Angel

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Oh well, I didn’t realize that you didn’t have a sense of humor.’ He sighed. ‘People are so dull these days, but,’ he said, looking around the room, ‘It still doesn’t answer the fact that you are in here.’

  ‘Is that the problem? I was trying to look for the child’s room. I opened this door by mistake.’

  ‘Of course, and walked in still thinking that this was the child’s room?’

  ‘If this is forbidden, what are you doing here?’ it was becoming a game of shuttlecock, each now, taking their turn at being hit by the racket. ‘Anyhow, why is this forbidden? It’s just another room like every other room except that this room lacks perhaps some of the grandeur of the others?’

  ‘Angel didn’t show it to you, did she? She wouldn’t have done, she is embarrassed by it even though she doesn’t say so.’

  ‘So why doesn’t she do something about it? Change the room, like she has the others?’

  ‘Can’t. It was his room, wasn’t it? the master of the house.’

  ‘Her husband.’

  ‘To you.’

  I was about to say, no, that he was my ex and he was not married to her if only to wipe the smug look off of his face. But he did not mean that; he had no idea that I had been married to John. No, I understood now what he had meant. Reverting the course of the conversation back to its natural stream; he had meant, and as far as I was concerned, the fairytale was kept perpetuated, this being the myth of Angel’s un-hallowed marriage.

  ‘If you didn’t know by now, though I suspect you know everything that you want to know, nothing I should imagine, escapes your ears and eyes, but the poor man is dead, dead, dead, dead.’ He was leaning on the wall with his hand on his hip, and one leg crossed over the other. ‘I don’t think he meant to die but who does except those who commit suicide. Is that how you did it, those unholy scars, which you so carefully try to conceal? A little self-mutilation, a little death; it works wonders on the will to live, but then, how would I know? Anyhow, he’s dead, of what I do not know or care. The story is a heart attack. But my opinion is, too much of you know what, and I should think you would know, you with your spoilt but well-camouflaged face. You know, you look much too well-groomed to be a nanny, or is it an au pair? But I’ll show you to the child’s room if that's where you really want to go.’

  I followed this hippy with his pendulous swaying rear thinking unthinkable, unquenchable thoughts of the worst prejudicial kind. I don’t like people who don’t like me. It is as simple as that. Why should I tolerate people who have no room to stomach me? Therefore, I suffer from little guilt…except perhaps, but that is in the past now.

  He smiled or rather, grinned as he showed me the door. Who in their right minds could conceivably miss the child’s room, when it flooded the greater part of the house with its persecuted cries? I took my leave of the gay but less than happy man, with a complimentary smile expecting him to avail himself of my presence but no, he wanted to stay to see what I would do. And what was I going to do especially as I could barely hear myself think?

  Confidence in walk and posture, I walked towards the demon’s cot, aware of the blue feminine eyes upon me, knowing he was observing every stiff movement my body made. I would be found out, I felt sure, found out and told upon, but then, miracles it seemed do happen. Approaching the cot, the fretting child hearing footsteps, even through the throttle of his well-polished throat, gulped back his tear-stained meows and looked up with intelligent anger upon my daunted face. The child frowned making the red and ugly face more unattractive, but I was not so worried about the way he was looking at the moment, for his silence came as my savior.

  ‘Hello, little man. What is this all about?’ I took my voice and made it jolly. But should I pick him up? Take hold of him somehow? I had never held a child in my life although I had been offered the chance many, many ungrateful times. ‘You are certainly letting the world know you exist.’

  What was the next thing I was supposed to do? From the side of my eyes, I could see the well-rounded figure watching me, taking his pleasure on any embarrassment he might cause. I had no other option except to pick the child up, and I was sure that he would be wet, as I understand all babies usually are. But would I do any damage to myself or in fact, to him?

  ‘Well Little John, I am going to pick you up and check if you are wet.’ Be good, I mouthed to him with expressive eyes. I who had never pleaded never begged to anyone for anything was now begging to a child.

