I feel the tiniest shudder. At first I think it’s Dot, who’s holding my hand, shivering with cold. But this is a vibration I feel inside … I glance at the angels and see them staring wide-eyed, taking in the tense atmosphere.
‘No offence to your friends –’ Mrs Reynolds holds up a hand, making a gold bracelet jangle – ‘but you can’t go inviting people back here without giving me any warning, Marnie. I’ve got work to finish. I can’t drop everything and suddenly rustle up tea for … for however many you all are!’
‘Mum, I haven’t brought them for tea! I already phoned and told Nan that –’
‘Whoa, what’s going on? What have you been doing?’ Mrs Reynolds interrupts, looking behind us and spotting the trail of muddy footprints in the hallway. ‘And can somebody stop the dog from making that mess?’
We all look down and see Bee shaking himself, doing the doggy quick-dry fix. At that same moment, a phone rings loudly in Mrs Reynolds’s hand.
‘No … not the office again!’ she whines, sounding a lot like Dot when she’s been told it’s time to get the knots combed out of her hair.
‘Penny – go and answer your phone. I’ve got this,’ says Marnie’s nan, gruffly ordering Mrs Reynolds out of the room with a wave of the spoon she’s holding. She’s wearing a bracelet too, but hers is made of colourful glass beads, which match her chunky necklace.
I’ve met Marnie’s grandma before. She – amazingly, wonderfully – recognized me because I looked like Mum. She knew her because she bought all her flowers from Annie’s Posies. I might be wet, tired and emotional just now, but I’m also a little bit thrilled to be in her company again. I wonder if I can ask her some more about Mum … It might be quicker than waiting for the angels’ help. (Yes, OK, so I’m still kind of cross and confused about their reaction back at the lake.)
‘Right, gorgeous Annie’s equally gorgeous daughter …’ Marnie’s nan turns to me with a cheerful smile. ‘Can you remind me of your name, and tell me what happened to this little one of yours?’
I feel my cheeks flood scarlet. No one’s called me gorgeous before. No one ever mentions my mum. I’m sure everyone is staring at me. But I don’t care; hearing this woman say Mum’s name out loud makes my mum feel instantly more real to me. I feel like running round the kitchen island and giving Marnie’s nan a huge hug.
‘I’m – I’m Riley,’ I stammer. ‘We were walking by the lake, and Dot went to the end of the jetty, and –’
‘And my wellies tripped me up,’ Dot finishes, gazing down at her wet socks. ‘They’re still stuck in the mud!’
‘Serves them right! Naughty wellies,’ jokes Marnie’s nan, her eyes cartoon wide.
Everyone laughs – and stops paying attention to me and my flushed cheeks, which is a relief.
‘Now, the rest of you, take off your muddy shoes and wellies and leave them by the door, my lovelies!’ Marnie’s nan carries on cheerfully, as she pours hot milk into waiting mugs.
Even her hair is cheerful. It’s like puffed-up candyfloss.
‘I’ll sort the floor, Nan,’ says Marnie, grabbing a mop from the cupboard in the hall.
‘Good girl. Then your moany mum won’t have anything to moan about!’ Her nan laughs. ‘And you look like a strong boy –’ she’s smiling at Woody, as he pads back into the kitchen in his wet socks – ‘so could you carry this tray downstairs, please? We’ll be much cosier there!’
Of course. Marnie’s nan lives in the granny flat downstairs. I’ve never been inside it. I just saw the door to it when I was out in the garden during Marnie’s party.
‘Sure, Mrs … Mrs …’ Woody stumbles.
‘Etta. Please call me Etta. Here, I’ve looked out some clothes for those of you in need,’ says the old woman, wandering round the vast, shiny kitchen island and holding a hand out to Dot. ‘And I’ve got some lovely medicinal biscuits in my cupboard too!’
Dot might have been ashen-white with shock on the way here, but her face suddenly pinks at the mention of biscuits.
Five minutes later, I’m coming out of the granny-flat bathroom wearing a strange combination of flowery PJ bottoms and a slightly too-tight T-shirt with I LOVE CYPRUS! on it.
