Angel

1

Seven-fifteen, Monday morning. Definitely time to get up.

Freya yawned and threw the quilt off her bed. Hurrying to the bathroom before her sixteen-year-old brother Luke could beat her to it, she had a good soak under the shower, then concentrated on her hair. Her old waist-length dark brown locks, perfect for angel dressing up, were history. These days Freya kept it strictly cropped and dyed blonde. The most recent cut, a month or so ago, had been expensive - designer hairdresser’s no less - but the new style, Dad said, was all part of putting the past behind her, and he’d insisted she got exactly what she wanted.

Back in her bedroom Freya experimented, trying something new, curling the hair ends under slightly. Then she got out her make-up case. By the time she finished, dreary morning November light was entering her window and Luke’s alarm clock was jangling in the room next door. He let it ring and ring.

‘Luke!’ Dad yelled from downstairs.

Freya heard a great groan as Luke woke from his usual coma-like sleep, smashed his arm on the alarm and told it to shut up. Freya’s own alarm clock was new. The one with the buzzing angel wings was safely lying on a rubbish tip somewhere.

‘Hey!’ Luke bashed the wall between their rooms. ‘You seen the time? Get up.’

‘I am up, you idiot!’

He grunted, then traipsed to the bathroom. A few minutes later Freya wandered downstairs, joining him at the breakfast table.

Before she could even reach for the muesli Luke leaned over and prodded at her still-drying hair.

‘Leave it alone,’ she told him.

‘Very fetching.’ Luke shook his head. ‘All bouncy. Amy’s going to love it.’

Amy Carr was one of Freya’s new friends. Well, the beginnings of a friendship anyway. Recently she’d been attending school full-time again. Ashcroft High. A huge comprehensive where only a handful of teachers knew what she’d been like before, and none of the other students considered her a misfit or freak - or, at least, she didn’t think they did. There was no more talk of angels, either. Freya was careful to make sure not one word on that topic passed her lips.

To begin with she’d just stayed in the background, studying how the other students behaved, especially the more popular girls. It was only when she was ready that she started cautiously bringing up subjects they were interested in - boys, music, TV, whatever. Things she’d missed out on and should have liked herself. Things, in fact, she was starting to like herself. It wasn’t just an act any more. Boys were definitely interesting.

And in the last month, there’d been another new development - she’d been accepted into one of the more select social circles at school. She wasn’t quite a fixture yet, but she was working on it. Amy Carr, just about the most admired Year 10 student, had made it obvious she liked her. And if Amy liked you, others found that they did, too.

Freya’s dad entered the kitchen, a piece of toast dangling from his mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘What have you done to your hair, then?’

‘It’s just a bit of a bob,’ she said. ‘Nothing special.’

‘It looks really good.’

Luke yawned. ‘Yeah, lovely.’

Dad poked him in the back of the head. ‘You can talk. What do you call this scruff look, anyway?’

Luke wore his hair in a kind of long black tumble to shoulder level. There was no particular style that Freya could discern, though annoyingly it did suit him.

‘It’s called natural,’ Luke answered.

Freya grunted. ‘Oh, right. Natural. Like Tarzan. Should have seen the resemblance.’ She reached across the table and picked at the wispy sideburns Luke was trying to grow. ‘You might try combing it once in a while. Just to see what it looks like. Weird idea, I know.’

Luke scooped cereal into his mouth. ‘I spend hours on this messed-up look, Freya.’

‘The girls love it, huh?’

‘You bet.’

They did, too.

Freya flicked a bran flake at him. He flicked it back.

‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ Dad said to her. ‘Your hair looks great.’

Freya was used to Dad’s compliments. Every single moment of her recovery had been filled with them, deserved or not. This morning, as her gaze lingered over him, she thought he looked weary. Lately he often did. And after years of looking less than his age, hadn’t he also started looking old? His sandy hair was thinning, and he wasn’t as trim as he had been. Or had she been so preoccupied with her own recovery that she hadn’t noticed the changes? The possibility shocked her a little.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dad asked, seeing her pensive look.

‘Nothing.’ She touched his cheek. ‘You look tired, that’s all.’

A warning glance passed between Dad and Luke, obviously not meant for her.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

For a second Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Then Luke came to his rescue. ‘Freya, why don’t you just leave what’s left of your hair alone? Isn’t that the point of having short hair - so you don’t have to bother with it? Hey,’ he added, laughing, ‘remember all that talcum powder you used to sprinkle on your head, pretending it was angel glitter?’

