Angels Like Me

by Karen McCombie

  Still, all of a sudden I find myself looking at him, wondering if I’m acting too much like Dad, if I should open up and tell my friend how much I miss my –

  ‘Hey, Riley,’ I hear a familiar voice call out to me.

  It’s Marnie, wending her way towards us through the crush of students. From the intense way she’s looking at me, I don’t need to be psychic to guess she has something to tell me.

  OK, make that show me, since she’s waving something in her hand.

  ‘Here – Nan managed to find this for you,’ says Marnie, reaching out and passing me a little slip of card. ‘It’s something from your mum’s shop.’

  I take the card from her. It’s small and rectangular, with a little posy of flowers printed on it (printed by Dad, obviously). There’s pretty, slopey handwriting to the right of the posy.

  With all my love, always, sweetheart … it says.

  I have a fluttering feeling in my chest, wondering if I’m right, if this is what I think it is.

  ‘Grandad sent Nan a bunch of flowers one time, and this was the gift card that was with it,’ Marnie explains. ‘Nan kept it in a box of letters and stuff. Anyway, she told me to tell you that Grandad ordered the bouquet from your mum’s shop and so –’

  ‘And so this is my mum’s handwriting …’ I finish off, hardly believing my luck.

  A minute ago, I got the gift of her face, smiling up at me.

  Then another gift, reading her words.

  And now I have this simple slip of white card that connects me directly to my mother. She picked this up with her fingers, same as I’m doing now. Her hand held a pen and wrote these words that my fingers are now running over, feeling the indent of the letters on the card. And the message.

  I know it was a loving message from Marnie’s grandfather to his wife, but this very second it’s as if my mum’s whispering those same words to me, a murmur of love through the years …

  ‘You OK?’ says Woody.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say softly, feeling more than OK. I feel amazing. Like my New Year Wish to get closer to Mum is actually coming true.

  ‘Look – me and Marnie better go. Our next class is over in the other block and we’ll be late if we don’t head there now.’

  ‘Sure.’ I look up at him and Marnie, smiling my thanks at her.

  I feel suddenly floaty light, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. If I want to – and I think I might want to – I can talk about Mum with these two friends. It’s as if she doesn’t have to be my guilty secret any more.

  ‘Catch up later, yeah?’ says Woody, giving me a playful soft punch on the arm.

  As he and Marnie go one way, another friend drifts reassuringly towards me.

  Sunshine is peeling away from a conversation that’s been happening further up the corridor, leaving Kitt and Pearl talking to Mr Hamdi.

  ‘You look happy,’ she says to me.

  ‘No purple?’ I joke, wafting my hand around my head. I’m stress-free, which is a nice thing to be.

  ‘No purple.’ Sunshine smiles. ‘What’s that?’

  I show her the card, then I hold out the sheet I’ve been clutching in my other hand. Sunshine’s violet-blue eyes forensically scan everything put in front of them.

  ‘It’s like … like I’ve been given a little bit of her,’ I tell my friend, struggling to put my happiness into words she might understand.

  Sunshine tilts her head a little, letting her wavy red waves tumble away from her shoulder. ‘Mothers never leave you, even when they’re gone,’ she says simply.

  And I want to burst with the love I have for this strange and wonderful girl standing in front of me.

  Only she’s not really a girl, is she?

  ‘Sunshine?’ I say in a voice only she can hear, mouthing quiet words at her. ‘What exactly are –’

  Before I get a chance to ask her the question I asked her sisters, she turns and goes, leaving me with one thing.

  It’s a word.

  ‘Soon …’

  The spring and the secrets

  Downstairs the TV is blaring with some movie that Dot is glued to. (I hear her warbling about snow, so I reckon it’s Frozen.)

  There’s a distant clatter of pots and pans as Dad gets the tea ready. (Hazel will be home from her shift at the hospital soon.)

  I’m sitting on my bedroom floor with Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl. (Bee is spread out beside us, unnerving me slightly now I know what he is – and what he isn’t.)

