Flights of Angels (7 page)

‘Yes, I do! You’re - they’re -’ Claudie struggled to find the right words

‘- amazing.’

‘We’ll just take up residence round the desk. We can make ourselves scarce when you need us to and we don’t make any mess,’ she laughed. ‘We can entertain ourselves when you’re busy but, if you need us, just call us.’

Kristen left the office on the stroke of five thirty. Nobody got overtime out of her unless it was arranged in advance and paid for. She went home via the supermarket, guessing Jimmy wouldn’t have managed to find his way there during the course of the day, not unless they’d started stocking parts for model boats.

Three bags of groceries and high heels made the steps down into Lantern Yard rather difficult to contend with. Kristen huffed, puffed, cursed, almost snapped a heel, and then swore she’d start taking a pair of trainers into work. Of course, she’d promised that before but couldn’t face the reality of teaming an old pair of Reeboks with her gorgeously girly outfits. It just wouldn’t do.

‘You’re going to wreck those pretty little feet of yours,’ Jimmy had once warned her, and she knew he was right. It just seemed a long way off to start worrying about right now. She had far too many other things on her mind.

‘I’m home!’ she shouted as she pushed the door open into the kitchen, trying not to notice the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

‘Jimmy? You in?’

‘Yep!’ he called back from the living room.

Kristen quickly unpacked the frozen food and then wandered through to the back of the house.

‘Still fixing that boat?’

‘Not fixing - making,’ he asked, eyes fixed on something Kristen couldn’t see. ‘How was work?’

‘Oh, you know - Mr Simpson in his usual panic mode. Angela had a big row with her boyfriend, Mikey. And Claudie-’ she paused.

‘What?’

‘I’m sure she was talking to herself. All day! I’ve never heard that before. I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying but it seemed to be full-blown conversations rather than thoughtful mumblings, ‘cause we all do that from time to time. But she was definitely talking to herself.’

Jimmy didn’t respond.

‘Like me,’ she added, turning on her heels and heading into the kitchen to make tea.

‘I’m not doing any more shopping this week,’ Kristen told herself as she spooned an extra sugar into her coffee. ‘And I’m not doing any more washing up either. No siree. This girl is on domestic strike.’

The sigh that left her body could have sent half the boats in the harbour out to sea. She was fed up: fed up of being a skivy; of being taken advantage of; and fed up of being unappreciated. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, of being unmarried too.

She knew it was pathetic and outdated, and that she should be counting her blessings. She had a good man, after all, and there was more to life than marriage vows, she knew that - but, in her heart of hearts, it was what she wanted. It was the little girl inside her craving the romance and security promised by a wedding. It wasn’t even as if she wanted the full works. No, she was one girl who could do without tiaras and taffeta; a quiet register office would do nicely. As long as there were plenty of flowers and confetti.

Jimmy, of course, was dead set against marriage after his one and only disaster. He just couldn’t see past his ex-wife and, although he knew she and Kristen were not only cut from different moulds but had also been manufactured in completely different factories, he didn’t seem convinced by the idea of a second marriage. That was for foolish Hollywood actors, not a part-time skipper from Whitby.

Kristen lit a cigarette, cursing silently to herself after her first delicious puff. She’d been doing all right too. Down to just five a week. Not bad after years of at least eight a day but, with friends like Claudie and Simon, and a man like Jimmy, what chance did she stand?

Jimmy was still in bed. It was his favourite place until about eleven o’clock, after which time he’d get up, and walk around for half an hour in his bath robe. She rarely saw him before she went out to work, not until the end of May, when the tourist season began to kick in and he’d be up early to get the boat ready. Come to think of it, she hardly saw him then either.

For the first time in their two years’ together, Kristen was not a happy woman. Nothing had changed, of course, only her perception of things. She was restless and unsatisfied, finding fault in everything.

It was, she thought, time for a girly talk.

‘Claudie - what are you doing tonight? Kristen asked, pouncing on her almost as soon as she walked into the office.

‘Er - ’ Claudie knew this was dangerous ground. ‘If she said she wasn’t doing anything, Kristen would slap her wrists for cocooning herself away from the world, and would, no doubt, try to persuade her to go out.

