Angels in Training

by Karen McCombie

  Before I can feel self-conscious about doing it, I reach behind Woody and pat both his jeans pockets – and whip out the thick whiteboard pen I find in one of them.

  ‘Oi! Oh …’ Woody protests, then lets his voice drift to a mumble when it dawns on him that there’s no point in arguing with me.

  ‘This is seriously bad – rub off that writing before anyone sees it,’ I order him, wrapping the leaking red pen in another scrunched-up tissue and shoving it to the bottom of my bag, to be dumped as soon as possible.

  ‘OK, OK! So yeah – I did it, Riley … but please let’s tell Daniel and everyone that the rest of it’s real?’ Woody begs me, not making a move towards the mirror. ‘I just want to do something important, like write this story. It’s not as if it’s hurting anyone!’

  He’d planned to do it all along, it dawns on me. Last Monday morning on the way to school, Woody told me he had a great idea for the News Matters meeting. I thought the red writing replaced whatever that original idea was, but it turns out the red writing was the original idea.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get your coat for you,’ a voice calls loudly.

  Help! It’s Marnie. She’s close, just out on the landing.

  ‘What colour is it?’ she shouts to someone who must still be on the floor below, waiting to leave, to get away from the craziness of the party.

  Before I can think what to do, she’s here.

  Marnie’s dark shiny bob swings to a standstill as she stops dead in the doorway, taken aback to see the three of us in the spare room, and then shocked to see what’s plainly scrawled on the dressing-table mirror.

  ‘Look, it’s just a joke,’ I fib quickly, not knowing how else I can explain away this mad moment.

  But Marnie doesn’t see it as a joke. Her hand flies to her chest, which begins to heave, labouring for breath.

  ‘Marnie – the writing, it’s nothing weird, I promise. I did it! It was me, not some spook!’ Woody blurts out, seeing the impact his prank has had on his classmate.

  ‘Here, sit down,’ I say urgently, pulling Marnie over to the bed, where she hunches over, desperately trying to regain control over her breathing.

  Pearl immediately reaches out to stroke Marnie’s head, letting the warmth run through her fingers.

  OK, that should begin to help, I think, my heart and head pounding.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ bleats Woody.

  ‘A kind of head massage,’ I lie hastily, glad to see Pearl’s eyes have fluttered shut, hiding the telltale silvery sheen they’ve taken on. ‘It’s to relax her.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ Woody grunts.

  I think he believes me, but I’m more caught up in what I’ve just spotted nestling in Pearl’s lap. Her silky blue bag of secrets. She needs to hide that away, quickly. But, as she’s so caught up in soothing Marnie right now, I’ll deal with a couple of other hugely important things first.

  ‘Woody – wipe that off now!’ I order him, pointing at the mirror while I wonder where in the house Marnie would keep her asthma pump.

  Woody finally moves, rapidly turning the long sleeve of his T-shirt inside out, doing his best to rub the glass clean. ‘It was just meant to be exciting – something people would talk about. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen!’

  As he works at making his smeared words disappear, I turn back to look at Marnie, whose wheezing is worsening, her lousy party becoming more of a disaster by the second.

  Then I raise my eyes to see that Pearl’s lips are moving.

  ‘Riley …’

  Quiet words. This is important; I need to concentrate.

  ‘Riley, it’s him …’ Pearl is whispering, her voice meandering into my head.

  ‘It’s him … it’s him …’

  Wait. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

  It’s Woody? Woody is the person the angels have been searching for?

  This is crazy! Beyond crazy. But there’s no time to think about it now, however crazy and important and mind-blowing it is.

  ‘Marnie?’ I say urgently, kneeling down in front of her. ‘Where’s your inhaler? I’ll go and grab it for you.’

  ‘There’s one – one in the basket – on the hall table.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ I tell her, swiftly rising to my feet.

  But I’m not on it.

  Fear has suddenly rooted me to the spot.

  The blue silk bundle in Pearl’s lap – she didn’t fasten it properly. The silver string has slackened, the soft material unravels, the softly glowing ‘marbles’ slither from their nest, flopping and dropping on to the floor.