‘Looking good!’ Woody grins at me from the sofa. He can talk: Marnie’s tracksuit bottoms stop right above his ankles.
‘Don’t you think my hoodie matches his eyes?’ Marnie asks.
It’s red.
Woody jumps up and begins to parade about, model-style, posing and pouting for all he’s worth. Not that there’s much space to parade; unlike the huge, stylish house upstairs, this place is practically doll-sized, and made smaller but cosier still with all the colourful clutter everywhere.
‘Ooh, you’re a proper supermodel!’ says Etta, tilting her head back and laughing loudly.
She’s on the sofa with Dot, who’s curled up in a big hand-knitted jumper with her knees tucked inside. I think she must be on her zillionth biscuit.
The angels and Bee are all slouched on the fuzzy rug in front of the gas fire, where Sunshine is holding her bare feet to the heat. I wonder what strange thoughts are swirling around their unknowable minds. Before they came rushing at the sound of Dot’s screams, had they figured out who needs their help? Actually, maybe that was the reason for their matching smiles back at the lake …
‘Riley, sit here!’ says Etta, patting the space beside her where Woody had been sitting seconds before.
I do as I’m told and plonk myself down, taking the mug she’s holding out to me.
‘Thanks,’ I say politely. ‘So you’ve met Alastair, then?’
Dot’s pet is nestled on her lap, like a wooden sausage dog.
‘Oh, he’s a lovely boy,’ Etta coos, and gives him a stroke. ‘So is Bee. I was just telling Dot about my darling Harry, who sadly passed away not so long ago …’
At this, Etta gazes up at the mantelpiece, which is stuffed with photos in silver frames. Some are of an elderly, smiley, grey-haired man who looks like he might be Greek Cypriot, and some are of a black-and-white spaniel.
I’m not sure which one is Harry.
There’s certainly no sign of either an elderly man or a spaniel here in the flat.
‘He was such a sweetheart. The love of my life.’
So Harry’s her husband.
‘My George loved him too … always out for walks together. George used to say, “Harry, lead!” and Harry would lollop off and grab it from the hall table in our old house and –’
Wait, no – Harry’s the dog. And George is – was? – her husband.
As Etta chats away about her beloved pooch, I notice that, while her voice is bright and her smile wide, her eyes are filling up with tears. Uh-oh. I’m suddenly worried that she might cry in front of us. Which could be upsetting for her, since we’re all strangers, except for Marnie.
Hold on. I’m friends with three girls whose job it is to sense emotions.
I look down at Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl to gauge their reactions, and see something in their faces that instantly explains the smiles by the lake.
That same beatific, mysterious smile is on each of their faces as they listen to Etta talking. Wow … the sisters have found who they’ve been looking for, haven’t they?
The seeking and searching is over.
They’ve found Etta!
But why do they think she is so in need of –
‘Hello – Riley?’ says Mrs Reynolds, after tapping on the door but walking straight in.
‘Yes, that’s me!’ I reply, since Marnie’s mum doesn’t know which girl here owns my name.
‘Your dad’s here.’
Ah, yeah. I phoned him at work, while we were walking to Marnie’s, and asked him to pick us up when he finished at the print shop.
‘Great!’ I say, though I wish he’d arrived just a few minutes later, so I could study Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl a little more, and figure out what might be going so wrong in Etta’s life that their search has ended with her.
�
��Dotty, are you all right, my darling?’
Oh, it’s Hazel too, coming rushing into the room and scooping a startled Dot up off the sofa and into her arms.
‘I can’t believe I could’ve lost you!’ Hazel is muttering, holding my little sort-of-stepsister so tight that the biscuit she’s been holding crumbles in her hand.
‘She’s all right,’ I reassure Hazel. ‘The water wasn’t that deep.’
‘But it could have been!’ says Hazel.
The combination of those words, the sharp, stressed tone she uses to say them, and the glare she’s just given me add up to one thing: Hazel blames me for not looking after Dot properly.
‘Dad?’ I appeal to him. ‘Dot’s OK – I went straight in, and Woody and the others all helped.’
Dad rubs his hands through his brown hair and his eyebrows furrow. I can see he’s not a hundred per cent on my side either.