Dad looked up slowly, guardedly. There was an unwritten rule of the house that angels were never mentioned. Recently, though, Freya had been deliberately nudging the boundaries, and Luke, aware of her growing confidence, had started joining in. Freya was glad. The angel stuff had kept her and Luke apart for years. It felt good being able to share a joke with him about them, chatting as if angels were nothing special at all. Freya felt secure enough to do that now. She wanted her dad to feel the same way, to see how well she was recovering.

‘I saw an angel gift set last week,’ Luke said. ‘Did I tell you? A kind of portable toolkit. You’re supposed to use it to get all connected with your own guardian angel. There were some crazy things inside, like fluffy invocation poetry and cheapo incense and candles. And also - get this - a titchy plastic cushion to sit on. I could just see some paunchy middle-aged bloke, scented candle in hand, trying to park his backside on it, invoking away.’

Dad laughed. ‘That’ll be me.’

‘It was expensive, too,’ Luke said. ‘Real expensive.’

Freya propped her chin in her hands. ‘Did you buy it?’

‘Of course I did! I need all the spiritual help I can get!’

Freya grinned. Dad did as well, but only half-heartedly. He was clearly made uneasy by all the talk of angels. Freya didn’t want him feeling that way. Taking his hand across the table, she told him seriously, ‘You don’t need to protect me any more. I’m all right now, you know.’

‘I know,’ he said, equally serious. He walked across to the calendar on the kitchen wall, tapped a date there. ‘It’s over six months since you started at Ashcroft High. Did you realize that?’

Freya knew exactly how long it had been. Until this year, occasional visits from a home tutor was all she’d been able to handle. Being stable enough to attend regular school had seemed an impossible dream. Looking at Dad, she thought back to the grimness of her last hospital stay. Most of it had been spent tied down with straps, heavily sedated, with a drip in her arm. The hospital staff had no choice about the drip. Freya had refused to eat. Angels don’t need food, she’d explained. They live off the stars. Off light itself. Off twinkling sunshine.

Had that really been only a year ago?

‘I’ll never go back to the way I was,’ she said, surprising herself with how emotionally it came out. ‘I promise I’ll never put you through that again. Are you listening?’

‘Yes,’ Dad said, gazing at her steadily.

‘I mean it.’

‘I know you do.’ His look was confident, but also said don’t commit yourself to such a promise yet.

Freya laughed to get the mood back to normal and finished off her muesli. Shortly after, Dad set off for work and Freya went back to her room. She spent some time gazing critically at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. A hint of lip-gloss was in order. Most of the other girls were using it, so she’d started dabbing her lower lip before she left the house. Not too much. Just enough to lighten the naturally dark shade of her lips. After that she inserted some ear studs. It was a pair Amy Carr had picked out for her recently, and Freya was careful as she poked them in because her lobes were still sensitive. She liked the discomfort, though. Angels didn’t wear jewellery. It was another sign of how much she’d put behind her.

A few minutes later Luke caught her standing in the hallway, checking her profile, eyeing the studs. He didn’t say anything, but Freya knew what he thought of Amy Carr.

‘Hey, do what you like,’ he said as she waved him away. ‘Just make sure you don’t turn yourself into her clone, that’s all.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Amy Carr,’ Freya said. It came out more defensively than she wanted.

Luke shrugged. ‘If you say so. I just can’t help noticing the way the others in that little gang of hers follow her around like a bunch of lapdogs. Amy’ll have you doing it soon as well if you don’t watch out. Pirouetting. Licking the ground she walks on.’

‘No way.’

‘Yes, she will. It’s all part of the entry criteria to join her nitwit gang. Do as she says, or you’re out.’ After a warning glare from Freya, he backed off. But he couldn’t resist a final comment. ‘Better make sure you don’t smudge that make-up, Freya. Amy Carr won’t like you if you don’t look perfect.’

‘Luke?’ Freya said sweetly.

‘Yeah?’

‘Shut up.’

2

Freya left for Ashcroft High a few minutes later. She’d barely gone two steps down Cardigan Street when she spotted Albert, a local pensioner, making a bee-line towards her. She spent a few minutes chatting with him, then out of the corner of her eye spotted a couple of girls walking together further down the street - Vicky Stokes and Gemma Masters, two of Amy’s crew.