  Moving super-fast, I grab the silk square, then crouch and grab up every small sphere, aware of how cool and soft and trembly they feel as I wrap them up safely again.

  ‘What’re those?’ I hear Woody ask.

  ‘Lucky charms,’ I mumble, putting a hand on the bed to push myself upright. Then it hits me. I picture another bed, or at least the space under it. I know where Pearl’s lost skill is.

  ‘Those don’t look like lucky charms,’ I’m suddenly aware of Woody mumbling.

  My heart begins to pound madly, as I see what he’s seeing.

  No, no, no!

  Pearl is unfurling …

  ‘Pearl? Please don’t!’ I beg uselessly, knowing that my friend is beyond exhausted, beyond stopping what’s inevitably happening.

  I stuff her precious package into the pocket of my black shorts and step in front of Woody, hoping to block his view.

  But how can I hide this?

  With a rustle and a flurry, up they come: two arcs of white feathers at first, then with a final creak and crackle they’re there – two great wings, gently swaying at her back.

  Marnie sees nothing, hears nothing, locked in her own battle with her breathing.

  But Woody is losing it, crashing back against the drawers, as terrified as anyone he frightened with his red-writing messages at school.

  I have no idea what to do.

  Luckily, the two girls who’ve quietly stepped into the room, closing the door behind them, do. They’ll make this right, I know.

  It begins straight away.

  I notice that Marnie’s breathing is now as stilled as the rest of her, same as Woody is frozen, perched awkwardly on the edge of the chest of drawers, his hands held up in front of him in fright.

  ‘Help us, Riley,’ Kitt murmurs in my mind, wrapping her arm round my waist.

  Sunshine is holding her other hand, while reaching out to place her palm on Pearl’s wing.

  Instinctively, I rest my own hand on Pearl’s, which is still stroking warmth into Marnie’s bowed head.

  We’re joined, the four of us.

  And whatever feeble energy I can offer them I give it gladly.

  The brightness begins … the heat intensifies … the world vibrates gently … then whoosh, a coolness comes over us all.

  But my mind is muddled, cloudy with the effort.

  Where are we? What point has the memory rewind taken us back to?

  If it’s before Marnie’s asthma attack, then Woody won’t understand the implications of his unsettling messages, and know why his pranking has to stop.

  If it’s after, then Marnie will know that Woody was to blame for it all. And, stupid as Woody’s been, it won’t help mend his shine if he gets expelled.

  Coolness.

  Coolness …

  I blink, and find I’m standing beside Woody, stuffing his pen in my bag. Pearl is sitting on the bed, her gaze in her lap, silver crescents of light behind her white eyelashes – but no wings in sight.

  So this is where we start again.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get your coat for you.’ Marnie’s voice drifts from somewhere outside the room, but she sounds further away than last time.

  It’s up to me to make the most of these unclaimed few seconds, manipulated and squeezed in by Sunshine and Kitt.

  ‘Here’s the deal,’ I say to Woody, as I run over and frantically wipe away the wor
ds on the mirror. ‘You promise me one thing, and I’ll promise you two.’

  ‘What?’ he mumbles, frowning, puzzled.

  ‘You promise me you won’t do any more of the red writing, ever again. Promise me.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘And if you do,’ I say urgently, aware of the sound of Marnie’s footsteps on the stairs, ‘I promise I’ll never tell, and that I’ll help you write a really great cover story for the newsletter.’

  Woody’s face softens, his shoulders sink a little, and I see the tension that’s always been in him ease.

  I don’t think anyone’s offered to do something good for him in a very long time.

  ‘What colour is it?’ I hear Marnie shout, outside on the landing.

  ‘I promise,’ he agrees, nodding quickly. ‘But what could we write about that would be really cool?’

  ‘You,’ I tell him, as Marnie swings into the room with a surprised ‘Oh!’ at the sight of us.

  ‘We’re just getting our stuff,’ I say quickly, grabbing up Pearl’s pink duffle and shoving it round her shoulders. ‘Thanks for inviting us to your party, Marnie –’

  ‘Marnie! MARNIE! SOMEBODY WANTS YOU!!’

