Losing the Plot
Authors: Annie Dalton
First published in Great Britain by Harper Collins Children’s Books in 2001
This updated and revised edition published by Lazy Chair Press in 2013
Text copyright (c) Annie Dalton 2001
The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.
This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be leant, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form (including digital form) other than this in which it is published, and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
With special thanks to Maria and local angels, Chrissy and Hazel.
T
ry to forget I’m an angel for a minute, and put yourself in my shoes.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, I lived on Earth like you. I attended your standard hell-hole comprehensive, where I spent most of my time hanging out with my mates, nattering about boys and clothes, and waiting for my real life to begin.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t your actual, tattooed-in-rude-places bad girl. But I don’t think even my best mates would have voted me Girl Most Likely to Become an Angel! My teacher, Miss Rowntree, thought I was a waste of space. “An airhead with attitude,” she called me.
You know how it is. If enough people tell you you’re dim, you start to believe it, don’t you? So when I found myself at the Angel Academy, I automatically assumed there’d been some big celestial screw-up. Clearly they’d confused me with some genuinely deserving kid. Only they hadn’t. Believe it or not, I turned out to have a natural gift for angel work. I’m not saying I’m this like, angel genius or anything. I made some really stupid mistakes when I first got here. But the great thing about the Angel Academy is they expect you to get down to the nitty gritty stuff right away, unlike on Earth, where you have to wait till you’re practically grown up before you’re allowed to do anything interesting.
To my amazement I passed my exams with flying colours. And at the end of last term, I finally got my true angel name (it’s Helix if you’re interested). As for my new home, well. Picture your dream holiday destination and times it by a zillion, and even that doesn’t begin to do this place justice. Sounds like I’ve got it made, I know. Here I am, literally living in Paradise, doing something I’m actually good at. For the first time, I’m part of something. And to top it all, this very morning, my first ever angel ID had arrived in the post.
I should have been the happiest person alive. But I wasn’t. Alive that is, or happy. Because I knew that somewhere in a tiny council flat, in a distant galaxy far away, my mum was crying herself to sleep, totally convinced her eldest daughter had been tragically snuffed out, like some little candle flame. When all the time I was safe and sound on what my Great Nan likes to call The Other Side.
I know what you’re thinking. What kind of loser feels unhappy in Heaven? My mates were thinking exactly the same thing. In fact, they had a real go at me.
“You never come out with us any more, Mel,” Lola complained. “You’re practically a hermit these days.”
“I’ll come next time, I swear,” I mumbled guiltily. “It’s just that I volunteered to do Angel Watch tonight.”
“Yeah, right,” said Reuben. “That’s what you said last time, and the time before, and the time before that.
“You’ve got to come, Boo. Today’s your big day!” Lola wailed. “You finally got your ID!”
“Yeah, you’re a bona fide trainee angel,” Reuben coaxed. “So let’s go downtown and party like we planned.”
I shook my head. “I told you, I can’t.”
Lola glowered at me. “I thought we were your mates, Mel Beeby. But it’s like you’re deliberately avoiding us. How can we help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong?”
It probably doesn’t seem that way, but Lola Sanchez is my soul mate. The moment I set eyes on her I felt as if we’d known each other for ever, and she felt just the same way. Before she died, Lola lived in the twenty-second century, in some tough third-world city. And sometimes you can totally tell!
Reuben’s the complete opposite. (Lola’s nickname for him is Sweetpea.) Quarrels actually make him feel ill. But don’t get the wrong idea. Reuben’s no lightweight. He does martial arts, so he’s got serious muscles. But unlike me and Lola, Reuben actually started life as an angel. He’s only ever lived in the Heavenly City and finds humans totally baffling.
Usually, the three of us are inseparable. The Three Cosmic Musketeers, Lola calls us. We’re all doing Earth History for our special subject. That probably sounds like we’re always memorising dates and reading history books, right? Wrong! OK, we have to do a bit of studying, but we also make actual field trips to like, different eras in Earth’s history. And like Lola says, the sheer buzz of time-travelling totally makes up for the other stuff. But lately, I couldn’t seem to muster any enthusiasm for anything. I was much too homesick. For days now, I’d been completely churned up about my family. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could let them know I was OK. But this was out of the question, which is why I tried to take my mind off things by doing something practical, like Angel Watch.
It was getting on for midnight as I hurried across the city, and stars glittered over the skyscrapers like huge diamante brooches. I could hear the soft swoosh of traffic, and another sound - a sweet steady throbbing like a cosmic humming top. Once I’d asked Reuben where this mysterious music was coming from. “Everything!” he said calmly.
