For the first time in their two years’ together, Kristen was not a happy woman. Nothing had changed, of course, only her perception of things. She was restless and unsatisfied, finding fault in everything.
It was, she thought, time for a girly talk.
‘Claudie - what are you doing tonight? Kristen asked, pouncing on her almost as soon as she walked into the office.
‘Er - ’ Claudie knew this was dangerous ground. ‘If she said she wasn’t doing anything, Kristen would slap her wrists for cocooning herself away from the world, and would, no doubt, try to persuade her to go out.
‘How’s about a girls’ night out? Just you and me?’ Kristen said, giving Claudie her biggest and brightest smile. ‘It’ll be like the old times.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, hating the feeble tone of her voice.
‘Why not?’
Claudie started. It wasn’t Kristen’s voice but Jalisa’s. Claudie hadn’t seen her when she’d sat down at her desk, but there she was, tap dancing on top of her printer. ‘Why not go out with her?’ she said in between steps. ‘It will do you both good.’
‘You think so?’ Claudie mouthed. Jalisa stopped dancing and nodded.
‘If you ask me,’ Lily observed, walking out from behind the pencil pot, ‘it’s Kristen who needs a friend at the moment. Just look at her.’
Claudie turned round and, sure enough, Kristen looked as if a steam train had flattened her face. Claudie instantly felt terrible. She’d been so wrapped up in her own world, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked after Kristen and bothered to find out what was going on with her.
‘Go on! Say yes!’ Mary urged, appearing next to her sister. Claudie suppressed a chuckle at the scene, all of which was, of course, invisible to Kristen.
‘Why not?’ Claudie said out loud, and felt instantly happier when she saw Kristen smile with relief.
When five-thirty came round, two computers were switched off simultaneously, and two girls grabbed their coats and bags and ran out of the office before anyone had the chance to ask them to type out another letter or photocopy another wodge of minutes.
‘God, it’s just like school, remember?’ Kristen laughed as they legged it down the street.
‘Mr Samson’s science lessons!’ Claudie laughed.
‘Blimey! I used to think I’d die of boredom. Watching that bloody clock crawling round, waiting for the bell.’
‘And Mrs Jones’s English lessons!’
Kristen erupted into laughter at the memory. ‘I’ve since discovered that Macbeth is actually quite an interesting play.’
‘I thought we’d never get to the end of it. How long did we spend reading it round the class? Why do teachers make kids do that?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sure Shakespeare would be rolling in his grave if he knew.’ Kristen halted. ‘God! Claudie - I’m sorry.’ She grabbed her friend’s arm. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Claudie said.
‘What a stupid thing to say.’
‘It’s all right.’
Kristen bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’
Claudie placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Fancy a drink?’
‘You bet,’ Kristen smiled, glad to change the topic of conversation. ‘And I’m dying for a cigarette.’
‘Oh, Kris, I thought you’d given up.’
‘No,’ she said, reaching into the depths of her handbag, ‘not yet.’
‘But I haven’t seen you smoke for ages.’
‘That’s because I sneak them in the ladies when there’s nobody around. It’s like being a teenager all over again.’
‘Oh, Kristen!’ Claudie chided, remembering the numerous detentions Kristen had had for being caught smoking in the upper school toilets.
‘I know! I know! I’ll pack in one day.’
Kristen was half way down her Lambert and Butler when they reached the pub.
‘Listen, I’ve just got to grab some cash,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll pay.’
‘No, you won’t. This was my idea and it’s going to be my treat,’ she said, disappearing to the cash point before Claudie could stop her.
If there was one thing in the world Claudie hated, other than a film on TV being cancelled due to extended sports coverage, it was walking into a pub on her own. She always felt so conspicuous, which was silly because people probably weren’t the least bit interested in her. She hovered around for a moment, waiting for Kristen, but she seemed to be having trouble with the machine, and a bitterly cold wind was trying to disrobe Claudie of her many layers, so she decided to go in.
