Flights of Angels

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘But you not cry in street?’

  Claudie rested her head on her hands. ‘I wanted to at first,’ she said. ‘And I think people expected me to. It was awful. Everyone was treating me like a pressure cooker about to go off. But I was just too aware that it wasn’t the done thing.’ She paused for a moment, her eyes a very soft brown as she gazed into her past. ‘I wanted to shout more than anything.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘You know, Luke once gave me shouting lessons!’

  Mr Woo’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head on one side.

  ‘We’d climbed up this mountain in the Lake District, and he insisted that we couldn’t leave before we’d shouted something from the top.’ She felt herself smiling at the memory, as if she had travelled back to the very scene she was describing. ‘He was always a little bit mad.’

  ‘You shout for him?’

  Claudie giggled and covered her mouth. ‘Yes! I did.’ Claudie looked at Mr Woo, but the happiness had melted from her eyes. ‘I shouted, I love you.’

  For a few moments, they were silent, lost in their own private web of thoughts. It was as if both were trying to get back to their own past lives because the present was a hard, hurtful place.

  At last, Claudie spoke.

  ‘I know I’m probably not meant to ask this, but what do you miss the most?’

  Mr Woo looked up, startled by the question. ‘Miss?’

  ‘If you had to name one thing. Other than your wife, of course.’

  Mr Woo pursed his narrow lips together and rubbed his knees. And then he gave a little chuckle.

  ‘What?’ Claudie asked.

  ‘I miss sweet almond jelly. And also cake’

  ‘Cake? Really?’

  ‘Yes!’ He laughed again, a great vibrating sound that seemed to roll around in his stomach until it built into such a size that it had to be released. ‘You’re not allowed cake in heaven.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I know what you thinking. You thinking you allow favourite thing in heaven: but not true. You eat salad and rice and brown bread. It not fair if you spent earth life with good diet. But they say indigestion and cholesterol not good for angel.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Claudie laughed, trying to imagine an angel with indigestion. ‘So you’d advise us to enjoy our food whilst we’re here?’

  ‘In moderation, yes!’

  They laughed together, and then silence fell again, broken only by the chime of a distant church clock.

  ‘I suppose I’d better go,’ Claudie said at last. ‘It’s getting late.’ She pushed her chair out and stood up.

  ‘Claudie?’ Mr Woo’s voice sounded cautious.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You want me come with you?’

  She looked down at him. Was he serious? ‘Can you do that? I thought you weren’t meant to.’

  He looked a little bit embarrassed. ‘That not question asked. You want me come with you?’ he asked again.

  Claudie thought of walking home alone, of the evening stretching darkly ahead. She thought of what it might be like to take Mr Woo with her. Would he sit comfortably on her shoulder and watch films all evening? She couldn’t quite imagine it somehow, and yet his kind offer made her positively glow with warmth.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Mr Woo didn’t look convinced. ‘Here,’ he said, digging deep one of his pockets which appeared to have no end. ‘Take. Put under pillow for sweet and easy dreams.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Claudie took the familiar little package and placed it in her own pocket and, when she looked up, he had gone.

  ‘How much further is it?’ Kristen asked, stumbling on the uneven pavement for the fifth time in as many minutes.

  ‘Patience. We’re almost there.’

  ‘You said that ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got your eyes closed?’

  ‘Yes!’ Kristen wailed.

  ‘You’re not peeping?’

  ‘Through your massive hands? I don’t think so! Come on, Jimmy - let me see!’

  ‘Okay. After three,’ he said, milking his opportunity for every ounce of suspense. ‘One …’

  Kristen pictured a restaurant with a table decorated with red roses.

  ‘Two …’

  She imagined Jimmy on his knees in the street outside the restaurant, a red rose between his teeth.’

  ‘Two and a half …’

  She imagined them outside a jewellers, and Jimmy holding out a little black velvet box.

  ‘Three!’ he whipped his hands away. Kristen was smiling from ear to ear until she saw where they were. They were in front of a shop all right, but it wasn’t a jewellers. It was the shop where Jimmy sold most of his model boats.