  Strange to touch another living body and one so small, for he was hot, hot from the exertion of crying but not wet, which was a relief. Like everyone else, I feared that I would drop him, my novice hands uncertain of what to take hold of, but hands it appears, have a will and a mind of their own. While my brain hesitated, my hands went straight to the access point, underneath his young arms. Heavy and hot but still quiet was the first knowledge to impart itself on my experiment. His head tilted back a little until it gained restoration, as his young eyes were training themselves interested upon my fixed expressive face. He was in the air, suspended, oddly trusting me, my eyes on his, then came the wonder, for life has a strange vitality, I could feel the energy of his life pulsating like electricity through my hands. I nearly dropped him, not through lapse of strength but through the charge of his young life’s power.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ muttered the voice by the side of the door, I heard footsteps moving away. Turning around I saw that the miserable gay had left, he had not wanted to be a witness anymore to success, he wanted to see failure and I had been successful. Here I was left with the child, what should I do now?

  I suppose I am intelligent. Living in the adult world, the view of oneself is calculated on rationality, challenging wits in the quest for profit and decorated as such in the manner of acquirements. But what would this mean to a young child, virtually a baby who only wanted to be loved, fed, kept clean and entertained?

  Windows are a great source of distraction; this I had found out after the accident and loss of career. With time on my hands, once I had left the hospital, and a face to keep me inside, I treated my imagination to the world passing by my window; miniature as it turned out to be but nevertheless, reminding me that I was still a member of the human race.

  I took young John Junior or J.J. for the idea that this might be John incarnate was gradually growing on me, and besides, I had no taste to call this small man or any other child, Toy Soldier; it was an insult to the tongue. Thus, by my own method of substitution, I had renamed him which gave a strange sensation of possession, not that I found any affection for him growing on me, but even so, he had saved me when I had needed saving, and for that I was grateful.

  And so, I decided that his education began with the senses, I took him to the window. Taking John Junior or J.J. (for in the name of justice, renaming him was the least I could do for him), I held him a trifle closer to me, it was necessary, to carry him to the window. Still, he did not cry, which was a marvel, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it as his silence spoke louder. It spoke of ownership, the right to be in my hands and arms, for I am sure he must have guessed how I was feeling. His head was so near my heart, he must have divined how nervous I was of him and wondering why he was so quiet.

  It was night and already the shadows had claimed their tenure across the uneven day. Panic was new to me. I had always been confident in my professional as well as private life, to do and have things done as I wanted. The debilitating effects of fear had never touched me but as I came closer to the window, I realized I had nothing to show him. The trees skirting the horizon had robbed the city lights of their investiture, only the faithful stars above twinkled and sparkled in the voraciously unoccupied sky.

  ‘Look J.J see the pretty stars.’ The sigh was mine, what was he to learn from that? It was the sort of thing all gabbled mothers would point out and say to their unpolished yearling. ‘They are millions and millions of miles away from us on this planet we call Earth, the greater majority are suns. The ho
pe is that someday...’

  ‘Oh Miss, what are you doing?’ Mary had appeared. ‘I wondered why he had gone so quiet. Is he all right? He isn’t sickening for something, is he? I usually let him cry himself to sleep.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that's where you went wrong.’ I handed Mary the young child and quickly made an exit from the door and heard to my surprise as I made my way out and along the hallway, the bubbling up of a young cry, the cry that came from the sound of desertion. But this has nothing to do with me, I was not responsible for the loneliness of the child, I was not its mother.

  8

  I walked along the hallway wondering where I was to sleep as the closing of my first day was upon me, and in this house, John’s house, I was about to spend my first night. Muted voices behind closed doors were triggering alarm bells.

  ‘Oh Mr. Pesker,’ I called catching him before he left the house still in his uniform and carrying a bag. ‘Do you know what happens here at night, only Mrs. Boreman is out and…’

  ‘Mrs. Boreman is back, she came back about five minutes ago. Unusual for her.’ He steered his bag quickly around to his back to the darker side of the moon.