Seeing who Freya was with, Gemma pulled a sour face.

Freya winced. Ouch. Not good to have been seen chin-wagging with an old man. Making her excuses to Albert, with two quick snaps of her heels she managed to get away. At the bottom of the street, crossing into Pottery Close, she fell into step with Vicky and Gemma.

Vicky was doll-pretty, with heavily-lacquered blond hair and unusually wide, almond-shaped green eyes. Gemma was brunette, and taller, with a big chest and a protuberant chin she tried her best to disguise. Freya felt both girls giving her a brisk, silent once-over, as if to confirm that she looked good enough to be seen walking with.

They sneaked each other an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Ooh, look what you’ve done, Freya!’ Gemma cooed, touching her hair. ‘It’s a bob, isn’t it? Looks really nice, doesn’t it, Vicky?’

‘It’s lovely,’ Vicky said, equally gushing, taking Freya’s arm as though they were sisters.

Freya blushed slightly. The interest of both girls had only picked up when Amy started favouring her, but Freya couldn’t help enjoying the compliments and attention all the same. Other girls they passed on the footpath were giving her mildly envious glances.

‘Like what you’re wearing,’ Vicky said. ‘New skirt, eh?’

‘Mm.’

Freya had been made to realize that her standard school uniform required some gentle and not so gentle teasing into shape. A tighter skirt, for a start, and reduced length. A short tie as well, with an open collar, at least until you got into school. Today, in addition to her stud earrings, Freya had a modest opal pendant swinging from her neck. Her dad had given her the money to buy it only yesterday.

‘Oh, that’s gorgeous!’ Gemma said. ‘Vicky, take a look at what Freya’s been hiding from us.’

Vicky paused her texting to take a look. ‘Um, lovely.’ She shook her head, glaring at her mobile. ‘Darren’s so stupid!’ she growled. ‘He was supposed to meet me after school yesterday, but he forgot. Can you believe that? He just left me standing outside the school gates where anyone could see me.’

‘Chuck him,’ Gemma said matter-of-factly. ‘No. Wait. He’s handy for money. Don’t chuck him.’

Freya joined in the laughter.

‘He’d better meet me tonight.’ Vicky shook her head glumly and continued furiously texting.

‘Who was that you were talking to outside your house, then?’ Gemma asked Freya.

‘Just a neighbour,’ she said.

Gemma backed off, genuinely amazed.

‘But he’s an old man. What do you want to talk to him for?’

‘He’s OK.’

‘No, he’s not. He tried talking to me once. He’s so short I could see his pink scalp.’ Gemma grimaced. ‘There was even some kind of white furzy stuff on it.’

‘He’s all right,’ Freya said uneasily.

‘No, he looks disgusting. No point defending him, Freya.’ Gemma laughed. ‘I saw him the other day, bending down to do up his shoelaces. You know the way old men always have those thin shoelaces that keep coming undone? What’s the matter with them? Anyway, he had this really skinny leg, all veiny . . .’

‘He is over eighty,’ Freya said.

‘I bet he smells.’

Freya half laughed. ‘No, he doesn’t smell.’

‘Yeah, I bet he does. Old people always smell funny.’

‘My grandma smells,’ Vicky said, still texting. ‘She smells of pee. She’s incontinent.’

‘Ugh! Shut up!’ Gemma growled. ‘Look, there’s Amy!’

Gemma and Vicky gave a little wave in unison, and Freya copied them.

Amy was the attractive blonde of year ten. Naturally blonde of course, that had been made clear to Freya more than once. Tall and slender, her athletic legs ended in heels just this side of being banned at school. This morning she had a couple of the better-looking boys from Ashcroft High hovering either side of her. Glancing sweetly over her shoulder, she indicated that it was OK to be approached.

Freya and the other girls joined her, and the enlarged group swanned into the school playground, chatting loudly, joking and generally eyeing up the boys. They took up their usual position not far from the main entrance, where Amy could see everyone and everyone could see her. She hadn’t paid Freya any personal attention yet, but that was normal.

‘And who’s this?’ asked one particularly tall fit boy Freya didn’t know, standing behind Amy.

‘Ah, you like her, do you?’ Amy said, laughing and turning to Freya. ‘Naughty Year 11’s after you, girl. Better watch yourself.’

Freya, flustered, smiled cautiously back.

‘I’m Adam,’ the boy said.

