myself to hide more and more in her shadow, to become more and more invisible.
A few minutes ago I’d been mad at Mrs Sharma, but maybe she was right.
Tia was fun and was my friend, but our super-strong bond was suffocating me. And maybe her too …
SLAM!!
‘Riley!’ bellows Lauren, crashing through the door. ‘Are you in heeeee–’
She freezes.
Only her long blonde hair sways slightly as she comes to a halt.
I think for a second it’s the shock of seeing three angels in the first-floor girls’ toilets, till I notice Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl’s steady stare.
Lauren – she’s as still as the statue staring out over Folly Hill.
I’m suddenly a little scared for her. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, uncertain whether I should stand beside Lauren in case she falls. ‘Are you hypnotizing her? Don’t hurt her!’
The girls – the angels – step closer and closer to Lauren. I might not feel like they mean me any harm, but Lauren hasn’t exactly shown her best side to them. If she’s actually got one, of course.
‘We’re rewinding …’ Sunshine says in a soft, otherworldly voice.
Uh-oh. What does that mean?
‘Open the door, Riley,’ says Kitt, locked into the sisters’ mutual moment of concentration.
I get behind the rigid form of Lauren and yank the door open.
‘Help her walk backwards,’ Pearl instructs me.
Touching the arm of the girl who’s hurt me so much, I guide her – in a trance – out of the room, into the cool cream-coloured corridor and leave her there.
I return to the loos and close the door to the sound of crackles and ruffles.
‘She won’t remember anything,’ says Sunshine as the silver light fades to blue, the wings folding and melding back out of sight.
(Mr Angelo nearly falling from the tree, then looking only slightly baffled at losing his hammer – he could remember nothing …)
Under the plain glare of the ceiling spotlights Pearl looks girlish and wide-eyed again; Kitt is once again stumbling and bone-tired.
‘When Lauren comes in here, you have to go out, Riley,’ Sunshine continues, telling me, rather than asking me. ‘You have to be with Mrs Sharma in front of everyone, to help strengthen your shine.’
The anxiety clutches at my chest again.
‘Please don’t make me,’ I beg. ‘It’s all – it’s all too much. This … and, well, everything.’
‘It’s going to be all right, Riley,’ Sunshine beams at me, using words that chime in my heart. ‘You can do this on your own, because we’ve been working with you, even though you haven’t known it.’
(Mum’s voice telling me everything would be all right; was that the girls too …?)
‘Riley, I think I can do one more thing to make you feel better,’ Kitt says, interrupting my thoughts and stepping closer to me, looking so tired I wouldn’t be surprised if she climbed on to the shelf that ran under the wall-length mirrors and fell asleep.
‘No,’ Sunshine says sternly. ‘There’ve been enough black crosses. And look at you, Kitt! You’ve used all your energies today!’
But Kitt isn’t listening; Kitt is placing her hands
on my head, and it’s as if warm water is cascading through my hair.
‘Riley!’ bellows Lauren, crashing through the door – again. ‘Are you in here …? OMG, what’s going on?’
Like a tap being turned off, the warm sensation instantly disappears.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, catching Kitt as she stumbles.
‘Just go,’ she whispers.
I hesitate, but see she has two people who love her, who’ll help her.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Lauren snarls, pointing her finger at Kitt.
‘She’s allergic to you – same as the rest of us,’ I say as I slip past her in the doorway.
Steering myself back to the library and the waiting TV crew, I buzz inside, feeling that my skin is just a little bit thicker, and that I won’t let Lauren, or people like her, hurt me the same way ever again.
Cos it’s time to stop worrying about being just me.
Time to stop hiding behind the bright star that was Tia.
Time to start shining for myself …
I have the strangest feeling.
If I was at home I’d think Dot was standing over me, trying not to giggle while she sprinkled glitter on my face, after telling me to lie down and shut my eyes.
But I’m not at home.