  In the middle of our circle of girls, three things are laid out: the handwritten gift card Etta gave me, the photocopy of the newspaper feature from Woody, and Mum’s framed photo.

  ‘Are you sure this will work?’ I ask them. They’ve done tellings before, but not like this.

  ‘No,’ says Kitt, blunt as ever.

  ‘But Bee says it might!’ Pearl adds hopefully.

  I look over at Bee, who pants and wags his tail. It’s going to take a while to get my head round a fluffy, scruffy white dog being ‘in charge’.

  ‘I know we usually do this on living people, but let’s try …’

  Sunshine holds out a hand to me, and places the other one down flat on the news article. Following her lead, Pearl places a finger on the Annie’s Posies card, while Kitt rests her hand on the frame of Mum’s photo.

  I take a deep breath, and watch as the angels’ eyes begin to brighten and glow.

  After rewind, telling is the second-strongest skill. When Pearl did it to me, I could smell the flowers in Mum’s shop, hear her chatting to a customer (Marnie’s nan, as it turned out), and see Mum moving around, alive and well and with a baby bump that was me.

  I guess you could say that a telling is a wonderful window into your life, a 3-D snapshot of a time or place or person.

  But Mum isn’t a living, breathing person any more. Do the angels have enough power to conjure up a memory from Mum’s past from these scraps of paper, however special they are to me?

  I feel the flutter and warmth of vibration in the hand that’s holding Sunshine’s. Their energy is rising, their eyes are silvering.

  ‘Please work …’ I mutter softly to myself. ‘Please work …’

  Even with my pleading words, it’s no good.

  The angels try their hardest but almost as soon as it’s begun, I feel the vibration fading.

  A soft warm face lands in my lap. I look down into Bee’s puppy-dog eyes, and sigh.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Sunshine.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I reply. But I could cry with disappointment.

  Today felt so special, so important. The coincidence of seeing Mum in the Frost Fair article and then seeing her writing on the gift card … Maybe it was dumb, but it made me feel like it wouldn’t stop there.

  These were signs that some amazing break-through was just round the corner.

  Something to do with Mum that would blow my mind …

  But that’s not going to happen, is it?

  A huge full stop just went splat in my heart.

  If only –

  Tappity-tap!

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Wow. Maybe it’s just as well the telling didn’t work. Same as usual, Dad smiles his way round my door before I’ve properly answered him.

  What on earth would he have made of my friends in a trance, with slivers of light beaming from them?

  ‘Dot demanded lemonade, so I thought I’d bring you girls some up too,’ says Dad, joggling his way in, carrying a tray with tall glasses. ‘Hey, do you know what I caught her doing? Dancing around to the film wearing Hazel’s favourite bra on top of her jumper. She says it’s all lacy and pretty, just like a princess would wear!’

  ‘She’s definitely into helping herself to stuff at the moment.’ I’m careful not to use the word ‘steal’ since that didn’t go down too well the last time I said it.

  ‘Let’s call it a “magpie” phase,’ Dad suggests, grinning. ‘It’s quite common in kids her age, apparently, though thankfully you weren’t l
ike that, Riley! Well, not that I can remem–’

  Dad pauses. His gaze has dropped to the floor, and now he’s slumped quickly down on to his knees. The tray lands awkwardly, and the lemonade slops out of the glasses.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Dad asks me, reaching out to pick up the news article.

  Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl stare passively at Dad. They’re studying him, his tightened jaw and his whitened face, as if he was an interesting science experiment.

  ‘Woody found it in an old local paper. It’s for the piece we’re doing on the Frost Fair for the school newsletter,’ I explain, watching his reaction closely. The last time I mentioned the Frost Fair, Dad went quiet and stomped off.

  This time he’s busy staring, with no sign of stomping. So I risk saying something about her …

  ‘I didn’t know Mum was into campaigning.’

  Of course, I don’t know lots about Mum, since Dad virtually never talks about her.

  ‘Annie knew so much about the history of Hillcrest Manor and the whole area,’ he says softly, staring into Mum’s face. ‘She loved Folly Hill, and the lake too. She wanted it to be returned to the way it looked originally. There was a lot of support for her idea to fundraise and hold the Frost Fair. But then …’

  No! He’s doing what he always does: going silent on me.