She hesitated at the door, peering in through a thick cloud of smoke. The sound of after-work laughter hit her, as did the sharp clack of a cue on a ball. She turned her head and saw a group of men hovering over the snooker table. She smiled briefly. Luke had always loved snooker. Or was it pool? Or maybe billiards? She could never remember.
She looked across at the table. There were five men standing under the harsh light. Claudie watched for a few seconds without actually walking into the pub. One of the men had his back to her, but there was something very familiar about him. It was his hair. A mop of pale golden curls.
It was the man from the bookshop. The one who’d nearly stolen Judy Garland from her!
As he turned round, Claudie’s suspicions were confirmed. For a moment, their eyes met. Definite recognition.
How strange, Claudie thought. One day, you don’t even realise that someone is alive and then you start seeing them everywhere at once.
‘God almighty!’ Kristen’s voice suddenly called from the door. ‘Bloody machines. Nearly swallowed my card, and then it wouldn’t print me a statement out! Come on, Claudes. It’s too cold for a drink.’ Kristen pulled her arm from behind. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
‘So Jimmy, the bastard, just fell asleep!’ Kristen almost yelled, causing a couple on the neighbouring table to look round. ‘I mean! I’d gone to all that effort!’
‘I know! I was with you when you bought that negligee. Forty-nine pounds.’
‘Forty-nine ninety-nine!’ Kristen corrected. ‘In the sale! Bloody waste of money.’
‘What a shame, Kris.’
Kristen shook her head and plunged her spoon into the quagmire of cream on her knickerbocker glory.
‘Perhaps he was just tired. You could try again.’
‘Tired? He does nothing but build model boats all day.’
‘But that must be awfully tiring on the eyes.’
‘Claudie, you’re such an angel!’
Claudie felt herself flinch at the word angel. ‘No, I’m not!’
‘You’d defend Satan.’
‘Jimmy’s not that bad. Is he?’ Claudie had always got on with Jimmy, and knew he was a decent chap. Kristen could do a lot worse and, deep down, she was sure Kristen knew it.
Kristen’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. ‘I just feel so-’ she waved it around in the air as if trying to catch the right word with it, ‘so - unwanted.’
‘But he adores you! You know that.’ Claudie was beginning to panic. She felt sure she could see tears in Kristen’s eyes. Great fat tears ready to spill any second. ‘He’d hate to see you unhappy. Come on! Try it again tonight. Or tomorrow. And if he doesn’t respond, I’ll come round and give him a punch on the nose.’
Kristen gave a strangled laugh and managed to blink the tears back. ‘I’m just being silly, aren’t I?’
Claudie knew it was a rhetorical question but she couldn’t resist answering, ‘Yes.’
Kristen half-smiled. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me lately.’
‘Not Jimmy from the sounds of things.’
Kristen spluttered, and her mouth widened with laughter, her face burning red. ‘That’s for sure! I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a good seeing-to.’
They both laughed, this time causing half the restaurant to turn and stare at them.
‘Excuse me, ladies.’
One of the waiters, who was ridiculously over-dressed, had approached the table. ‘Would you mind keeping the noise down?’
‘Don’t worry, mate, we’re leaving in a minute,’ Kristen snarled back at him. ‘And don’t bother looking for a tip,’ she said to his retreating back. ‘Pompous penguin!’
‘God, Claudes. I feel terrible!’ Kristen confessed after they’d left the restaurant.
‘I’m not surprised after all that wine you drank.’
‘No! I mean, I’ve done nothing but talk about myself all evening.’
‘So?’
‘Well, I didn’t mean to. I mean-’
‘I know what you mean.’
Kristen smiled. ‘I wanted to ask how you were. You know?’
Claudie nodded. She knew, and she was glad Kristen hadn’t given her the third degree. But she had also wondered, just once or twice throughout the meal, whether or not to tell Kristen about the angels. However, each time, she’d bitten her lip and taken another mouthful of food before she’d divulged anything.