  ‘Oh no, they haven’t broken something else, have they?’ Marnie sighs, turning on her heels and heading back down the stairs.

  ‘Give us a hand,’ I ask Woody, looping one arm under my fragile friend’s elbow. ‘Pearl’s not feeling great – I need to get her home.’

  ‘Uh, sure,’ says Woody, gently taking Pearl’s other arm and helping her out of the room and along the corridor. ‘What’s wrong with you, Pearl?’

  ‘Migraine,’ I answer for her. Pearl nods along to my lie, though there’s a chance she doesn’t even know what one of those is.

  ‘Er, Riley,’ Woody mutters, sounding unexpectedly shy.

  I hope he doesn’t want any more details about Pearl’s ‘migraine’. I’m starting to get a headache myself with all this lying.

  ‘What did you mean about the article being about me?’

  Phew, he doesn’t.

  ‘Tell you later,’ I say, probably sounding more blunt than I mean to.

  It’s just that I need to get Pearl out of here and back to Chestnut Crescent quickly – and find Dot. There’ll be plenty of time to concentrate on Woody. It’s what the angels will be doing a lot of from now on, I suspect, with my help, of course.

  Speaking of Dot …

  ‘Right, madam,’ I suddenly hear an elderly but firm voice drift up from the bottom of the stairs. ‘How about we start with my friend Dorothea?’

  ‘Princess Dorothea Madeleine,’ my sort-of-stepsister corrects her.

  Woody, Pearl and me reach the top of the stairs and I tentatively peer down.

  Sunshine and Kitt are sitting on the bottom step, surveying the scene in the hall.

  The scene is of shamefaced Marnie standing in front of an old lady, who happens to be holding Dot’s hand. Lots of people are hovering around, gawking.

  ‘Well, I just found Princess Dorothea Madeleine outside in the front garden using our house phone. Any idea who she belongs to?’ the old lady continues.

  I can’t quite make her out from this angle.

  ‘Riley!’ squeals Dot, spotting me and giving me a cheerful wave, the receiver still in her hand.

  ‘It’s OK – she’s with me,’ I call out, trying to get down to the hall and claim her as quickly as I can without rushing Pearl. (Sunshine and Kitt glide up towards us, taking her from me and Woody.)

  ‘Well, that’s one question answered, I suppose,’ says the old lady. She must be Marnie’s nan, I guess, home from the hairdresser’s to find a house gone haywire – partygoers everywhere and stray princesses on the loose.

  Now I’m in the hall, with the front door standing wide open, and I can see Marnie’s nan more clearly. Her hair is puffed up, freshly backcombed and sprayed into something resembling candyfloss.

  My tummy lurches. I know her. Or at least I’ve seen her once before. Twice, if you count the telling Pearl did for me this morning when we were in my mum’s old shop.

  ‘Of course the more important question is,’ she’s saying to Marnie, ‘what on EARTH is going on here? What am I supposed to tell your mother?’

  ‘Oh, Nana!’ Marnie cries, bursting into tears and throwing herself at her grandmother. ‘I wish they’d all go!’

  ‘There, there, I’ll take care of that,’ the woman says, softening, hugging Marnie close.

  Over Marnie’s shoulder, she smiles as she sees Dot hugging me happily.

  Then her smile fades into a more quizzical expression.

  Uh-oh, time to go … and luckily Kitt must have rushed upstairs and grabbed all our coats.

  ‘Thanks again,’ I mumble in Marnie’s direction, and make for the front door.

  ‘Hold on, sweetheart,’ says Marnie’s nan, reaching out a hand to bar my way. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ I say swiftly, hoping her memory isn’t good.

  ‘Oh, I was sure I must’ve,’ she says, sounding doubtful. ‘It’s just that you look so like someone I used to know. Someone who died. Listen, you’re not … you’re not Annie’s daughter, are you?’

  I ran away last time she asked me something similar, but I’m getting tired of running from the truth.

  Taking a deep breath, I get ready to say ‘Yes’ … when someone else does it for me.

  ‘Yes, yes she is.’

  Dad.

  Dad is in the doorway, taking a wary step inside.