‘Riley, sweetheart, why were you even at Lady Grace’s Lake at this time of day?’ he asks wearily, pointing to the garden in shadows outside and the dark starry sky above.
That’s not fair. It wasn’t this dark when we were at the lake. And it’s not even five o’clock now. He’s making it sound like I took Dot out on a midnight stroll!
‘We were researching for an article in the school newsletter,’ I try to explain, nodding at Woody. ‘It’s about the Frost Fair that’s happening this weekend. I did tell Hazel where we were going.’
‘The washing machine was on!’ Hazel snaps. ‘All I heard was you saying you were going for a walk! I didn’t expect –’
I don’t hear the rest of Hazel’s complaint.
‘Thank you for your help,’ Dad interrupts, directing his words to Mrs Reynolds and Etta. ‘Come on, grab your things and let’s go, kids.’
Interrupting Hazel, doling out brief thanks, handing out blunt orders … that’s not Dad’s usual way of talking at all. He’s normally as soft and sweet as a teddy bear filled with fudge.
And what’s made his face go as ashen-white as Dot’s was when she fell in the lake?
I hear a murmur in my head. It’s Sunshine using quiet words. What is it she’s saying?
Then I suddenly figure it out, though it doesn’t make any sense.
‘The Frost Fair …’
Hold breath, cross fingers
I slept for about six minutes the whole night.
So this morning I turned over and curled into my cosy duvet, grateful that it was a lovely lazy Sunday.
Then my alarm went off and I realized that it was actually Thursday. A school day. Groan …
What had kept me awake and left me this tired? Questions and puzzles that’d whirled endlessly around my mind, nudging me every time I began to nod off.
Why was Dad completely thrown by the mention of the Frost Fair yesterday? Could it be a Mum thing? He’d had that same strained, sad look …
Why is Hazel always so cross with me at the moment? I don’t think she’s ever been that keen on me, but this feels different.
Why are the angels so sure that Etta – possibly the most bright and sparkly old lady I’ve ever met – has lost her shine and needs their help? On the way to school they told me they don’t know yet; they need to spend more time with her. But – and here’s another question – how’s that going to happen?
When will I get the chance to be alone with Kitt and ask her where the angels came from? They stick together whenever they can.
What is with the weird snatch of music I’ve not-quite-been-hearing this week? It’s freaking me out. Did I even hear it? Nobody else seemed to have …
And, speaking of music, why did the angels react to Marnie’s flute piece so dramatically yesterday? Maybe because they were seeing her but sensing her connection to Etta?
But right now those questions and puzzles seem fuzzy and not that important. I’m so tired I could put my head down on this desk and sleep, sleep, sleeeeeppppp …
Not that it’s going to happen. Not when I’m in class, and not when Lauren Mayhew’s cocky voice is ringing in my ears.
‘I still don’t see why they don’t want cool music at the fair.’
Mr Hamdi tries to answer patiently. ‘As I’ve said already, they want music that reflects the period when Frost Fairs were held, which is why Marnie Reynolds will be performing “Greensleeves”. And I’m afraid that – “cool” as she is – Beyoncé wasn’t a big hit in the seventeenth to eighteenth centuries …’
Joelle makes a disrespectful ‘tsk’ noise in support of her friend, or Beyoncé, or both.
‘The sort of music they want – especially from earlier in that period – can sound almost … almost magical to us now,’ Mr Hamdi carries on, trying to steer the conversation away from pop hits. ‘It really can leave you with a hairs-standing-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck sensation. Here, let me put this on for you. It’s called “Gaudete”. It’s known as an ancient sacred song, and … now, where is it?’
Lauren bangs her head – or at least mimes banging her head – on the table three times. She does it behind Mr Hamdi’s back, of course, while he’s frowning at the screen of his laptop. And then it starts … no intro, just harmonizing voices singing straight away.
Like Mr Hamdi, I try closing my eyes.
And suddenly the music really is other-worldly, a hundred thousand light years away from our fluorescent-lit chrome-and-plastic classroom.
A strangely beautiful sound that seems to stretch all the way back to medieval times.
And it’s a sound that’s being spoiled by sniggering.