‘We’d better get home,’ Claudie said, changing the subject. ‘Will you be all right from here?’
‘’Course I will. Will you?’
Claudie nodded. It was always the same after they’d had a night out. Always arguing over who got to walk who home.
‘Your place is further.’
‘Yours is spookier.’
‘Yours is down those steps.’
‘Yours is under the church.’
And so on, until they were so tired they just said goodnight and went their separate ways.
But Claudie had insisted on seeing Kristen home. Or to the top of the steps at least. Kristen wouldn’t admit it, but she’d definitely overdone it on the wine, and she was tottering somewhat unsteadily in her heels.
‘I wish you’d wear sensible shoes.’
‘Don’t you start,’ Kristen slurred, linking Claudie tightly.
‘Are you sure you can manage the steps?’
‘Yes! Now get on home before Dracula starts roaming the streets.’
‘Okay!’ Claudie giggled, wishing Kristen hadn’t mentioned Dracula. She knew it was only fiction, but there were nights when she seriously believed that Bram Stoker had had good reason to dock his vampiric hero in Whitby.
‘Night, Claudes,’ Kristen said as she began disappearing down the steps.
‘Night, Kris.’
Claudie stood at the top of the steps watching as Kristen descended, waiting until she heard her key in the lock. Then she turned and began the ten-minute walk home. Alone. In the dark.
She tried not to look down the myriad alleyways, and avoided eye contact with the shadows. And she didn’t think of Dracula. Too much. But it was at times like this, when she was walking alone at night, or those quiet moments just before she tried to find sanctuary in sleep, when she felt most alone. It was strange, but she hadn’t been aware of it before she met Luke. It wasn’t that she’d handed over her independence when they’d met; she’d never been the sort of woman to be reliant on a man but, when you’d been in a relationship for a while and then it suddenly ended, there was an undeniable void which took the place of somebody looking out for you. Somebody waiting at home for you, to ask you how your day went, to give you a goodnight kiss: these were everyday pleasures that had been ripped away from her.
Walking in the dark now, Claudie felt that the weight of being alone was almost too much too bear. There’d be nobody waiting for her at home. Kristen, at least, had Jimmy. No matter how much she complained about him, he’d still be waiting up, making sure she got home safely, but what did Claudie have to go home to? A few Gene Kelly posters and a bed that was half-empty. She sometimes wondered if it was really worth going home.
Pulling her coat collar snugly against her bare neck, she cast her eyes down the street. A few windows shone yellow and, peeping into one as she walked by, she saw a young couple pulling at a table-sized pizza as they watched TV together. It was just an ordinary domestic scene. There were probably hundreds of couples all over the country sharing pizza at this very moment, and Claudie found it hard not to hate every single one of them. Did they know how lucky they were? Probably not. For a start, this couple were watching the TV when they should have been watching each other. See how his fingers are red with tomato, and how the crust has flaked down the front of her jumper? It was little things like this that you remembered when somebody was no longer there.
Turning away from the window, Claudie headed down the street, bending her head low against the icy wind. Where were her angels when she needed them? Could she call them now for a bit of company? She knew she’d said she wanted to have them at work, but did that preclude them from everywhere else?
She wondered what would happen if she called them.
‘Jalisa?’ she half-whispered into the night. ‘Are you there?’
There was no response, so Claudie quickened her pace and headed home.
Chapter 9
As Claudie gazed out of the train window, she thought that the last week had probably been the strangest in her life. Bar one.
Friday had come round so quickly, and it was time for her weekly session in York. But did she have the nerve to tell Dr Lynton about the weird and wonderful things which had been going on on her desk at work? Could she tell him about Jalisa, Lily and Mary, Bert and Mr Woo? Did she have the nerve to say that there were five mad angels occupying her workstation? Would he believe her, or would he call for the men in white coats straight away?
Perhaps, she thought optimistically, his other clients had experienced something similar? For all she knew, it could be a very common phenomenon. There might even be group meetings: Angels Anonymous. Hmm, she thought, perhaps not.