‘How’s about a girls’ night out? Just you and me?’ Kristen said, giving Claudie her biggest and brightest smile. ‘It’ll be like the old times.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, hating the feeble tone of her voice.

‘
Why not?
’

Claudie started. It wasn’t Kristen’s voice but Jalisa’s. Claudie hadn’t seen her when she’d sat down at her desk, but there she was, tap dancing on top of her printer. ‘Why not go out with her?’ she said in between steps. ‘It will do you both good.’

‘You think so?’ Claudie mouthed. Jalisa stopped dancing and nodded.

‘If you ask me,’ Lily observed, walking out from behind the pencil pot, ‘it’s Kristen who needs a friend at the moment. Just look at her.’

Claudie turned round and, sure enough, Kristen looked as if a steam train had flattened her face. Claudie instantly felt terrible. She’d been so wrapped up in her own world, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked after Kristen and bothered to find out what was going on with her.

‘Go on!
Say yes!
’ Mary urged, appearing next to her sister. Claudie suppressed a chuckle at the scene, all of which was, of course, invisible to Kristen.

‘Why not?’ Claudie said out loud, and felt instantly happier when she saw Kristen smile with relief.

When five-thirty came round, two computers were switched off simultaneously, and two girls grabbed their coats and bags and ran out of the office before anyone had the chance to ask them to type out another letter or photocopy another wodge of minutes.

‘God, it’s just like school, remember?’ Kristen laughed as they legged it down the street.

‘Mr Samson’s science lessons!’ Claudie laughed.

‘Blimey! I used to think I’d die of boredom. Watching that bloody clock crawling round, waiting for the bell.’

‘And Mrs Jones’s English lessons!’

Kristen erupted into laughter at the memory. ‘I’ve since discovered that
Macbeth
is actually quite an interesting play.’

‘I thought we’d never get to the end of it. How long did we spend reading it round the class? Why do teachers make kids do that?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sure Shakespeare would be rolling in his grave if he knew.’ Kristen halted. ‘God! Claudie - I’m sorry.’ She grabbed her friend’s arm. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Claudie said.

‘What a stupid thing to say.’

‘It’s all right.’

Kristen bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’

Claudie placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘You bet,’ Kristen smiled, glad to change the topic of conversation. ‘And I’m dying for a cigarette.’

‘Oh, Kris, I thought you’d given up.’

‘No,’ she said, reaching into the depths of her handbag, ‘not yet.’

‘But I haven’t seen you smoke for ages.’

‘That’s because I sneak them in the ladies when there’s nobody around. It’s like being a teenager all over again.’

‘Oh, Kristen!’ Claudie chided, remembering the numerous detentions Kristen had had for being caught smoking in the upper school toilets.

‘I know! I know! I’ll pack in one day.’

Kristen was half way down her Lambert and Butler when they reached the pub.

‘Listen, I’ve just got to grab some cash,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll pay.’

‘No, you won’t. This was my idea and it’s going to be my treat,’ she said, disappearing to the cash point before Claudie could stop her.

If there was one thing in the world Claudie hated, other than a film on TV being cancelled due to extended sports coverage, it was walking into a pub on her own. She always felt so conspicuous, which was silly because people probably weren’t the least bit interested in her. She hovered around for a moment, waiting for Kristen, but she seemed to be having trouble with the machine, and a bitterly cold wind was trying to disrobe Claudie of her many layers, so she decided to go in.

She hesitated at the door, peering in through a thick cloud of smoke. The sound of after-work laughter hit her, as did the sharp clack of a cue on a ball. She turned her head and saw a group of men hovering over the snooker table. She smiled briefly. Luke had always loved snooker. Or was it pool? Or maybe billiards? She could never remember.

She looked across at the table. There were five men standing under the harsh light. Claudie watched for a few seconds without actually walking into the pub. One of the men had his back to her, but there was something very familiar about him. It was his hair. A mop of pale golden curls.

It was the man from the bookshop. The one who’d nearly stolen Judy Garland from her!

As he turned round, Claudie’s suspicions were confirmed. For a moment, their eyes met. Definite recognition.

How strange, Claudie thought. One day, you don’t even realise that someone is alive and then you start seeing them everywhere at once.