Opening my eyes, I see Lauren, Joelle and Nancy giggling and mugging along to the song. Worse still, it’s started a low-level Mexican wave of silliness around the room.
Mr Hamdi hasn’t noticed yet, cos he’s closest to the speakers, but he will as the sniggering swells. And then we’ll probably all end up with a group detention, thanks to stupid Lauren May–
Then something happens.
A new sound happens.
A new sound that immediately gives me that eerie, hairs-standing-up-on-the-back-of-my-neck sensation Mr Hamdi talked about.
The angels are singing. Singing along to ‘Gaudete’, with overlapping voices so pure and perfect that I can practically feel the shock in the room all around me.
Mr Hamdi’s eyes open wide in surprise, his mouth drops.
Please, no! I think in a panic, turning to look at Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl for signs of strangely brightening eyes or hidden wings emerging.
There’s nothing, luckily. Just three heads held high, faces radiating happiness as they sing.
But I almost feel I need to hold my breath, to cross my fingers tight, to will my friends not to show themselves for who they really are.
And so when the song ends, and I can finally breathe again, I slump, weirdly exhausted.
There’s a second of stunned silence, then Mr Hamdi starts clapping madly, and everyone joins in, even Joelle and Nancy. (Lauren looks gobsmacked, but can’t bring herself to be nice.)
‘Girls! Girls! That was stupendous!’ he says once the frantic applause has died down. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?’
‘We didn’t know we c–’
‘We were too shy,’ Kitt says over Pearl’s words, sounding more stern than shy.
She’s lying, of course. But Kitt knows her shy lie is more believable than Pearl’s honesty.
‘Well, you’d better get over your shyness, ladies,’ says Mr Hamdi, ‘because you HAVE to perform at the Frost Fair now!’
‘We’d love to,’ Sunshine replies with a serene smile.
And then she says something else, but just to me. ‘Thank you …’ her quiet words whisper softly in my head.
‘Why did you thank me?’ I ask Sunshine, as class spills out in a jumble of people, bags and chatting.
Sunshine smiles at me, but I have the funniest feeling she’s using the smile to give herself time to think …
‘Hey, there’s Marnie,’ Pearl suddenly pipes u
p excitedly, pointing at the squash of people milling around in the corridor. ‘We have to talk to her. We have to tell her we need to be friends with her grandmother!’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Pearl,’ says Sunshine, turning her attention away from my question. ‘Does it, Riley?’
‘Well, no,’ I reply. ‘Young people and older people aren’t friends exactly.’
‘They’re enemies?’ Kitt asks, her dark brows frowning over the top of her black glasses.
The angels have slotted into the human world incredibly well, but every now and then they need me to translate. Sometimes I fail; they still don’t understand the point of random things like ties, shaking hands or people being afraid of birds. But then, neither do I.
‘No. I didn’t mean that,’ I say hurriedly. ‘What I mean is …’
My explanation slithers away as Marnie comes closer. I’ve just had an idea.
‘Hey, Marnie – guess what?’ I call out to her.
‘What?’ she asks, sidestepping some running boys so she can safely join us.
‘Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl just sang something for Mr Hamdi, and he says they have to perform at the Frost Fair!’ I tell her.
‘Yeah?’ she says, smiling round at my friends. ‘What did you sing?’
‘We don’t know!’ Pearl says with a little laugh.
‘She’s forgotten the name,’ Sunshine slips in quickly to cover up for her sister. ‘It was …’
Uh-oh. The angels have no idea of the song’s title, or why that unheard piece of music chimed with them so much.
‘It was called “Gaudete”,’ I chip in swiftly.
‘Oh, I know that!’ says Marnie, her face lighting up. ‘It’s really pretty.’
OK, this idea of mine is working well so far. And the angels have just figured out that I’m going somewhere with this. Their eyes are all on me; I can feel it.
‘Well, if you guys are all performing on Saturday, why don’t you have a rehearsal together sometime?’ I suggest, as if it had only just occurred to me.
Small pleased smiles break on Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl’s faces.
‘That would be great!’ says Marnie. ‘But it’s Thursday already, and the Frost Fair is on Saturday, so –’
Angels Like Me Page 5
