Angel Dust (28 page)

She pulls me after her and pushes me down on to a park seat. She pinches my face between her hands. ‘That's it,' she says, ‘chin up, head back. Hey, I love your hair dye. What colour is it? Stay still, I'm going to give you huge eyes with tear drops.'

‘Oh, OK,' I say. How lucky I am, to fall right in front of this girl. She's preparing me to be human. She's making me beautiful for Marcus.

‘Do all human girls carry around make-up?' I ask. Perhaps I need some too?

‘Like, yeah,' she says, as if that's the dumbest question anyone ever asked.

‘And are they all Goth?' I ask.

‘You're a retard,' she says. Her voice is deliciously grumpy. Then she tilts my chin right up and draws lines around my eyes. I can feel the point of the pencil. It's not a pleasant feeling.

‘I'm Serafina, actually,' I say.

‘Zara who?' she says.

‘Serafina.'

‘Zara Finer?'

‘Yes,' I say.

‘Pleased to meet you, Zara Finer. I'm Kookie.'

‘Oh,' I say and smile.

‘Don't smile,' snaps Kookie, ‘you'll mess it up.'

‘Kookie.'

‘Kookie by name and Kookie by nature,' she says as if she's said it a hundred times. ‘The curse of every classroom, the despair of every teacher.' Like it's a little rhyme she's learned by heart.

‘Hi Kookie By Name,' I say.

‘There,' she says, unpinning me. ‘Wanna take a look?'

I nod.

Kookie pulls a phone out of her handbag. She holds it up. It's a little mirror. I peer in. There reflected back at me is a small heart-shaped face, very pale with huge dark eyes. It doesn't look like me. I didn't know I would look so different. It's not just the loss of the wings and fire.
I'm totally not me.

Suddenly I panic. Will Marcus still know me? If he looks into my eyes he'll know me, won't he? I can't get used to this new face. It's very odd. It's kind of thin and the lips have been drawn on in bright red lipstick. Across the forehead is a thick fringe. And all around the small face is a curtain of straight black hair.

I never had black hair.

I look at it. It's not me. I was beautiful.

I touch my hair and run my hand around my mouth. The lipstick smudges.

‘Stop it, silly,' says Kookie and smacks my hand away from my face.

I used to have flaming hair; the setting sun used to hide in my curls; the morning star streaked liquid fire through my tresses. When I tossed my head, every shade of autumnal blaze burned and flashed, like gold and amber . . .

It's thick and black and very, very straight.

‘You'd look good in bunches,' says Kookie. ‘Like goofy spaniel ears.' She ties great loops of my hair up until it cascades down around my face.

‘You got a lot of hair,' she says. ‘I could cut it.' She searches through her bag. I sit on the bench, knees all scrunched up. My legs are very thin and very long.

‘Can't find them.' Kookie shrugs. ‘And I gotta go,' she says. ‘You can keep the gym kit. I hate sports.'

She snaps her handbag shut. She shakes herself down in a very pretty kind of way and gives me a little finger wave. ‘Bye-ee,' she says.

‘Kookie,' I say. ‘Don't go. Is this Earth?' I really do need to know.

‘It's Earth, of course, worse luck,' says Kookie. ‘Woohoo, Earth to Zara, come in, you're orbiting planet Earth.'

I smile, I laugh even. I Am On Earth!

‘Got. To. Go,' says Kookie. ‘If they find me here they're going to take me straight back to Planet School.'

‘D'you know where Curlston Heights is?' I say. ‘Fifty-six, Curlston Heights.'

‘No,' says Kookie.

I catch my breath. How will I find Marcus? My heart starts to pound.

‘Don't smudge your eyes,' says Kookie. ‘Just walk into any newsagent and look in an A–Z. I'd get it up on my mobile, but I ain't got no credit.'

‘Your mobile,' I say. ‘How did you get it? Can I get a mobile?'

‘You're kookier than me,' says Kookie. She tilts her head to the other side. ‘Look, if you fancy bunking school again, I'm usually here until the kids all go in, especially on Wednesdays. So we could hook up, but today I got a plan, so ta-ra.'

‘OK,' I say.

