Flights of Angels (16 page)

‘Shut up, you big woman’s blouse.’

Claudie smiled. It was good to be back.

There weren’t many friends Simon kept in touch with from his university days, but he was glad that he still gave Paul a ring every now and again because he’d recently put in a good word for Simon with his employers who were looking for a website designer. It was only a small job, but the company had a number of contacts which could lead to much bigger things.

They’d even asked him to come into their office to discuss what they wanted. So what better way to escape Mandy than an expenses paid, Friday afternoon in York?

Forgetting how bored he usually got on trains, Simon hadn’t taken anything with him to read, so had to make do with staring out of the window and sharing a personal stereo. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the young girl, who looked as if she should have been in school, wasn’t kicking the leg of their shared table with irritating regularity. He thought about getting up to move, but he hated making a fuss about anything. And where would he move to? The train was pretty packed and, short of moving carriages, he had the choice of sitting next to a man who kept clearing his throat every eleven seconds - Simon knew because he’d become incensed enough to time it - and a woman eating a smelly egg sandwich.

He opened his briefcase and flicked through his portfolio. Everything was in order. It was the only thing about him that was.

Claudie stared out of the window as a rush of fields passed. Another week, another session with Dr Lynton. She’d thought about cancelling it this week, but she thought about cancelling it every week, so no change there.

Again, there was the dilemma of what she was going to tell him. The Daniel incident, for example. What would he make of that? What would he accuse her of this week?

She shut her eyes, trying to visualise Mr Woo’s suggested tranquil landscape, but nothing came to mind. She thought of the painting in Mr Bartholomew’s office, but she couldn’t be bothered to walk into it. Not today.

She glanced at her watch. They were nearly there. Thank goodness too. She was almost losing her patience, what with the teenage girl’s constant foot tapping from somewhere behind her and the appalling smell of egg that was filling the carriage from an unknown source.

When the train arrived, Claudie almost ran through the station, the luxury of fresh air invading her nostrils in a heady rush as she darted across the road.

Dr P Lynton was going to get the full Daniel story, she’d decided. Make of it what he would. But one thing was for certain: the angels were going to remain a secret. For another week at least.

Was it her? Simon stood dead in his tracks as he watched her crossing the road, a little dance in her step. Was it really Miss Moonshine? How strange. How wonderful. He wondered if he had time to follow her, but caught himself in time as he realised that he was turning into a Mandy. He looked at his watch and scratched his head as if that might help. He was having a life-deciding moment outside York Station. Choose now. Job or woman? Paycheque or romance? Which is more important? Choose now and, either way, you’ll live to regret it.

He tapped his right shoe against his left. On one side he saw a beautiful, delicate face; on the other, a corkboard full of bills at home. He knew what to do. He knew which was the right decision. But he chose the other option.

He turned round and started walking towards the Swanlea Insurance head office.

Rosehip, Coral Kiss or Pink Shimmer? Kristen unscrewed each of the lipsticks in turn and held them up to the light. They looked like a girly version of a Star Wars light saber.

She’d got it down to three from a possible choice of twelve, but she was stuck now. She supposed she could count Coral Kiss out on account that Jimmy probably had bad memories of it after she’d got it all down his one good white shirt whilst getting romantic with a loose grape. And Pink Shimmer? It was far too cold to think about wearing anything remotely frosty on her lips. So Rosehip it was.

She’d opted for a Whitby weather-defying tight dress, which just skimmed her knees, and had left her auburn hair loose. Just let the wind try to ruffle it tonight, she thought with a little smile.

Dress smoothed, make-up on, and hair in place, Kristen stood in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection. She thought about giving herself a few words of advice or comfort, but what would they be? Hang in there, girl. Don’t press him. Let him work his way round to it in his own time. Things that are worth having are worth waiting for, and other clichés. She shook her head. In his own time, she tutted. If women didn’t give the occasional prod, the human race would come to a complete stand still. She’d read a dozen novels and a hundred articles that said the same thing: women had to make their presence felt. It was no longer enough to look pretty and hope for the best. A woman had to be forthright if she wanted to succeed.

