Flights of Angels (21 page)

Kristen battled against the April wind which seemed to whip up all the cold from the sea before hurtling it through the town. She battled her way up and down the supermarket aisles cursing the other shoppers, cursing her drunken trolley, and then cursing the fact that she lived somewhere which made owning a car impossible.

She then struggled up and down the steep steps on her way home, swearing at her shoes for being pretty but completely impractical.

Jimmy barely noticed Kristen as she crashed into the kitchen with the three bags of shopping. In fact, he didn’t even bother to look up from his latest model boat, even when Kristen slammed cupboard doors and banged tins down on the worktops.

‘God damn tins,’ she swore under her breath, rubbing her thigh where they’d knocked into her. She’d no doubt have a Lake Windermere bruise by the morning.

The only time Jimmy responded to the terrible noise she was making was when she yelled out after catching her finger in a netted bag of satsumas.

‘Are you all right?’ he bellowed through, so as to avoid getting up off his home on the carpet.

‘I’m fine!’ she said, with all the conviction of somebody who is on the brink of insanity.

‘What’s for tea, then?’

By teatime, Kristen’s mood had deepened as only an ignored woman’s can. They sat together at the tiny table in the living room, foreheads almost touching as they ate the jacket potatoes which, along with the tinned food, had also contributed to Kristen’s bruised thighs. Jimmy, however, still hadn’t noticed that anything was the matter or, if he had, he was steering well clear of the subject.

‘The window display has caught the eye of a chap from that posh magazine,’ he was saying. ‘You know the one with all them glossy photos?’

Kristen nodded.

‘He left his card with Bill at the shop, and wants me to give him a call about a feature or something.’

Kristen grunted in response as she pushed the skin of her jacket potato around her plate

‘Well?’ Jimmy said. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it? It could be quite big.’

There was a moment’s silence, apart from the strange sound of a potato in transit.

‘Kristen?’

‘What!’ she snapped.

‘What’s the matter? You haven’t said a word all evening.’

‘Neither have you.’

‘What do you mean? I’ve been telling you about my boats. Haven’t you been listening?’

‘I don’t want to hear about your bloody boats. It’s all you talk to me about,’ she said sulkily, her voice sounding like a particularly obnoxious teenager’s.

Jimmy dropped his knife and fork onto his plate. ‘Kris-’

‘Don’t start. I’m not in the mood.’ She scraped her chair back from behind her and walked through to the kitchen, throwing her plate, potato skin and all, into the sink.

‘Kris?’ Jimmy followed close behind her. ‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong!’ she said, turning round to face him, her grey eyes wide and wild. ‘US! That’s what’s wrong!’

Jimmy’s forehead immediately furrowed as if he knew what was coming. They’d been here before, many many times.

‘You never talk about us. It’s always you. You never stop to think what I want from this relationship. It’s just the same old stuff week after week, month after month, and I don’t know if I can take any more.’

‘Kris, listen-’

‘We’re stagnating, Jimmy. Just look at us. We’re not going anywhere.’ Jimmy’s mouth opened to say something, but Kristen interrupted him again. ‘You know how I feel about having a family of our own, but you never want to talk about it.’

‘I was going to-’ Jimmy began, but Kristen pushed passed him.

‘I’ve just about had enough, Jimmy.’ She ran into the bedroom and locked the door, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room. Her heart was thudding and her eyes were swimming with tears. She waited for a moment, half expecting Jimmy to come banging on the door. She knew he could break into the room if he had half a mind to. Trouble was, he would never have half a mind to, and that’s what was bothering Kristen. She’d constantly laid herself bare in their relationship, urging him to move forward with her but no, he never listened.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. The bed they’d shared for two years. She could hardly remember what life had been like in a single bed. And would she have the courage to face it again?

She blinked away her tears, her eyes resting on the chest of drawers in the corner of the room. She took a few hesitant steps towards it, knowing exactly what she had to do.