Right now I’m in my favourite place with my favourite people: Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl.
We’re doing what we do best.
Lying on our backs at the top of Folly Hill, right by the Angel.
We can’t feel the soft green grass on our bare legs and arms, because we’re bundled up in our cosy parkas, coats and duffels, stretched out on the tartan blanket I borrowed from Alastair’s doggy basket. But we are staring up at the unusually blue November sky and the skimming white clouds that promise rain later.
Me, Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl.
Talking about everything.
Talking about nothing.
Talking about balloons …
‘Did you like them?’ Pearl asks hopefully.
‘You mean you put them in my head?’ I say, surprised.
That sense of happiness on the morning of my twelfth birthday, like my brain was full of balloons; Pearl’s only just remembered to tell me it was a special birthday present from her.
‘I hope I didn’t put too many in there,’ she says, biting her lip. ‘I worried I’d make you dizzy!’
Finding out about what the angels have done and can do … It’ll take time to know it all, but I don’t mind waiting.
In the meantime I should ask them about this feeling of glitter sprinkling on to my face.
‘Look! LOOK, RILEY! It’s like SNOW!’ shrieks Dot, and I open my eyes to see that my sort-of-stepsister is dropping blades of grass – white-tipped with frost – down on to me.
‘Dot!’ I yelp, sitting up and brushing the blades away. ‘Haven’t you got a dog to play with?’
‘TWO of them!’ she giggles, spinning off across the hill, her arms like the rotors of a helicopter.
Irritating as she can be, Dot’s great to photograph, and so I pick up my new camera and click, click, click. I capture Dot’s spin, and Bee and Alastair’s romping, Bee gripping the dog lead in his mouth and dragging his wood-pup buddy along with him wherever he goes.
Actually, one recent-ish photo of mine has been a big hit at school – it was blown up huge on the News Matters website. It was the moment just after the TV interview last week, when Mrs Sharma was struggling to hold her baby and untangle the tiny microphone from her top. She’d glanced around for the nearest pair of capable arms, but not finding any (ha!), she plonked her tiny-person-sized parcel on to a startled Woody.
The baby immediately started wailing, and Woody jokingly pretended to wail too. That’s the shot I took, and it still makes me laugh now. It made the editorial team at News Matters laugh as well, and so they offered me the job of being their site photographer. Funnily enough, around the time I said a shy yes please to that, Lauren Mayhew let the team know she wasn’t interested in being a reporter for them any more.
She’s told some of the girls in class that it was because it’s just not cool enough for her, but I think everyone knows it’s got more to do with Mr Thomlinson showing the photos I took at the theme park as a slide show during assembly, including the one of Lauren’s temper tantrum under the tangle of cobwebs and spiders. Ever since then she’s gone pretty quiet in general, and is blanking me in particular, which is just fantastic. I mean, I don’t for one minute expect her to stay that way; once she’s licked her wounds she and her acid tongue will probably be back, as spiky and dangerous as ever.
But by then I’ll be ready: a little braver, a little stronger, a whole lot shinier than I used to be.
‘Hey, can you take a photo of the stone lady?’ Pearl asks me as she jumps up and wanders over to the Angel on her plinth. ‘I like her. She’s pretty.’
‘She’s funny,’ says Kitt, jumping to her feet and holding her hands in front of her and doing a simpering impression of the statue.
‘Hey, Riley,’ I hear Sunshine say, though she’s still lying down, her lips not moving.
She likes to play this game, to see if I’ll hear.
‘What?’ I answer out loud, keeping one eye on Dot, who knows nothing about who and what these girls really are.
‘Why don’t you take a photo of the three of us?’ She speaks aloud now too, pushing herself up on to her elbows. ‘I mean, us with her.’
As Sunshine joins her sisters at the plinth, I marvel at what I’ve seen, felt and learned in the last couple of weeks.
I’ve learned that brand-new angels need to practise their skills, and I’m happy to be Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl’s girl-shaped guinea pig.