‘Are you ready?’ Jimmy shouted from downstairs, breaking into her thoughts.

‘Yes!’ Kristen shouted back. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she added, giving her reflection a wink, and taking a deep breath before heading downstairs.

Claudie sank back into her sofa and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been another fraught session with Dr Lynton. She really must think about giving them up altogether. After all, she felt that she was getting on well by herself since the arrival of her little flight. Surely five personal angels were enough to see a girl through the rough times? Having a bereavement counsellor on top of that was just plain greedy, wasn’t it?

She’d told Dr Lynton about the unfortunate incident with Daniel.

‘How did you feel about his advances?’ he’d asked.

‘How did I
feel?
’ Claudie had asked, aghast. ‘I suppose you could say I had a knee-jerk response to the whole thing.’ She’d watched as Dr Lynton’s face had turned a veritable shade of puce. Well, ask a silly question.

She wished Jalisa and the gang could be called upon for a quick house visit, but guessed that just wasn’t permissible. For a rash moment, she thought about breaking into the office at work. She still had a key from ages ago, which Mr Bartholomew had long forgotten about, but just imagine if she got caught. What would she say? I’m just visiting the angels on my table? She’d be locked away for sure.

So it was going to be another lonely evening in. She’d call Kristen round if she hadn’t been going out on her mystery date with Jimmy. Claudie smiled. If she hadn’t needed her fingers for the remote control, she would keep them crossed for Kristen all evening. She hoped Jimmy came up with the goods tonight. If there was one person who deserved to be happy, it was Kristen.

Claudie sighed. She was fed up of evenings in on her own and, as much as she adored her collection of musicals, there came a time when all you wanted was a bit of company. She’d never really understood the notion of being lonely until she’d lost Luke. She’d thought it was just another way of saying you were bored, but there was more to it than that. Loneliness was like a disease you couldn’t find a cure for. Movies were only a temporary relief and, as soon as the words, The End, appeared, that feeling of hollowness would return once more, and it couldn’t be cured by picking up a book or flicking through a magazine.

The End
. Claudie had often felt cheated by those words. Although they gave closure and a necessary structure to the films, they always seemed so smug and taunting. There you are, they seemed to say, you’ve had your ninety minutes of perfection. Now, get back to your real life. The music faded, the dancing stopped, and real life seeped in once again.

Walking through to the kitchen, Claudie reached into the drawer under the sink and found the key she needed. She knew exactly what she had to do. In fact, she didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Hadn’t Jalisa told her that the flight were there for her whenever she needed them? Well, she knew that her home was out of bounds so that meant
she
had to go to
them
.

‘We’re here to work for you, Claudie!’ Jalisa constantly reminded her. ‘You only have to give us a call.’

Claudie still felt a little uncomfortable admitting that she needed help, even to her own angels. But, now, she was more than ready to admit she needed them and, with a smile of anticipation dressing her face, she grabbed her coat. It was a familiar movement, she thought, the grab-the-coat-workout you had to get used to if you lived on the North Yorkshire coast. She opened the door, and was surprised that it wasn’t as cold as she’d expected. Perhaps excitement was heating her up as she half-walked, half-ran towards the office.

It was after eight thirty, which meant that the cleaners would have left long ago. There was nobody around in fact, and it was easy to approach the building from the back entrance and slip the key into the lock.

As she turned it, she wondered, for a moment, what she’d do if they’d changed the lock. But no, the key turned effortlessly, and she was inside, sighing with relief at the realisation that she hadn’t set any alarms off.

She felt like a thief as she walked through the corridors and up the stairs in the dark. But she didn’t want to turn any of the lights on. She was rather enjoying the secrecy of it all.

Everything had a rather sinister look about it at night. The great hulk of the photocopier was like a strange, sleeping beast, and the empty desks looked quite lost without their cheerful occupants.