But surely she wasn’t the only one to be visited? Jalisa had said that there was a whole army of angels, ready and waiting to be despatched into flights as soon as they were needed, and Claudie was beginning to wonder how on earth she’d coped before their arrival.
On Wednesday morning, despite just one glass of wine at the restaurant, Claudie had awoken feeling as if King Kong had been jumping up and down on her head. She’d wandered into the office like a zombie and had been greeted by much laughter from the flight.
‘I thought you were meant to look after me,’ she’d complained bitterly.
‘But you must still look after yourself!’ Bert chided. ‘I don’t know. If you drink like a fish-’
‘But I didn’t!’ Claudie complained. ‘I wouldn’t care if I had, but I was very restrained.’
‘You should have taken the day off,’ Mary said.
‘My head feels like a cannonball.’
‘Goodness me!’ Jalisa giggled again. ‘’Fraid that’s not my department. But Mr Woo’s probably got a solution for you. Mr Woo?’ Jalisa called, and he walked out from behind the pile of files Mr Bartholomew had left on her desk.
‘Here, Claudie,’ Mr Woo said shyly, head bent so that he hardly looked at her. ‘Take with little water.’
‘What are they?’
‘Will taste bitter but very good for headache.’
Claudie took the little brown packet from him and peeped inside. The contents looked like fragments of burnt paper. ‘What on earth is it?’
‘You’re probably best not knowing,’ Jalisa pointed out.
‘No! Don’t ever ask when Mr Woo gives out medicine. It’s probably worse than the stuff we used to use in the sixteenth century,’ Mary said.
Claudie had taken it and, as promised, almost spat it out at the first taste. But it had worked miraculously quickly. She’d thought of asking for some for Kristen, who’d looked decidedly ropy that morning but, she supposed, Jalisa wouldn’t allow that.
Then there’d been Bert’s show. Ever since the angels had arrived, Bert had gone on about putting on a show.
‘We not entertaining troops now, stinky bird egg!’ Mr Woo had said.
‘No, we’re entertaining Claudie,’ Bert had said graciously, ‘a far more imp
ortant audience.’
So, somewhere between Claudie’s Rolodex and in tray, Bert had organised a rehearsal. Claudie had been told not to watch but it was rather hard to ignore five little angels singing, dancing and ordering each other around, and it was far more entertaining than Mr Bartholomew’s amendments to the staff regulation handbook.
Claudie couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the scene: Bert taking centre stage in front of her computer whilst Jalisa, Mary and Lily did their chorus-girl bit behind. Poor Mr Woo had looked completely confused by it all and had hovered in the background, a scowl scarring his face.
Claudie felt so lucky to have the angels. They were a brilliant beacon in her dark landscape; they were MGM brought to life and, above all, they were her guardians, in spite Jalisa’s hate of that particular word.
Yes, she thought as the train pulled into York station, there was a lot she could tell Dr Lynton about. But should she? Should she tell him about the fierce argument Bert and Mr Woo had had on Thursday afternoon? Claudie shook her head as she got off the train. What a thing to witness: two grown men, no bigger than a couple of Biros, arguing on her desk. Mary and Lily had tried to break them apart and Jalisa had finally intervened when Mr Woo had called Bert a stinky bird egg. Jalisa had sent them back, to a kind of angel detention room, she’d said, but didn’t explain any more than that. It was quite common, she’d assured her.
Claudie grinned at the thought, trying to imagine Bert and Mr Woo sat in a classroom writing lines. I must not argue on my client’s desk. But what would Dr Lynton make of it all?
Sitting in his room, seeing his serious face and pen at the ready, she decided against telling him about any of it. Although it did make her wonder what stories he must have heard from his other clients. Was anything beyond the bounds of possibility? And what right did he have to question what he was told?
‘So, Claudie,’ he began in his usual manner, ‘had a good week?’ He always waited for her to speak, never prompting her on anything.
Flights of Angels Page 6