Somebody was banging on the front door. Claudie reached out and switched her light on, grimacing at the clock that read half past ten. Who on earth would be banging on her door at half past ten at night?

And then a cold shiver passed through her body. What if it was Daniel? There was a good chance that he’d had one too many to drink and had remembered her.

She tiptoed across her room and grabbed her robe, tying it tightly round her body. The banging had become more insistent. Trust whoever it was to have picked a night when she’d decided to have an early one.

Claudie padded down the hallway, thinking that she really must go to the local RSPCA shelter and buy something with fangs and a terrifying growl. That was something she’d never had to worry about when Luke was around. He only had to pop his head round the door to deter hapless salespeople or local political types. Claudie, by comparison, was a soft touch, and would always end up buying mops and brushes she didn’t need, and promising to read the political manifestos thrust at her.

She wasn’t sure whether to put the kitchen light on or not, and paused for a moment, looking at the silhouette at the back door. But the figure was far too short to be Daniel. She breathed a sigh of relief, putting the light on before opening the door cautiously, making sure the chain was on.

‘Who is it?’

‘Claudes!’ a voice wept out from the dark courtyard.

‘Kris?’ Claudie whispered in disbelief. ‘What’s the matter?’ She quickly removed the chain and ushered her friend inside. After she locked the door again and looked round, she saw that Kristen had a rather large bag with her, and her face looked like blotting paper on which a red ink pen had been cleaned several times.

‘Kris!’ Claudie gave her a big hug. ‘Whatever’s happened?’

There were a few loud sobs before she answered.

‘I think I’ve left Jimmy.’

It was two in the morning and there was still a light on in the front room of Claudie’s cottage. There were also two wineglasses and an empty bottle of white on the coffee table.

‘I’ve screwed up! Really screwed up this time,’ Kristen said, her voice shaking. ‘I should never have pushed him. It was so silly of me.’

Claudie, who was sat beside Kristen on the tiny sofa, placed an arm around her. ‘You only did what you thought was right.’

‘I should tell him that it was all just a big misunderstanding - that I don’t care about getting married.’ She blew her nose loudly.

‘But it would all just blow up again later,’ Claudie pointed out. ‘At least you’ve been honest about how you feel, and now he knows it’s up to him to decide what he’s going to do.’

Kristen closed her reddened eyes for a minute. She knew what Jimmy would do: nothing - absolutely nothing. He wasn’t the type of man to be goaded into giving a response. He just shut down, and the thought made Kristen cry all the more.

Claudie sat quietly for a while, letting Kristen get it all out of her system. There was no point talking over the noise she was making, so she just rested her head against her shoulder and cuddled her.

‘You know,’ Kristen said at last, giving her nose another loud trumpet, ‘I feel like a spoilt child, I really do.’ She leant forward from the sofa and picked up her handbag. Claudie watched as she removed a familiar looking packet.

‘Kris? Those aren’t what I think they are?’

‘They’re
lights
- look!’ She held out the cigarette packet towards Claudie for inspection.

‘But you’ve been doing so well.’

Kristen took one out and lit it. ‘Yeah, well, it’s not exactly been the best of weeks, has it?’ She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. A second later they sprang open. ‘Oh, Claudes, you don’t mind me smoking in here?’

‘I do as a matter of fact. So please remove yourself to the yard,’ she said in a voice too stern to be serious. ‘Anyone but you would be given their marching orders.’

Kristen managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks, hon.’

Claudie watched as the tiny front room began to fill with fumes. She’d only once had a puff herself, and had responded like a novice dragon, much to the embarrassment of Kristen.

‘Do you want to watch a film?’ Claudie said hesitantly.

Kristen shook her head. ‘It’s very sweet of you, Claudes, but Judy Garland isn’t very likely to shift this particular mood.’

‘Can I get you something to eat?’

‘No thanks. But how about another bottle?’