  OK, so my dad may not be talking but there is one word I can clearly hear.

  A word that’s being whispered in my mind.

  ‘Spring,’ Sunshine is telling her sisters.

  And, before Dad knows it, he’s babbling, chattering, as if he has no control of his mouth, his words.

  ‘The girl … she was only a teenager, lost in her music …’

  He pauses for a second, picturing someone. I’m just not sure who he’s picturing.

  ‘Annie saw her step out. Not looking. As if Meadow Lane was nothing … The lorry driver … he thought he’d hit the girl …’

  Mum’s accident.

  The memory hurts so much Dad’s almost grinding his teeth. Part of me wants the angels to stop the spring, but part of me needs to know everything. Even if it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

  ‘People thought the scream … that it meant the girl was hurt, but it was the shock of Annie shoving her so hard … Annie was brave, so, so brave.’

  I didn’t know about the daydreaming teenage girl, but I know Mum died that day, that second. The lorry must’ve hit her just after she’d pushed the girl out of the way.

  ‘I am so, SO angry with Annie!’ Dad suddenly explodes, his face reddening. ‘I lost her and … and …’

  This isn’t good. This is too much, I think, my chest heaving with panic.

  Sensing my stress, or Dad’s, Bee begins to whimper, alerting the angels. Almost instantly, Sunshine lifts her hand to Dad’s head, letting the warmth soothe him.

  ‘My baby girl and me … So angry … Annie shouldn’t have left us …’

  Dad’s shoulders are sinking, as if he wants to collapse into the ground, worn down with the unfairness of it all.

  I shuffle over and give him a cuddle, even though he’s unaware of what I’m doing. And then I feel the change, the release.

  Sunshine lifts her hand from Dad’s head and sits back beside Kitt and Pearl.

  The angels – their eyes now different shades of blue that could almost pass for normal – gaze peacefully at me and Dad.

  ‘Hey, I – um –’ Dad stumbles around with his words, a little dizzy and confused. He has no idea what just happened and is probably wondering why I’m snuggled into him.

  I guess I could take advantage of our sudden close contact and talk to him more about the newspaper picture or the Frost Fair. But Dad looks so frazzled and tired that I forget it – and kiss him on the cheek instead.

  ‘Ha!’ he laughs. ‘Kissing your dad in front of your cool friends? What did I do to deserve that?’

  ‘They don’t mind and I don’t care,’ I tell him. ‘And you deserve it because I love you.’

  Dad looks straight into my eyes for a split-second, as though he’s weighing something up. Deciding whether or not to tell me something, I’m sure. And then he speaks.

  ‘I love you too, honey. And there’s something you deserve to have. Here, come with me,’ he says, holding a hand out to me.

  As we get to our feet and go towards the door, I glance back at the angels. All four of them, including Bee, smile a knowing smile. Is this a catch? Do they know what’s about to happen?

  ‘After your mum died,’ Dad is saying, as he leads the way through to his and Hazel’s bedroom, ‘I didn’t keep many of her things. It was too hard to have reminders. So I gave it all away, except for those few photos –’

  Which I now have, I think to myself, while Dad bends and opens the door of his bedside cabinet.

  ‘And this one thing she loved. It’s only a bag full of silly trinkets. But for some reason they were very special to her.’

  Dad rummages around in the cabinet, pushing aside books and assorted bits and bobs. His searching starts carefully – but then becomes more frantic.

  ‘Where are they?’ he says urgently. ‘I never move them. They’re always at the back here!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ comes a small shy voice.

  Dad and I swing our heads round and see Dot in the doorway, clutching Alastair, as usual. In her outfit of tutu, jumper, stolen lacy bra and tiara, she looks adorably silly and cute. But, to me, she also looks guilty.

  ‘Dot, have you taken anything from here, maybe to play with?’ Dad asks in as calm a voice as he can manage. He’s obviously spotted the guilty look too.