Freya nearly put out her hand to shake his, an old habit, then remembered just to give him a quick nod.

‘Freya.’

‘Nice to meet you, Freya.’

‘Yeah.’

Gemma giggled, but a venomous glance from Amy stopped her cold. Winking at Freya, Amy said airily, ‘See you later, boys,’ and with a dismissive wave of her hand the males magically evaporated. The four girls peeled away together, everyone stepping neatly into line behind Amy.

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ Gemma whispered in Freya’s ear.

‘Yes,’ Freya replied, laughing.

‘You know who he is, don’t you?’

Freya gave her a vacant look.

‘God, she doesn’t know,’ Gemma said. ‘Bless her.’

‘He’s Adam Rix,’ Vicky explained. ‘Amy’s ex. Used to be the most popular boy in the school before Amy dumped him.’

Amy shrugged. ‘He still hangs around for some reason. You can have him if you want, Freya.’

‘What?’ Freya felt her face flush. Talking about boys was one thing, going out with them another.

Amy smiled mischievously. ‘Yeah, you’ll look good with Adam hanging off your arm.’ She touched Freya’s hair approvingly. ‘You look older as well, since you cut your hair. Boys like that.’

Gemma and Vicky were miffed at being excluded from this exchange, but kept their silence and traipsed behind.

‘What are you doing Thursday evening?’ Amy asked, snapping open her mobile.

‘I . . . haven’t got any special plans.’ Freya tried to sound cool. It was the first time Amy had invited her out after school.

‘Good,’ Amy said. ‘I’ll set it up now. Me, you, Vicky and Gemma. Does that sound all right?’

‘Yeah.’ Freya smiled.

Amy smiled back. ‘Oh, and four boys, of course.’

Freya was aware of being closely studied. She’d never been out with boys and, although she might have tried to pretend she had with the others, Amy would see right through any act.

‘Great,’ she said.

‘You got something to wear?’

‘I . . . can find something.’

‘Fine.’ Amy turned to Vicky. ‘You bring Darren, but make sure he’s got plenty of money, or he can stay home.’ Vicky nodded unhappily. ‘Gemma, you pick Freya up.’

‘What? But I live miles from her house!’

‘It’s not that far. We don’t want her to have to come on her own, do we? First date and everything, she needs a chaperone.’ Gemma capitulated, while managing to give Freya a filthy look. Freya didn’t trust herself to say anything.

‘Right,’ Amy said. ‘It’s all set then. Eight o’clock. We’ll meet outside Burger King.’

‘I’ll be ready,’ Freya found herself promising.

‘Gemma will pick you up at 7.30. Don’t be late.’ Amy laughed. ‘I mean, you don’t want to keep Adam waiting, do you?’

‘Will he be there?’

‘’Course he will, if I ask him to be. Just make sure . . . what?’

A dark angel was staring down at Freya.

It was perched on a nearby factory roof, watching her.

Freya stumbled slightly. The angel was big - at least ten feet tall - and utterly black. Squinting, she tried to see it more clearly, but the sun’s rays seemed to die when they touched it.

‘What’s up?’ Amy wanted to know.

‘Nothing . . . I’m . . .’

Images of angels had dominated Freya’s hospital years, but nothing as terrifying as this. Aware of Vicky holding her up, she separated herself and glanced towards the roof again.

The angel was still there, staring at her. It hadn’t moved. Its body was so impenetrably dark that the brickwork on the building beneath was nearly erased by the sheer depth of its shadow. Freya tried to make out the angel’s features. There was a face of some kind there, but it was hideous - as if the angel had chosen the nose, eyes and lips of the most deformed people in the world to be its own.

It’s not real, she told herself. It’s not. Stand up straight. Don’t let them see you like this.

She forced out a smile. ‘I just felt dizzy . . .’

Vicky helped steady her. Gemma and Amy gave each other a suspicious look.

When Freya checked the roof again the dark angel was gone.

For ten minutes she concentrated hard on following the conversation between the other girls and acting as normally as she could. It’s OK, she told herself. It’s not the first time you’ve seen an angel. But it was the first time she’d seen an angel since leaving the hospital. It’s fine, she tried to reassure herself. Forget it. The doctors said you were bound to still see them every now and again. It doesn’t mean anything.

A sense of relief was just starting to gain hold when she felt a tap on her arm. With a mouth opening and closing like