I still don’t understand how it works. I only know it’s the loveliest sound I’ve ever heard. It’s the first thing I heard after a joyrider accidentally booted me out of the twenty-first century and into the Angel Academy. These days I mostly notice it as I’m drifting off to sleep, or when I’m alone with my thoughts.
I was heading for the Agency building, way the other side of town. The Agency is the administrative hub of the entire cosmos. In other words, Angel HQ. We’re generally referred to as “cosmic agents” these days, rather than angels. This has the advantage of sounding dead crisp and professional, not to mention totally up to the minute.
The Agency is based in this futuristic glass tower. Its upper storeys literally disappear into the clouds. Gorgeous colours wash over it in waves. Every few seconds there’s a burst of light overhead as celestial agents arrive or depart. Because of all the high-level cosmic activity going on inside, the tower gives off amazing vibes. I get tingles while I’m still like, streets away.
On this particular night, I went in through the revolving doors, tiptoed across the marble foyer, and flashed my new ID casually at the guy on the desk. Then I stepped into a lift and went humming up into the sky.
The Angel Watch centre takes up an entire floor of the Agency building. It’s a massive open-plan area with hundreds of work stations. The minute you walk in, you hear a vast murmuring sound, like an invisible tide washing in and out. I was totally blown away when I realised what I was hearing; human thoughts, wave after wave of them; sad, happy, funny, lonely, please-please-help-me thoughts. And thanks to the Agency, every single one is heard. They’re extremely proud of this heavenly aftercare service. (Though when I was living on Planet Earth, I personally had NO idea this scheme was available, I don’t know about you?) One of the night staff handed me a list. “Here again, Mel!” she joked.
“I like coming here,” I said defensively.
It was true. It made me feel slightly less guilty about my cushy new life. Plus I got a genuine buzz out of helping people. Assuming I was helping them, of course.
I spotted a free booth next to Kwan Yin, this v. serene girl from the Academy. As I passed, I caught a glimpse of her screen. It was horrifying. Kids, so coated in dust they looked grey, were picking through rags and Coke cans on some vast rubbish tip. One of them was about the same age as my little sister, Jade.
“Omigosh,” I said in dismay. “What can anyone ever do to help them?”
“This,” said Kwan Yin calmly and went on beaming angelic vibes.
Once I was in my booth, I adjusted my swivel chair, and kicked off my shoes. Then I consulted my list and tapped in the access code for someone called Jordan Scarlatti.
A tiny bald baby flashed up on my screen.
New-borns often find Earth a shock to their systems, so the Agency surrounds them with homey angel vibes while they adjust. It’s like goldfish. You don’t dump them in chilly tap water right off, do you? You acclimatise them gradually.
Baby Jordan was in an incubator, wired up to this beeping hi-tech machine. His mum sat holding his teeny doll-sized hand through the hole in the incubator. I think she was the one who’d called us for help.
“OK, let’s see what we can do,” I whispered.
Using Angel Link is totally second nature to me now. It’s a kind of heavenly internet, only you don’t need a machine to access help or info, just pure concentration.
First I mentally linked up to every angel in existence. And once I felt those familiar vibes whoosh through me, I transmitted them to Jordan for all I was worth.
When I’d finished, I couldn’t resist plonking an angel kiss right on Jordan’s button nose. Sometimes we breathe on the back of their necks or their bare tummies, a kind of angel tickle. Babies adore angelic vibes, and Jordan’s baby thoughts instantly went haywire. “Mum,
Mum
! An angel kissed me!”
“Ssh, it’s our secret,” I said softly.
A ripple of laughter went round the centre. The other night workers were pointing at something above my head, so naturally I looked up too.
A crowd of party balloons was floating toward: me. Suddenly one gave a loud POP! Sparkly streamers fell out and draped themselves around my head, making me feel like a real wally.
“Surprise, surprise!” sang a familiar voice. And Lola and Reuben burst in, clutching cartons from our favourite Chinese takeaway.
As I’m sure you guessed, trainee angels are not encouraged to smuggle Shanghai noodles and crispy seaweed into the Agency building. Not to mention balloons, and heavenly party poppers.
“Are you off your
heads
?” I wailed, when I could get the words out.
“It’s your fault, Boo,” said Lola cheerfully. “Since you wouldn’t come to the party, we had to bring the party to you!” She dumped her stylish takeaway cartons on m; desk and started peeling off tinfoil lids. Delicious smells filled the air. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m starving,” she announced.
At that moment, I noticed Reuben staring past her with an appalled expression. I followed hi: gaze. Omigosh, I thought. We are SO in trouble.
Lola saw my face and spun round in alarm.
Standing behind her was our headmaster.