And I sit there looking at Kookie, and I don't care where I am, except that I'm on Earth! And I'm smiling and smiling. I did it. I Fell. I'm a girl. I check my breasts. I
am
a girl. They're not very big. I check my hands. They're really human hands. I reach out and I feel the seat of the bench: they are real human hands and they are feeling the bench.

‘Kookie,' I say, ‘before you go, will you hug me?'

Kookie puts her head on one side.

‘You're weird,' she says.

‘Will you?' I ask. I look at her. I want to know if Marcus can hold me, if I will be able to feel his hands on my waist. If I will be able to be strained against him. I remembered how Marcus dragged the prettiest girl into his arms, how she moulded herself against his chest. How the muscles in his arms were taut against his shirt . . .

Kookie shrugs and says, ‘Whatever, Zara, you're a perv, but I like you.'

‘I only love Marcus,' I say.

Kookie puts her arms around me and squeezes. My God, but it's good. It's all squidgy and soft and firm and warm and immediately I fall in love with hugging, so I fling my arms around her and hug her back.

‘Hey,' she says.

I put my head on one side like her, and I say, ‘Hey,' back.

‘And don't forget to put on the plimsolls,' she says.

Kookie is gone. I sit on the park bench and look at the sky. I see clouds. I think of how Raquel will miss me, how Kamuel will be sad. I was sorry to hurt Kamuel, but I couldn't go to Purgatorium with him. ‘I'm sorry, Kamuel,' I whisper.
You tried to stop me leaving, but without Marcus there's no need to be immortal.

Then I stand up. I need to find him. I don't know which park I'm in. I don't know where I am. But I've two days left. I'm so happy about that. I've never really wondered how humans get around. I try to blink my eyes – just to test. I whisper, ‘Curlston Heights,' but I don't move. So I just follow the way Kookie went. I put on the plimsolls. I feel the pavement. I look in wonder at the world. God's shining creation. I hug myself. I've no wings, no fire; I'm cold; I've been betrayed; I've abandoned Heaven; I've sold myself to Satan and I'm totally on my own, but I don't care. I'm human. Marcus can have me now. Together we can be and live and die. Together go to Heaven or Hell. My heart swells up.

I walk out of the park gates. I smile at a mum with a buggy and two toddlers. She gives me a weird look back, as if I was about to pinch candy off the little boys. I smile again anyway. I'm so happy – even if I'm cold and haven't got a clue where I am. I'm in love. I'm in love with thick black leggings, gym skirts, black T-shirts, plimsolls, pavements, weird looks, make-up and spaniel ears. I love Kookie for welcoming me so kindly to Earth. I think she's so free and happy making her own choices. I love the trees and the cars and the wild city tumbling all around me.

And I love the perfume of the streets. It really
is
beguiling. I've never been anywhere like here before. Not in this way. Never. I walk down by the park. I run my fingers along the railings. My fingers are going bump, bump, bump. I'm going to try skipping. I'm going to try hopping. It makes my breath go all fluttery. I stand still and drink in the morning air. I want to make it all last forever.

Hello Earth. How I love you. I want to stare into shop windows and listen to the roar of traffic until all the seas run dry.

Traffic!

Cars!

Suddenly I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to take a minicab! I've always longed to ride in a minicab. Today I'm going to do it!

Here is a minicab office. I peek in. It's just like the first minicab office I ever saw. On the wall above the counter is a clock. It says 09:15 – 30th October. There are drivers sprawled on seats. They're smoking cigarettes. Real genuine nicotine. I look around. It's like déjà vu.

Then suddenly I realise it
is
the first minicab office!

I am in the right place!

It worked. Everything worked. Larry played fair. There may still be a chance. I'm in the right place, on the right day! I can hardly believe it.

The drivers still look bored. They are bored! There's the girl with the greasy hair plastered down her cheek. She's sitting behind the incredible steel grille. I'm so happy.
This is my minicab office!
This is just like it should be. Just like it was on the day I met Marcus. She's reading a magazine again. I say, ‘Can I see your magazine?'

She points at a pile on a small square coffee table. I pick one up. They don't have enticing images. I'm just a tiny bit disappointed.

‘D'you just wanna look at magazines or are you taking a car?' says the girl. Her voice is deliciously crispy.

‘I'm taking a car,' I say.

I'm taking a car!