  ‘Well?’ he said, a child-like glee edging his voice. ‘What do you think?’

  If Kristen had told him precisely what she was thinking at that moment, they would probably have had a parting of the ways. Instead she stared at the shop window, trying to spot what it was that was so important to him. Maybe, she thought optimistically, he’d attached a diamond ring to the mast of one of his boats? She scoured the models for evidence, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There were definitely no eye-socking solitaires in this window.

  But something did catch her eye. In the centre of the window, for all to see, was a large sign. Models and display by Jimmy Stanton.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Kristen bit her lip as she tried to hide her disappointment. ‘It’s - er-’

  ‘It’s my biggest display yet! The owner let me have the whole window this time,’ he said excitedly, grabbing her shoulders from behind and giving them a firm squeeze.

  ‘It’s - wonderful.’

  ‘I knew you’d like it! I’ve been keeping it a surprise all week.’ He kissed her hair. ‘Took me three days to put together.’

  Kristen nodded, trying not to let her smile drop.

  ‘And you really like it?’

  ‘I do,’ she said, thinking it would be the only time she’d be likely to say those words to Jimmy.

  ‘I thought you could take a photo of me here some time,’ he said excitedly. ‘For the scrapbook.

  ‘Yes. Good idea,’ Kristin replied, forcing a tiny smile onto her face.

  ‘Great! Now, how ‘bout a Chinese? I’m starving,’ he said. Kristen looked up and smiled. It was, at least, a step up from a bag of chips.

  Poor Mr Woo, Claudie thought as she walked passed the pub where she had spotted the man who had almost stolen her Judy Garland book. Tonight, music was blaring and the pub walls were vibrating with laughter as she walked by. It was just the very place where she and Mr Woo should spend a couple of hours. Just imagine that: sitting in a pub with an invisible, six-inch high herbal practitioner. Who was dead.

  She slowed her pace and peeped through the window. There wasn’t a chance of her going in on her own, but she couldn’t resist a quick look. She couldn’t see the snooker table from this angle, but she could see that the place was packed. Heads nodded in animated conversation as cigarette smoke turned the air grey. These were people who knew nothing about lonely nights in with MGM musicals.

  Claudie watched the strangers for a moment, her eyes skipping over their faces until they fell on one in particular. There, sat in a quiet little corner was a raven-haired woman in a tiny skirt and low, revealing top. Claudie squinted, taking in the flirtatious bat of her eyelashes and the letterbox-red mouth. But it wasn’t the woman who was the focus of her attention. It was the six-foot giant with long, dark hair next to her.

  So, Claudie thought, Daniel hadn’t left Whitby after all.

  Chapter 21

  ‘Poor old Kris,’ Simon said, ruffling her newly-hennaed red hair.

  ‘I mean, I’m not being unreasonable, am I?’ she looked up at him with eyes the colour of wet slate.

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ he said. He’d lost count of the number
of times they’d had this conversation.

  ‘It’s been two years after all, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly has,’ Simon agreed.

  ‘You’re a man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon nodded, trying to keep the smile from out of his voice.

  ‘Wouldn’t you have done something by now - proposed or something?’

  Simon swallowed hard. This was dangerous ground. If she took a close look at his own life, then she’d see what a great mess he’d made of it. She’d see how having not proposed to the feckless Felicity had been the best thing he’d ever done. But Kristen didn’t want to hear that.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps he just needs a bit more time to get comfortable with the idea of marriage again.’

  ‘Comfortable!’ Kristen all but shouted.

  ‘Shush!’ Simon waved her. Even with the television on full blast, there was still a chance that Jimmy might overhear them, and Simon did not want to get in a row with Jimmy.

  ‘Comfortable! If we get much more comfortable,’ Kristen whispered angrily, ‘we’ll stagnate.’

  ‘But some men need more time than others.’

  ‘Do they?’ Kristen’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  ‘Yes they do. Don’t forget he’s only just got out of one marriage.’