  ‘No!’ Dot replies, with pinkening cheeks. ‘Well, only some marbles. I didn’t think you’d mind, Stuart, cos marbles are really a CHILDREN’S toy, not for grown-ups!’

  I’m only half listening to her excuse.

  I’m suddenly icy cold, as chilled to the bone as if I was in a scene from Frozen.

  ‘Go and get them at once!’ Dad orders Dot, sounding more annoyed than I’ve ever heard him.

  Dot looks like she might cry.

  And I think I might cry.

  Mum, my mum, had her own set of skills?

  Which means Annie Roberts – wife, mum, florist, tragic heroine – was an angel?

  With a scream and a splash

  Magical mixed with spooky crossed with pretty.

  That’s how fairground music has always sounded to me. And today, considering what I’ve been through, it makes the perfect soundtrack.

  That and the words Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl whispered in my head yesterday evening, when they appeared in Dad’s bedroom doorway. Though Dad and Dot heard nothing, each girl repeated a phrase over and over, like a meditation to calm my exploding head.

  ‘It’s true … true … true …’

  ‘Be patient … be patient … be patient …’

  ‘It will all make sense … it will all make sense … it will all make sense …’

  So here I am at the Frost Fair, still trying to let the truth sink in, being patient, and wondering if I can ever make sense of what I’ve found out about Mum.

  And, while my mind whirls, girls and boys slide and screech their way down the helter-skelter. Horses on poles prance up and down on their ornately painted roundabout. Fathers impatiently wait their turn as children throw balls at coconuts and miss every time.

  I stop and snap, capturing colourful moments on my camera, while Woody records his thoughts into his phone.

  ‘This newly cleared patch of land around the lake has been transformed into a winter wonderland,’ he is muttering. ‘For generations this special spot has been overgrown and almost abandoned. But today marks the start of an amazing transformation – for the first time in decades, the Angel on Folly Hill can gaze down from on high and catch a glimpse of the lake she once looked out over.’

  ‘Why is Woody talking to himself?’ Pearl asks me, sounding a lot like Dot, who also happens to be around here somewhere, with Da
d, Hazel and Coco.

  ‘It’s cos of his dyslexia,’ Marnie explains, holding her long green-velvet dress up so she doesn’t trip over. ‘It’s much easier for Woody to record stuff than write it down.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ says Pearl, sounding delighted, which is obviously the wrong response.

  Marnie frowns at Pearl, mistaking her goofiness for rudeness. She has no idea that Pearl and her sisters worked very hard to restore Woody’s shine. But then, apart from me, nobody does, including Woody.

  ‘Look – I think that Mr Hamdi is waving to us,’ Kitt suddenly points out, perhaps covering up for her sister.

  I glance up from my camera and see that Kitt’s right – Mr Hamdi is waving everyone over towards the main marquee. It must be time for the concert to start.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sunshine asks me with quiet words, as we all move through the crowds towards the tent.

  ‘Yes,’ I say out loud, very sure of my answer.

  I’m in shock still, of course. And shocked that I’m managing to act vaguely normal.

  In fact, I acted normal when Dad handed me the rescued silky blue bundle of ‘marbles’ yesterday (if only he knew what they were).

  I acted normal after the angels left to go home for their tea (my mind was as tangled as the spaghetti on my plate).

  I acted normal when I went to bed (then lay awake, trying to absorb this bolt from the blue, the amazing wonder of it all).

  I acted normal when I headed off with my friends to the lake today (though I slipped the bundle of dull dark spheres into my bag, alongside my camera).

  My fingers slide into my canvas bag now, searching for the coolness of the silk under my fingers.

  ‘You will explain everything to me soon, won’t you?’ I ask Sunshine.

  Of all the astounding surprises that have happened since the angels arrived, finding out Mum was an angel is the most staggering, astonishing and life-changing.

  ‘Riley, you must be patient,’ Sunshine repeats to me now, linking her arm in mine. ‘It will –’

  ‘All make sense,’ I finish for her, giving in to the fact that Sunshine isn’t about to pull me into the fortune-teller’s booth and show me my past, present and future in a crystal ball.