  ‘Oh, she’s back, I thought I heard voices.’

  ‘Hattie is here. One must always contemplate trouble when he’s about. I’ve got to go now, Miss, My wife is expecting me,’ and he walked briskly taking his bag further from my sight.

  Hattie, I worked out must be the gay man.

  I listened at the door for less than a minute catching nothing but fragments which only added to paranoia. Knocking, I went in forgetting Angel’s protocol of knocking and waiting for an answer.

  The gay man called Hattie grinned at me; I guessed he had been spinning tales. He found me spying, catching me doing something I shouldn't have been. So what, who cares, except that I needed to stay. Thus Angel needed to be appeased.

  ‘You do know him?’ I looked startled and surprise to match Angel’s confusion. ‘I’m so glad. I’d lost myself, he found me in one of the rooms and showed me how to get to your son’s room. You have such a large and beautiful house, it's easy to be dazzled.’

  ‘Yes but…No one is supposed to go into that room. It was my Johnikins’ room, and he didn’t like anyone going in there. It’s very personal and private. I keep it as a shrine to my Johnikins.’

  ‘I can absolutely understand. But with you being out, I had no one to ask…I mean, if it is a problem, I can leave tonight if you like. I won’t have my reputation slurred especially as I am in great demand.’

  ‘Very well, you’re forgiven,’ puckered Angel glancing to Hattie, she was still annoyed because she had not finished with me yet.

  Like a lazy cat, Hattie had been industrious. His willing and working tongue was nonetheless hot in her ear. I had the impression that she had not yet finished with me, there was a purpose in her expression. ‘While I think about it, Hattie was telling me you called my Toy-Soldier, John. John is not his name; it makes me angry that you should call him that.’

  ‘Hattie? So, that’s the gentleman’s name? We hadn’t been introduced, which caused me some concern because anyone can just walk into your beautiful house and take anything…including taking the baby.’

  ‘Do I look like a kidnapper to you?’ began the rotund snitch, ‘I’ve known Angel for years, I’m part of the family.’

  ‘Not quite Hattie.’ Began Angel. ‘As much as I’m fond of you, I can’t have you thinking that. I’m a lady now, there is a big space between us. Nothing is as it was before. But you mustn't sulk, it will make you look ugly, and you mustn't be ugly for me.’

  ‘I told you she was trouble,’ his eyes narrowed in my direction and then they brightened. He whispered something of calculated interest to the receiver, and I waited for the next dose of toxic toffee. An intake of air rushed in to fill the cavities of Angel’s amazing chest, here came the drama.

  What next, sighed my abrasive mind? What petty situation had I to escape from next? Surely, with my intelligence, I could do better than this set-up… And yet, the relish of revenge drew a flavor that filled my stomach full to satisfaction. I had not eaten yet of this meal; I had seen it, but I had not sampled it. I needed to gratify this appetite, I wanted my share of revenge, and I also wanted to see the sadistic side of pain, and because of this, my entire life was momentarily swathed around her.

  ‘Hattie told me that you have ugly, yucky scars?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, unfortunately. But I did tell you about the car accident, you remember, the joyriders. The scars will eventually fade away.’ Once I had the money for cosmetic surgery. ‘You’re very lucky; we can’t all be as pretty as you.’

  ‘You’re right. That would be bad. But I think most people wouldn’t like to be as pretty as me. It's hard work to be pretty, everyone becomes jealous of me when it really isn’t my fault. Sometimes, I think to myself that it must be so nice and comfy to be as ugly as you. Although you're not as ugly as most, just very skinny. John’s wife was very skinny, he told me he was sure she had more bones than she should have done.’ Hattie nudged Angel as if to remind her of something else.

  And still, the hard effect of her words had the power to touch what was tender. Of course, the wife, the ex-wife, an identity of me was all in the past. And yet, I never thought John would have spoken about me in those ways. Our marriage still held certain loyalties, out of honor and respect that should remain sacred to ourselves. Although not a verbal agreement, it's one of those tender exchanges made between mutual minds when in love.