But would the angels appear? Would they be prepared for a night-time call, or did they work nine to five like normal people? Perhaps there were angel pubs and night-clubs which they could go to. Hadn’t the girls said that they partied at weekends? Claudie hadn’t thought of that as the mad rush of adrenalin had propelled her to break into the office.

She walked in trepidation towards her desk, lit softly by a street lamp outside. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the low light of the building, and she peered around the familiar objects which had taken on a surreal quality in the dimness.

And then her heart filled with fear. What if she’d made it all up? What if the angels were mere figments of her imagination and didn’t exist at all? It was easy to believe that she was going mad, creeping round her place of work at night in the expectation of having a chat to a six-inch angel.

She stopped for a moment, her heart thudding like an angry fist in her chest, her breath short and irregular. They didn’t exist, did they? Her mind had been performing visual somersaults; something she could only blame on herself for her over-rich diet of MGM musicals.

And yet they’d seemed so very real. Claudie bit her lip so hard that she almost drew blood. There was an explanation for that, wasn’t there: she’d needed help. She’d needed help so badly that she’d had to create five different personalities. Not one but five! Wasn’t that just a little excessive? Who did she think she was?

Suddenly, it was all so clear. Each angel seemed to represent a strand of her personality: Jalisa was her secret dancer locked deep inside her office persona; Mr Woo was the sensible, level-headed part of her; Bert, well Bert was the joker - the little part of her which loved to laugh but which hadn’t been around for a while. And the twins? Perhaps they just went to prove that Claudie really had lost it.

No, she needed Dr Lynton far more than she was willing to let on. She closed her eyes and leant up against a filing cabinet, the dark grey metal cold against her back. What was she doing? She had Kristen to talk to, and Dr Lynton to open up to. Why did she feel the need to create five mini angels? And why angels? Had Clarence in
It’s a Wonderful Life
finally got to her?

But she knew what the heart of the problem was. No matter how many people she had around her, and no matter how many others she created, it didn’t make up for the one she’d lost. No amount of friends, counselling or angelling could replace the pair of arms around her which she’d loved so well.

She took a moment to think about what she should do next. As much as she’d convinced herself that she was finally slipping into madness, she still couldn’t resist finding out for sure. Leaving the solid safety of the filing cabinet, Claudie walked towards her desk.

‘Hello?’ she called softly into the darkness. ‘Is anyone there?’ She moved closer, pulling her chair out and sitting down. ‘Jalisa? Lily? Anyone?’ She bit her lip again, and waited silently for a moment.

‘Claudie?’ a little voice greeted her.

‘Mr Woo?’ Claudie’s voice had risen an octave higher than normal, and she felt like crying as she spied him on her desk.

‘Why you here so late?’ he asked, walking out from the shadows behind her computer.

‘I got lonely. I just wanted a bit of company,’ she explained shyly, blinking hard to make sure that he was real.

‘But you in trouble if catch you?’

‘Well what are you doing here?’ she asked, very glad that he was actually there.

He looked up at her, his big brown eyes soft and gentle. ‘Policy to be on call - just in case.’

‘Then, you
are
here if I need you?’

He nodded. ‘Jalisa not explain to you?

‘Well, I wasn’t sure,’ Claudie said, not wanting to get Jalisa into trouble. ‘I mean, I took a bit of a chance coming here.’

Mr Woo looked slightly apprehensive, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to do. ‘So you need herb to sleep?’

Claudie shook her head. Mr Woo and his herbs reminded her of Dr Lynton and his books. But books and herbs weren’t the answer to everything.

‘I just wanted someone to talk to,’ she explained.

Mr Woo nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘You do?’ They looked at each other for what seemed like the longest moment.

‘I miss my wife,’ he said, giving a sad little smile. ‘But I make you feel sad if I talk.’

‘No! No! Honestly,’ she tried to assure him. ‘You can talk to me. I’m a good listener.’

Mr Woo sat down on a sleeping file and gazed at nothing in particular. ‘It seem long time since I see her.’