One hour later, and one more bottle of wine, and Kristen had almost forgotten about her argument with Jimmy. Almost.

‘I should have just left, but I didn’t. I had to go and open my big mouth.’

‘There’s no point beating yourself up over it. It’s done now,’ Claudie soothed, pouring the last few drops of wine into Kristen’s glass. She was starting to feel its effects now.

‘God! What did I say? I was horrible! A real bitch.’

‘Kris - don’t.’

Kristen shook her head as she remembered what she’d said. ‘I said he didn’t care - never had - and that he didn’t love me.’ Her eyes were beginning to fill up again. Any minute, Claudie would have a full breakdown on her hands.

‘I know he loves me! Why couldn’t I be satisfied with that? Why do I have to go and push him for more?’

‘Because it’s what you want, in your heart of hearts. Anyway, every woman’s the same. It wouldn’t be natural if we didn’t keep pushing for more. I was the same with Luke. I don’t think he would have proposed if I hadn’t kept dropping hints all the time.’ Claudie felt surprised by what she’d just said. She hardly ever spoke about Luke to anyone other than Dr Lynton, and she certainly never mentioned him in as light-hearted a way as she just had with Kristen.

Kristen shook her head. ‘Claudie! Just listen to me now. I’m so bloody selfish. Just look what you’ve been through.’

‘Please, Kris-’

‘No - listen. You’ve had such a terrible time, but you’ve been amazing. Just look at how you’ve coped. You’re incredible, Claudie.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘What do you mean
no you’re not? Of course
you are! If I’d been you, I would have gone under - completely.’

Claudie stared down at the swirling pattern of the carpet. Did it usually swirl this much, she wondered?

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Kristen was saying.

‘Do you want to know?’

‘You mean you’ve got a formula?’

‘No, not quite, but something just as good.’

‘What is it? Those musicals?’ Kristen nodded towards the shelves of films in the corner of the room.

‘This has absolutely nothing to do with MGM or Gene Kelly.’

‘What is it then?’

Claudie bit her lip. The wine was getting the better of her, and she knew she’d probably regret this in the morning, but what the heck?

‘You know I’ve been talking to myself at lot at work?’ She looked across at Kristen, anxious to see her response.

‘
A lot?
It’s bloody constant!’ Kristen giggled, causing Claudie to smile.

‘Yes. But I’m not.’

‘Not what?’

‘Talking to myself.’

‘What do you mean?’

Claudie took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got angels.’

Kristen’s red nose scrunched up in her face. ‘
Angels?
’

‘A whole flight of them in fact. They live on my desk.’

‘Claudie? I think we’ve been drinking too much.’

‘No! Listen - it’s absolutely true!’

‘And your accent’s come back.’

‘It’s the wine!’ Claudie insisted. ‘But I’m telling the truth.’ She breathed deeply, giving herself an opportunity to work out what she was going to say next. ‘It’s hard to explain. But there are five little angels living on my desk at work.’

Kristen didn’t speak, but her mouth was a perfect O.

‘It’s incredible. At first, I didn’t believe my own eyes. I thought I was making it all up because - well, you know - but they’re absolutely real. They’re like you imagine guardian angels to be - only much, much smaller, and they’ve come to take care of me - to make me smile whilst I’m getting over Luke.’

‘You’re having me on?’

‘I swear, I’m not,’ Claudie said, grabbing Kristen’s hands and squeezing them tightly.

‘You’re telling me there’s a bunch of guardian angels on your desk at Bartholomew and Simpson’s?’

‘Not a bunch - they’re called a
flight
.’

‘How do they all fit on your desk?’

‘They’re tiny! No bigger than my pencil pot.’

‘What you mean like Munchkins?’

‘No!’

‘Oompah Loompahs?’

‘No! They’re just like normal people. Only smaller.’

‘Claudie,’ Kristen said, her serious voice firmly in place despite the amount of wine she’d consumed, ