‘Nothing, honestly.’
‘Well, do sit down. No – not that chair. It’s Arthur’s. Take this one, near the fire.’
Mike would dump the gas-fire – a hideous thing in a sickly shade of yellow, with an ugly metal grille. She hadn’t realized till this moment that he had turned her into a snob. Even her parents’ home seemed embarrassingly out-dated, seen through his appraising eyes. But, as far as Eunice was concerned, she should be grateful, for heaven’s sake, not criticizing every smallest thing. At least she was in the warm and not alone. Without this refuge, she might have walked the streets all night.
The woman was still fussing – clearly ill at ease, or perhaps unused to visitors. ‘Are you comfy there, or would you like a cushion behind you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
With a worried sigh, Eunice arranged a cushion behind her own grey head. Then she smoothed her skirt, adjusted her glasses and sat rubbing at her chin, before finally she asked. ‘Well, what’s the trouble, dear?’
The popping of the gas-fire filled the silence. Where did she begin?
‘Have you run away from home?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what about your parents? Can’t they help?’
‘No.’
Eunice shifted her bulk on the sagging, chintzy chair. There was a second, unsettling pause, before she spoke again in her breathy tone. ‘Forgive me, dear, for suggesting such an indelicate thing, but you’re not … expecting, are you?’
If only. If she’d fallen pregnant, Mike might have stayed, simply for the kid’s sake. ‘No,’ she said, third time.
Eunice gave another sigh. The sighs seemed nervous, rather than impatient, as if she were running out of suggestions. ‘But Arthur said you needed help, so there must be something wrong.’
Carole clasped her arms across her chest; conscious of the pain in her ribs every time she moved. ‘It’s my boyfriend – Mike – he’s left. We share a flat, you see, but last night we had this really awful bust-up. He actually punched me in the stomach and….’
Eunice took in a sharp intake of breath.
‘Oh, he didn’t mean to. It was my fault, actually. You see, he’d sent this text to a girl called Kath and I happened to see it and got insanely jealous. He’d never mentioned a Kath to me, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of him having secrets or seeing someone else. So I went on and on about it, even though he kept warning me to cool it. But I refused to listen, and every time he tried to change the subject, I’d hark back to Kath and insist he told me who she was. And, in the end, he went berserk – said he didn’t want to live with someone so suspicious and unreasonable, quizzing him on every little thing. And, in any case, he hated the way I was so insecure and clingy and couldn’t stand on my own two feet, and, frankly, he’d had enough of me – full-stop. And then I lost it, too, and started screaming and shouting and went – you know – hysterical and that was when he hit me.’
‘But, Carole’ – Eunice sounded deeply shocked – ‘surely you’re much better off without a man like that?’
‘I’m not. I’m not! You don’t understand. I’m useless on my own. And, anyway, he’s never hit me before.’
‘I should jolly well think not!’
‘I drove him to it – don’t you see? He told me that himself.’
Eunice scooped up a stray wisp of hair and pushed it back into her bun. Neither of them spoke. In the silence, every sound seemed magnified: the snort of a car reverberating down the street; the insistent pop-pop-pop explosions of the gas-fire.
‘Have you tried to pray about this?’ Eunice asked, at last. ‘Called on the Blessed Virgin for help?’
‘I don’t know how to pray. I’m not religious.’
‘But Arthur said—’
‘I know. That’s my fault, too. I didn’t like to tell him that I’ve never been to church in my life – well, except for my sister’s wedding. My parents are atheists.’
‘Well, obviously, we must pray for them, as well, in the hope they see the error of their ways. God loves all His creation, Carole, whether they’re Catholics or not. And the Blessed Virgin Mary has a special concern for every single woman in the world, especially women in trouble, like yourself.’
Carole looked up impatiently. ‘But I know almost nothing about her, so how ever could she help?’
‘Because she has powers far greater than ours. She sits at the right hand of God.’
‘Maybe,’ Carole countered, with growing irritation, ‘but I’m no expert on God, either. I never learnt those things. We did a bit at school about all the world’s religions, but I never took much interest, to be honest.’
‘In that case, we’d better start with your Guardian Angel.’
‘My what?’
‘Your Guardian Angel. Angels are the link between our human world here below and the heavenly world above, so they’re very useful go-betweens. They bridge the gap between us poor sinners and the perfection of—’
‘I don’t have a Guardian Angel,’ she cut in.
‘Well, there you’re mistaken, Carole. Everybody has one, whether they’re aware of it or not. Your Guardian Angel was with you from the moment you were born and he’ll stay by your side until the very moment you die, when he’ll help you on your journey to the next life. He’s like your closest friend – always there for you and on your side, looking after you and protecting you from danger.’
The idea sounded blissful, but totally unlikely. No one was always there for you – not parents, sisters, workmates, boyfriends. ‘But how do you know all this?’ she demanded. ‘I mean, can you prove that angels exist?’
‘Of course I can! It’s part of the Church’s teaching and our Blessed Lord Himself often spoke about angels. An angel even came to comfort Him when He was suffering His terrible agony in the garden. So if someone as great as Christ was in need of an angel, how much more do we poor humans need one?’
‘Just because you need something doesn’t mean you get it,’ she muttered to herself.
Eunice didn’t appear to have heard and continued in her soft, wheezy voice. ‘Have you ever heard of St Gemma Galgani?’
Carole shook her head. She’d never heard of half these things.
‘She died of TB when she was only twenty-five, but all through her short life she was constantly talking to her Guardian Angel. She said he was her teacher and guide, and sometimes he even gave her special secret messages about politics and suchlike.’
‘Why do you say “he”? I thought angels were meant to be female?’
‘Well, actually, they’re spirits, so they’re not strictly male or female. But, when you see them in pictures, they’re usually shown as men and they also have male names. Take Michael – your boyfriend’s name. Michael was an archangel and—’
‘What’s an archangel?’
‘They’re angels of the highest rank. The name Michael means “He who is like God”.’
Well, that was true. Mike was like a god – tall and powerful and brilliant in every way. She knew he would go far in life; make loads of money, maybe even be famous….
‘If you’ll excuse me for a minute, dear, I’ll show you a picture of him.’
Eunice rose to her feet, with difficulty, and made her slow way to the door. While she was gone, Carole pulled up her jacket and sweater and studied the bruise again. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. OK, her parents would go mental, but only to get at Mike. They’d met him a mere twice, yet they were convinced he was a nasty piece of work, but that was just their prejudice.
Hastily, she pulled down her clothes as Eunice reappeared, carrying a small black book, which she opened at the very first page.
‘That’s the Archangel Michael,’ she explained, pointing to a picture of a tall, winged figure in a breastplate.
‘But he’s wearing armour.’
Eunice nodded. ‘Yes, he’s a great warrior – the commander-in-chief of the whole heavenly host, which, of course, means he’s extremely powerfu
l. It’s unusual to have pictures in a missal, but this is a very old Italian one, which a dear aunt of mine – now sadly passed away – brought for me in Rome, when I was just a little girl.’
‘What’s a missal?’ Carole asked. Another word she didn’t know.
‘It’s our Catholic Mass-book, with all the different Masses for every day of the year.’
Although none the wiser, she gazed at the figure with interest. Michael was impressive – there was no denying that – with his athletic build and the huge feathered wings springing from his shoulders and rearing up behind him, like a shield. The expression on his face was determined and intense, and he was poised, as if for action, carrying a long, gleaming spear. The picture was in black and white, but, as she studied it, she could almost see the armour shining silver and Michael’s skin tanned a healthy bronze; his hair like burnished gold; his wings a dazzling white.
‘Carole, I’d like to make you a present of this missal. I never use it and it’s only gathering dust in a drawer.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t take it! It’s precious.’
But Eunice put the book firmly into her hands and plumped back on her chair, even managing a smile now.