I’ve learned that they can make mistakes: Kitt with her anger, and Pearl with her slip-ups of glitter, of bringing dead flowers back to life with a careless touch of her fingers.
I’ve learned they can take themselves to the brink of exhaustion with a tricky rewind, like, say, when a foster parent loses his footing on a tree …
Actually, I’ve learned what quite a few of the strange words and letters mean on the chart in the loft room. ‘Catch’ is my favourite so far: the sense of seeing what’s about to happen. Which means I understand now why Kitt knew the car was going to move outside school and when the old lady on Folly Hill was going to appear and tell me that magical fact, that I looked so like my mum.
And Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl want to help me find out more about Mum.
They say it’ll help me shine.
Maybe they can help me find out why it hurts Dad quite so much to talk about her?
‘Hey, Riley!’ Pearl calls out from her spot by the Angel. ‘Do you want to get that first?’
I’m used to this type of small catch now, and grab my phone out of my bag, laughing, just before the text pings.
Tia, the name glows luminously on the screen.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, slipping the phone back in my bag. ‘I’ll get it later.’
Tia is still my friend, and I love hearing from her and seeing her photos on Flickr of her house and garden and kidney-shaped pool, but she’s doing her thing and I’m beginning to do mine.
‘Come on, then, we’re ready!’ Kitt grins at me, striking her jokey saintly pose again.
I point my camera at the most unlikely three angels you could ever see: one tall and serene with soft tumbles of gold-red hair and untied ankle boots, one staring at me through her dark-rimmed glasses, her ear-shaped buns as funny as she is stern, one bouncing on the spot in her glittery baseball boots to keep warm.
CLICK!
I’ll print this out and put it on my pinboard, beside the photo Mrs Mahoney took of me, Mrs Sharma and little Raina Riley Sharma after our filming (it was a bit cringey to watch on TV that night, but, hey, the world didn’t end, no one died).
CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
I take another few as Dot, Bee and Alastair bounce into view.
CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
&n
bsp; ‘So?’ says Sunshine, drifting towards me with what looks like a smile of amusement twitching at the corners of her mouth.
‘Hold on,’ I say, flicking the button to view what I’ve just taken. ‘Oh!’
Sunshine places a hand on my arm, and I can feel the relaxing warmth of it through my parka. (She’s working towards doing that without touching, so she can get a star under V. S. – virtual stroking – on the training chart.)
‘That’s just us, Riley …’ Sunshine’s laugh is like the tinkling of soft bells.
She’s laughing because she knew how these photos would turn out.
I’m skimming through image after image, and only seeing three blurs of white light in front of the stone statue on her plinth.
‘Yeah, so now you know what real angels look like!’ Kitt says wryly.
I glance at my not-quite-flesh-and-blood friends and realize something.
I don’t need to imagine Mum whispering her words of comfort to me any more, because I’m pretty sure everything will be all right from now on.
Cos I’m fine being me.
Though I’m never going to be alone.
Not when there are angels living next door …
A bundle of thanks to my focus group of enthusiastic ten-year-old readers, who ate the cake I bribed them with and happily chattered on about potential story ideas. Just want to say sorry, Milly, Freya and Ella, that I couldn’t use your ace idea about a boarding school for witches … it just sounded a tiny bit familiar (cough … Harry Potter … cough).
And of course it’s been just a little bit wonderful to be working again with the lovely Amanda Punter (like old times!) and the equally lovely Anthea Townsend (like new times!).*
Finally, I’d just like to thank the local garden-centre cafe staff for not laughing and pointing at me as I sat huddled over my laptop at the corner table, muttering dialogue to myself for months on end …
How to be an Everyday Angel
The Angelo sisters use their magical abilities to help Riley – but you don’t have to be a real angel to help others! Check out these six ideas for how to be an everyday angel …
1. Say it, don’t think it.
Angels Next Door Page 11