  ‘Two years, Simon. It’s been two years!’

  ‘But that’s not long. He probably just wants to make absolutely sure. Look at it this way - it’s probably for your own good. You get a chance to back out too. He’s doing you a huge favour really,’ Simon smiled, trying his best to cheer her up.

  ‘And how do you work that one out?’

  ‘Because you’re getting to see him in all his glory. You’re getting the best of both worlds here: living together, but with none of the forced commitment of marriage. You can up and leave any time.’

  ‘But I don’t want to up and leave.’

  ‘And you don’t have to.’

  Kristen screwed her face up, not understanding any of Simon’s logic.

  ‘Look,’ Simon began, ‘I’m not the best person to ask for advice on relationships, am I?’

  ‘Oh, Simon! I’m sorry,’ Kristen said, her face falling into a frown. ‘How selfish of me to keep going on and on.’

  ‘You’re not selfish. Just a bit worked up, that’s all.’ He took a swig from one of Jimmy’s cans of lager. ‘So tell me,’ he said, a slight smile curving his mouth, ‘was this window display any good, then?’

  Kristen pursed her lips together and made as if she was going to hit him.

  ‘Only asking!’

  ‘God, Si,’ she said in frustration, ‘I feel as if I’m going to go out of my mind sometimes. Is it so wrong to want just a little bit more?’

  ‘No. ’Course not. And it will happen. Trust me,’ he said, reaching out and giving her arm a squeeze. ‘You’re one of the lucky ones, Kris. You’re going to be fine.’

  Kristen’s face broke into a little smile. ‘Sorry I keep boring you with all this.’

  ‘You’re not boring me. I’m getting a free meal, aren’t I.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she said, turning her attention back to the industrial size pan of pasta. ‘So tell me what you’ve been up to. Any new women on the horizon?’

  Simon flinched slightly at the question, a vision of Miss Moonshine flickering through his mind.

  ‘Only if you can count a goldfish. And I don’t even know if it is a female.’

  ‘God, Si! You’ve not been buying more fish? You’ve really got to get a life!’

  ‘I know. I know,’ he complained. ‘I must be having one of the worst years on record.’ He picked up the jar of tomato sauce, reading the Italian-sounding name. Turning it round he read, made in England.

  ‘No, not quite,’ Kristen chipped in.

  Simon raised his eyebrows. How could anyone have had a worse year than him?

  ‘You’ve heard me talk about Claudie, haven’t you?’ Kristen said, a huge wooden spoon in her hand.

  Simon nodded. ‘The lady whose husband died?’

  ‘Yes. She’s been acting very strangely lately - talking to herself.’

  ‘Well I do that.’

  ‘At work? All day?’

  ‘Er - no.’

  ‘Well she does. But the strangest thing about it is that she seems happier than she has for a long time. I keep trying to talk to her about it, and she swears she’s fine.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Why not leave her to get on with things in her own way?’

  ‘Because it’s not normal, is it?’

  ‘Who are we to say what’s normal, and what isn’t?’

  ‘Stop getting all profound on me. I invited you round for some advice and I’m getting all your university notes regurgitated at me.’

  Simon grinned. ‘Sorry.’

  Kristen picked up the jar of sauce. ‘My speciality,’ she said. ‘You know I spend hours making this sauce and then pouring it into ready-bought containers.’

  ‘So that’s the secret, is it?’

  ‘I don’t think I’d make a very good housewife, actually,’ she said in a more serious tone of voice. ‘I’m a terrible cook.’

  ‘Who said that?’ Jimmy asked, poking his head round the door. ‘You’re not a terrible cook. I love your cooking.’

  ‘It’s hardly cooking,’ Kristen said, draining the pasta and emptying the pot of sauce over it.

  Jimmy walked over to her and squeezed her round the waist, planting an embarrassingly loud kiss on her cheek.

  Feeling a little uncomfortable in the middle of a scene of domestic bliss, Simon walked through to the living room and left them to it.