‘God almighty!’ Kristen’s voice suddenly called from the door. ‘Bloody machines. Nearly swallowed my card, and then it wouldn’t print me a statement out! Come on, Claudes. It’s too cold for a drink.’ Kristen pulled her arm from behind. ‘Let’s go and eat.’

‘So Jimmy, the bastard, just fell asleep!’ Kristen almost yelled, causing a couple on the neighbouring table to look round. ‘I mean! I’d gone to all that effort!’

‘I know! I was with you when you bought that negligee. Forty-nine pounds.’

‘Forty-nine
ninety-nine
!’ Kristen corrected. ‘In the sale! Bloody waste of money.’

‘What a shame, Kris.’

Kristen shook her head and plunged her spoon into the quagmire of cream on her knickerbocker glory.

‘Perhaps he was just tired. You could try again.’

‘Tired? He does nothing but build model boats all day.’

‘But that must be awfully tiring on the eyes.’

‘Claudie, you’re such an angel!’

Claudie felt herself flinch at the word
angel
. ‘No, I’m not!’

‘You’d defend Satan.’

‘Jimmy’s not that bad. Is he?’ Claudie had always got on with Jimmy, and knew he was a decent chap. Kristen could do a lot worse and, deep down, she was sure Kristen knew it.

Kristen’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. ‘I just feel so-’ she waved it around in the air as if trying to catch the right word with it, ‘so - unwanted.’

‘But he
adores
you! You know that.’ Claudie was beginning to panic. She felt sure she could see tears in Kristen’s eyes. Great fat tears ready to spill any second. ‘He’d hate to see you unhappy. Come on! Try it again tonight. Or tomorrow. And if he doesn’t respond, I’ll come round and give him a punch on the nose.’

Kristen gave a strangled laugh and managed to blink the tears back. ‘I’m just being silly, aren’t I?’

Claudie knew it was a rhetorical question but she couldn’t resist answering, ‘Yes.’

Kristen half-smiled. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me lately.’

‘Not Jimmy from the sounds of things.’

Kristen spluttered, and her mouth widened with laughter, her face burning red. ‘That’s for sure! I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a good seeing-to.’

They both laughed, this time causing half the restaurant to turn and stare at them.

‘Excuse me, ladies.’ One of the waiters, who was ridiculously over-dressed, had approached the table. ‘Would you mind keeping the noise down?’

‘Don’t worry, mate, we’re leaving in a minute,’ Kristen snarled back at him. ‘And don’t bother looking for a tip,’ she said to his retreating back. ‘Pompous penguin!’

‘God, Claudes. I feel terrible!’ Kristen confessed after they’d left the restaurant.

‘I’m not surprised after all that wine you drank.’

‘No! I mean, I’ve done nothing but talk about myself all evening.’

‘So?’

‘Well, I didn’t mean to. I mean-’

‘I know what you mean.’

Kristen smiled. ‘I wanted to ask how you were. You know?’

Claudie nodded. She knew, and she was glad Kristen hadn’t given her the third degree. But she had also wondered, just once or twice throughout the meal, whether or not to tell Kristen about the angels. However, each time, she’d bitten her lip and taken another mouthful of food before she’d divulged anything.

‘We’d better get home,’ Claudie said, changing the subject. ‘Will you be all right from here?’

‘’Course I will. Will you?’

Claudie nodded. It was always the same after they’d had a night out. Always arguing over who got to walk who home.

‘Your place is further.’

‘Yours is spookier.’

‘Yours is down those steps.’

‘Yours is under the church.’

And so on, until they were so tired they just said goodnight and went their separate ways.

But Claudie had insisted on seeing Kristen home. Or to the top of the steps at least. Kristen wouldn’t admit it, but she’d definitely overdone it on the wine, and she was tottering somewhat unsteadily in her heels.

‘I wish you’d wear sensible shoes.’

‘Don’t you start,’ Kristen slurred, linking Claudie tightly.

‘Are you sure you can manage the steps?’

‘Yes! Now get on home before Dracula starts roaming the streets.’

‘Okay!’ Claudie giggled, wishing Kristen hadn’t mentioned Dracula. She knew it was only fiction, but there were nights when she seriously believed that Bram Stoker had had good reason to dock his vampiric hero in Whitby.

‘Night, Claudes,’ Kristen said as she began disappearing down the steps.