  ‘I phoned Stuart!’ Dot says proudly. ‘I couldn’t find you, Riley or crisps, and the party was boring, so I called him to come and take us all home!’

  I want to kiss her. I want to run to Dad. Cos sometimes it feels good to be rescued by angels, but it’s pretty special and wonderful to be rescued by a member of your own family too.

  Especially when that family member is smiling, finally, at the mention of Mum’s name.

  Wouldn’t you like to know …

  I’m running, racing, breathless.

  Nearly there.

  Nearly at the very top of Folly Hill.

  Nearly at the statue.

  It’s as if she’s watching us coming, me and Woody.

  ‘Made it – I win!’ I call out, slapping my hands on the marble plinth a split second before Woody does.

  ‘You must’ve cheated,’ he pants, flopping his back against the ice-cold stone.

  ‘How could I have cheated?’ I protest, even though I know he’s just teasing.

  It feels good to be up here, gasping lungfuls of chilly air, watching clouds tumble across the December skies. We’ve been at my house all morning, working on our project together. Lately, the angels have quietly, little by little, secretly strengthened his shine, but the homework thing is my way of helping Woody. Every Saturday morning we’ve decided he’ll sit at the kitchen table with his new laptop, and I’ll talk him through any school stuff that trips him up.

  But he’s finding it’s much easier now that he doesn’t have to write with pens or pencils. I’m so pleased that the SENCO teacher came up with funding for the laptop for him after our joint article appeared in the newsletter.

  And, of course, Woody’s buzzing from the sudden fame. You wouldn’t believe how many people have come up to him, asking him questions about his dyslexia, telling him about their own hassles. (At the last News Matters meeting, I joked that we should develop a new section, a problem page called ‘Woody’s Wisdom’. He threw his balled-up, muddy football shorts at me for that.)

  ‘Do you ever miss her?’ he asks, suddenly serious.

  At first I think he’s talking about Mum.

  She’s been on my mind a lot recently – Dad’s too.

  But we’re taking baby steps. I loved listening to the short conversation he had with Marnie’s nan at the party, hearing them talk about their shared memories of Mum, of her flower shop. Dad didn’t go into detail, and he got us to leave p
retty soon after the old lady mentioned how sad she was to hear what had happened to Mum. But something small started that day, and though Dad still doesn’t seem to want to talk about her with me yet, I did find a little box containing a few more photos of Mum left on my bed one day (and Dad found a little thank-you note in his sock drawer later).

  Actually, I’m going into town with the angels this afternoon. It’ll be mobbed with Christmas shoppers, but I don’t care – I really just want to buy a nice album to put those photos in.

  ‘Riley? Did you hear me?’ says Woody, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. ‘I said, do you ever miss Tia?’

  I glance down the hill as we both watch the angels coming in our wake, Sunshine and Kitt swinging Dot between them.

  Sunshine smiles my way, probably sensing that I’m thinking about them all – which instantly reminds me to put my mental block in place so she can’t see any more, even if what I’m thinking is all nice.

  Well, virtually all nice. I still feel a bit guilty that I accused Kitt of being unkind at Marnie’s party. The truth is I wouldn’t have been at Marnie’s party at all if Kitt hadn’t been kind enough to place a strange little thought in Marnie’s head that day in assembly. A strange little thought that made her scratch her head, wondering why she hadn’t got round to inviting me. (It wasn’t nits, sadly.)

  Pearl is taking her time, I notice, bringing up the rear with Bee. It’s been a couple of weeks since the party and Pearl is still a little pale, a little weak. But she’s a lot stronger and brighter than she was – which is thanks to me, I’m pleased to say, and our little secret.

  (I mean, what Sunshine and Kitt don’t know won’t stress them. If they’d found out that Pearl had misplaced her ninth skill, let it roll under her bed where it could’ve been vacuumed up and lost forever, they’d have been beyond mad with her. Thank goodness I remembered the ‘marble’ I’d spotted the evening I sat on the angels’ loft floor.)

  ‘Yeah, I miss Tia sometimes,’ I tell Woody, rubbing the silver locket at my neck. ‘But I’m pretty lucky with my new friends.’