  But hadn’t I been visited by betrayal before and being surprised again was still painful. Yet, why did he tell her? Had they laughed about me? John never said I was skinny not to my face. He knew the hard pressures of the fashion business. Compared to her, I’m skinny because she is fat. Look at her and me. Perhaps he told her this to make her feel good about herself.

  It's apparent she cannot stop eating. I would kill myself if I had that compulsion. To stuff myself with food and then have to look at this growing, developing image every morning in the mirror. Granted she is pretty, well lovely; but she has the money and money does make a difference especially when one can buy all the best in order to make the most out of what you have, so that dumpy can become delectable.

  ‘I nearly forgot.’ Angel’s voice burst into my ear. ‘Mary agrees with me that my Toy Soldier should be allowed to cry himself to sleep. You spoil him by picking him up and he is already spoilt. Did you see everything he has in his nursery? He’s a very lucky little boy.’

  I would have left him crying every night for the rest of my stay, in fact, this had been in my mind to do. But when she told me to leave him to cry that awkward side that part of me which is contrary suddenly decided that I wouldn’t. I would pick her child up and make the fuss he demanded. Her lack of affection for a child who obviously needed it from wherever he could get it was unjust. And so, although I did not say it out aloud, I made a point of doing the opposite. I would give this child as much love and affection as he needed. I would love him like he was my own and born out of my loins. It looked like I was on the way to making a bigger noose for my neck.

  ‘Well of course, if you think Mary would make a better childminder than I then you should let Mary take charge of your son. Sometimes, but not every time, young children cry because there is something wrong with them,’ was this really me talking. How happily a lecture falls easily off one’s lips when pride is robbed of its vanity. Also, I had righteousness on my side. Indifference to my mind is the most lethal of weapons. Had I not sampled both parts of the spoon, silver, and tin in this strange arrangement with John?

  It was really John’s fault that I had the car accident. He had left me to find out the mystery without a hint. And my first reaction had been shock.

  ‘I consider it not a problem to check the child over and give a little reassurance to the child before allowing the baby to go to sleep. I could not sleep myself with the thought that the child may be ill or ailing,
it doesn’t take much to lose a young child.’ This was me talking, I had lost my once attractive face, and now I had lost my senses.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that. It’s only that Mary told me it was better he should cry, and I believed her. She is a very naughty person, and she should be sacked.’

  Hattie laughed aloud, not a wise move to make regarding the inflammable nature of her temper, especially with her trigger-happy attitude in giving anyone who upsets her, the boot. The pink soufflé blossomed hot from the oven. Thankfully, she took sustenance from Hattie’s unpopular move and turning a deeper shade of pink and still in her party clothes, she threw caution to the wind and rebuked him with a little healthy kick somewhere on his shin.

  ‘You made me do that. I don’t do things like that. Everyone knows how very kind I am. You are very, very wicked to me and now I am suffering. Look, I have tears in my eyes.’

  Tears, those dewy eye drops things of which I had not used since my childhood, there were none, her face was as dry as her motherhood.

  ‘If it wasn’t for me you would have been sacked a long, long, time ago but I pleaded with my Johnikins, I got down on my hands and knees to my Johnikins and begged him not to sack you, and now look how you treat me. You laugh at me and make me do horrible things.’

  ‘Angel I wasn’t laughing at you. God forbid, you know how much I adore and respect you. Without you, I would have been dead a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Anyhow, I came home early because I didn’t feel well. In fact, I think I had a headache, a very bad headache and all this gossip isn’t helping. It’s making it worse, so I’m going to bed. Actually, I’ve been worrying about my little Toy Soldier. I worry so much about him all the time even though everyone tells me I mustn't.’

  ‘Yes, you mustn’t worry.’ I told Angel. I was bored because her self-pity was getting on my nerves. ‘Talking about bed, where is it that I am supposed to sleep?’