Carole ran her fingers over the stiff black leather cover; tracing the gold-tooled letters on the spine: Missale Romano. The pages were all edged with gold and so gossamer-thin she was scared her nails might tear them. Certain pages were marked with coloured ribbons – five in all, in faded red, blue, yellow, green and purple. The typeface was a fancy one, set out in double columns on each page, although she couldn’t read a word of it, of course. ‘What language is that?’ she asked, pointing to the text.
‘Latin on the left of the page, and Italian on the right. And in an English missal, it would be—’
She broke off as the door opened and Arthur put his head round. ‘All finished now?’ he asked.
‘Not quite, dear. Could you give us a bit longer?’
‘Eunice, we need an early night. We have to be up at six tomorrow, don’t forget.’
Carole half-rose from her seat. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m in your way.’
‘Not at all.’ Eunice silenced her husband with a look. ‘Arthur, dear, you go on up. There are just one or two more things I need to say to Carole. I shan’t be long, I promise.’
With a compliant nod, Arthur disappeared again.
‘Now listen, dear,’ Eunice said, leaning forward in her chair. ‘Before you leave, I need to make sure that you’re going to be all right – you know, on your own, in the flat. So I want you to take this missal with you and sleep with it beside you, to remind you that you’re not alone, because your Guardian Angel is with you. He always has been and he always will be, so you’ll never feel lonely again. His job in life is to look after you and help you on life’s journey. And, I assure you, Carole, these things are not just a matter of belief, but a matter of experience, as well. In fact, you may have felt your Guardian Angel’s presence in the past, but just not realized who he was. Have you ever had the sense of a guiding hand on your shoulder, someone whispering to you, pointing out what’s right?’
Yes, she thought, intrigued. She’d had exactly that sense the first time she met Mike. She knew the very instant she laid eyes on him that he was completely and utterly right for her, which she’d never felt about the odd bods she had dated prior to him. ‘But what shall I do about Mike?’ she asked, suddenly realizing she had forgotten all about him for at least the last five minutes.
‘Arthur and I will need to pray about him. I must admit I’m not very happy about you being with a violent man.’
‘He’s not violent, I swear! It was just that one occasion and I more or less asked for it. He kept warning me to stop obsessing about Kath, and I didn’t take the slightest notice, so you can’t really blame him, can you? Besides, he doesn’t know his own strength, so I doubt he meant to hurt me in the first place. I’m the kind of person who bruises very easily, you see. With anybody else, it wouldn’t even have left a mark.’
Eunice frowned deeply, as if far from being convinced. ‘Well,’ she said, at last, ‘perhaps you can bring yourself to forgive him – give him one more chance, maybe. But I suggest you let him cool off first – say, for a couple of weeks, and only then get back in touch and see how you feel about things. Certainly, forgiveness is important. Our Blessed Lord taught us to forgive our enemies.’
‘Mike’s not my enemy! He’s the most fantastic person I’ve ever met.’
‘Well, that’s as may be, but it sounds to me as if he could do with some direction in his life. But, look you’d better set off home now. It’s getting late and I don’t like the thought of you travelling at this hour. Do you know your way back from here?’
‘Not really.’
‘At the end of our road, turn right and a hundred yards further down, you’ll see Stockwell Tube.’
‘Oh, Stockwell. So that’s where we are!’ Somehow, she’d imagined she was miles further out, as if she had walked to the ends of the earth. Yet Stockwell was only two stops on from Libby’s tube at Kennington.
Moving very stiffly, Eunice stood up again. ‘It’s on the Victoria Line and the Northern Line. Are either of those any good for you?’
‘The Northern Line is perfect.’ She wouldn’t even have to change. Was her Guardian Angel already looking after her?
‘And, once you get in, I’d like you to give me a ring, then I’ll know you’re safe.’ Eunice ushered her into the hall, took a Biro from the drawer of the small, rickety hall-table and wrote the number on a slip of paper.
‘But your husband said he wanted an early night.’