  The post hadn’t arrived before Simon had left for Kristen’s, and he wasn’t surprised to find three window envelopes on his mat when he got home. He opened them, grimacing at the amounts he owed to various people, and wondering how long he could delay payment.

  But one envelope caught his eye. It wasn’t brown, and there was no window in sight. He tore the envelope open and lifted the letter out, immediately seeing the words congratulations, you have won. He didn’t bother reading any further. Or he wouldn’t have, if two Eurostar tickets hadn’t fallen out from behind the letter.

  Simon picked them up and read them. They looked official enough. There was no red rectangle asking him to telephone anywhere to claim his free prize.

  He picked the letter up and read it again. Yours was the winning caption in our “Paris Passion” competition, it stated. Winning caption? Was it referring to that daft thing he had filled in and posted months before without thinking? He couldn’t even remember what his caption had been. Something slushy, in the hope of winning a romantic weekend for two, and thereby keeping Felicity sweet. But that was two weeks before she’d upped and left.

  ‘Blimey!’ he laughed. He’d won a trip to Paris for two. But who on earth was he going to take?

  Chapter 22

  ‘Why is it that every woman thinks she’s the perfect matchmaker?’ Jimmy asked between mouthfuls of bacon butty.

  ‘Because they probably are!’ Kristen said. ‘Anyway, it was your idea.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he mumbled, shaking an extra large dollop of brown sauce onto his plate. ‘I only mentioned Simon and Claudie in the same breath and you slapped the two of them together as if they were destined to be with each other.’

  ‘I really think they might be. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,’ Kristen said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

  ‘Well you can count me out of it. It will only end in disaster. You’ll probably make a fool of yourself, and lose both Claudie and Simon in the process.’

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. This could really work.’

  ‘And how many times have I heard that one?’ Jimmy asked, shaking his head in despair. ‘Look what happened to Linda and Patrick.’

  ‘That was different,’ Kristen said sharply.

  ‘How?’

  ‘They just didn’t get into the sp
irit of the thing.’

  ‘They nearly murdered each other, Kris.’

  Kristen pouted. She didn’t like being proved wrong. ‘That had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Really!’ Jimmy dunked his butty into the brown pool of sauce that was turning his plate into an Irish bog.

  ‘They obviously weren’t meant to be together.’

  ‘Obviously. And what makes you think Simon and Claudie are?’

  ‘Well, it’s-’ she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, ‘it’s indefinable. I’ve known them both for so long now. I know how they tick. I know that they’ll just slot together.’

  ‘Kris, they’re people, not pieces from a jigsaw puzzle. You can’t just piece them together and expect things to work out.’

  ‘Why not? Isn’t that how we were introduced? At a mutual friend’s party.’

  ‘Yes but-’

  ‘But nothing! We were sat next to each other, when Penny knew perfectly well that we were both single.’

  Jimmy declined to answer.

  Kristen shook her head. What if Jimmy was right? What if she messed things up good and proper? She’d even almost failed to get to first base by deciding to make fresh pasta with a pesto sauce. Thankfully, she’d remembered just in time.

  Pine nuts. Something as simple as pine nuts could spell absolute disaster. Kristen remembered the day she’d gone shopping with Claudie. It was only a few days after the funeral, and Claudie had been as limp and lifeless as a ragdoll. Kristen had put her in charge of the trolley, thinking it best that she had something physical to hold on to, whilst she had hunted down the items on the list.

  She’d just returned with a bumper box of tissues for Jimmy’s hayfever when she saw her. Standing stock still, Claudie was staring down at something as if she meant to melt it with her gaze. Kristen had approached slowly and looked down to see what it was she was holding. It was a little packet of pine nuts. She didn’t know what they meant; what significance they held, and she wasn’t sure that it would have been wise to ask.

  ‘Do you want to buy those, Claudes?’ she’d asked in a very calm, quiet voice.

  Claudie had shaken her head and, with a hand that trembled like a catkin in spring, replaced the packet on the shelves.