I follow a long-faced man out into the street. He yanks open the door of the minicab. He gets in. I stand there a bit unsure. I'm unsure how to actually open the door.

I don't get it quite right. I pull on it. It doesn't open. The cab driver leans out through his window and yells, ‘Hey kid, press the goddamn handle.'

‘Oh,' I say, and I try pressing the handle.

The door opens, and I get in. There's a newspaper on the seat. I push it aside. I slide along the smooth material and feel it squidge beneath me.

‘So where to, kid?' yells the cab driver (I love the way he calls me
kid
– like I'm a real teenager). There is a strange weary note in his voice. Perhaps he works too hard, maybe he's tired.

‘Are you tired?'

‘Just tell me where to?' he says.

‘Oh,' I say, ‘Curlston Heights. Fifty-six.'

‘The street, lady,' he says, ‘gimme the street.'

‘I don't know the street,' I say, ‘is that a problem?'

He shakes his head like he really is very, very tired. ‘Whatever,' he says. He types ‘Curlston Heights' into a strange boxy thing on the dashboard, and sighs again as a map comes up.

‘That's southside,' he says. ‘It'll be more.'

‘Oh yes,' I say, a bit puzzled by the ‘more' comment. More what? More miles, more time?

He starts the car up. It coughs into life. A voice from the boxy thing says: ‘You are approaching a roundabout. Take the second exit.' It's a funny voice. I look around to see who's speaking. I clutch at the seat as we slide forward. My stomach feels very strange. The cabby looks in the mirror and catching sight of my face says, ‘If you're going to be sick, kid, you can get out right now.'

‘Oh no,' I say, ‘I won't be sick.' How can I be sick, when I'm going to see Marcus?

‘Because this ain't my car and I don't want no trouble.'

‘Of course,' I say. I smile at him.

And we're away. Streets flash past. Police sirens wail. The funny box voice says things like, ‘Turn left at the next junction.' Traffic lights flick from amber to red. The roar of the engine. The tug of the morning air. We slice round corners, spin down side streets and I feel a mad, wild, crazy feeling: freedom and a rush of hope.

Past us speed bargain stores – ‘Turn, first on your right,' one-stop shops, kebab cafés, pizza parlours – ‘Keep in the inside lane.' News-stands, bakeries and buns and oh, the smell of roasting chicken!

I pick up the newspaper. And see it's called the
Herald
– just like in Heaven! I smile. I double-check the date. 30th October. One day left. My spirits suddenly plunge as I fully realise.
Only one day.
I read the headlines: POLICE WARN OF HALLOWEEN DISRUPTIONS:
Traffic will be re-routed away from key residential areas tomorrow evening . . .

Halloween.

One day left.

We draw up outside Curlston Heights. I recognise it immediately from that evening, from that other life when I soared up its walls, when I perched on its windowsills and peered in through its windows. I remember adoring lifts.

I'm going to use the lift now. I shiver in excitement. As soon as the cab draws to a standstill, I jump out ready to bound over to the grey painted front doors.

‘Not so quick, young lady,' shouts the cabby. ‘What about my fare?'

‘Fare?' I say, turning and looking at him in astonishment. What does he mean, ‘my fare'?

‘My ride, my loot, my lolly, my spondulicks.'

His spondulicks?

I laugh. I've never heard such a word –
spon-du-lix
! Amazing.

But the cabby's not laughing. ‘Hand it over. I ain't got time to play. I don't do this job for my health. I want my money. All of it, and don't try to fob me off with any
come
back later
. I need hard cash. The full amount. I got bills to pay.'

Money?

My heart falls. He expects money for the ride in his car? Even Charon the ferryman doesn't expect
full
payment, just a token coin, a crossing of his hand with silver. But I see at once this cab man does expect it. Not a blessing – not even cheese. I remember now from the textbooks in the Cloisters. I remember Marcus in the hospital garden. How foolish of me. Money, the root of all evil.

‘Money?' I say. I haven't got any money.

‘Yeah, money.' He spells it out.

‘M. O. N. E. Y.'

I can see he means it. He's in earnest. My eyes widen. I look at him. He looks angry.

‘I don't have any money,' I stammer.

‘You don't say,' he guffaws (not at all in a jolly way).