‘Don’t worry – you won’t disturb us. It takes us a while to get ready for bed and, anyway, Arthur always reads for a while, before he settles down.’ Eunice rummaged further in the drawer and withdrew a pair of gloves. ‘It’s probably really cold now and that coat of yours wouldn’t keep a sparrow warm, so why don’t you take these?’
‘No, honestly … I never wear gloves.’ Least of all such gruesome ones: woolly green and huge.
‘Well, I’m surprised you don’t get chilblains, then. But, look, take them anyway, in case you change your mind. And do that coat up properly!’
Carole moved towards the door, obediently buttoning her jacket and about to say goodbye, when Eunice called her back.
‘No – wait a minute, dear. I know Arthur would like to say goodbye, as well. Arthur!’ she shouted, moving to the foot of the stairs. ‘Carole’s on her way.’
The elderly pair stood side by side on the step, watching anxiously as she set off down the street. Every time she looked back, they were still there, waving and smiling, as if she were bound for Sydney Harbour, rather than Archway Tube. She felt protected and important. Her parents would never see her off with such concern about her safety, or fret about her getting cold. In fact, in all the years she had lived at home, her mother barely seemed to notice whether she was there or not.
She took the gloves from her pocket, where she had stuffed them, out of sight, turned round again, and began putting them on in a slow, elaborate dumb-show, so Eunice could see what she was doing. The gloves were surprisingly cosy and her hands felt protected, too, now.
With a final wave, she rounded the corner, slinging her bag across her shoulder, and feeling for the hard outline of the missal. It was the best present she had ever had, because it meant that Michael was with her – an archangel, no less – and, just as Eunice had promised, she no longer felt alone, or lost, or scared.
‘You’re late!’ Averil snapped, bearing down towards the door, as Carole rushed into the office.
Catching her breath, Carole stifled the apology that was almost second nature now, when speaking to her boss. Instead, she adopted a no-nonsense tone – one she had never dared to use before. ‘I’m only late with good reason,’ she said, coolly. ‘There was a broken-down train at Camden that delayed us for a good half-hour. I left home at eight o’clock sharp, so, in the ordinary way, I�
��d have been here in loads of time.’
‘Well, in that case….’
As Averil’s voice tailed off, Carole realized this was a first: her boss had actually accepted a legitimate excuse, without querying its honesty, or rudely interrupting with some venomous attack – all Michael’s doing, of course. Having an archangel in tow had hugely boosted her confidence. She wasn’t sure if archangels did act as Guardian Angels, but, since she needed a protector of the very highest rank, she’d simply opted for the best – exactly as she’d done with Mike.
In truth, her mind was reeling with angels, having spent much of the weekend Googling angel-sites. Extraordinary how many people believed in them: almost sixty-five per cent of the entire British population, which only went to show how out of touch her parents were – as in so many other ways. She herself was now part of that sixty-five per cent. It was a matter of experience, as Eunice had explained – something she had only really understood when she reached the end of their road and turned the corner to the tube. And, at the very moment she lost sight of the old pair, she was suddenly aware of some other sort of presence beside her. The effect was so empowering, she had lost all her usual fear of being accosted by a mugger in the dark, and made her way down the unfamiliar street without the slightest qualm. And, once she was in the carriage, she hadn’t started panicking about the only other passenger: a suspicious-looking bloke with a scar across his face. She was safe from any stranger or attacker – Michael would see to that. And even when she let herself into the flat and was confronted by Mike’s possessions – his favourite mug, still full of scummy tea; his blue toothbrush in the bathroom; his trainers lying tongue-to-tongue, as if chatting to each other – she hadn’t collapsed in a pathetic heap, but simply trusted he’d be back. His namesake had assured her of the fact and angels didn’t tell untruths. And, instead of having to face the void of an empty, lonely, boyfriend-less weekend, she’d had company and comfort, in the shape of her Guardian Angel. Indeed, with every hour that passed, he seemed to become more solid and substantial, until—
I'm on the train! Page 18
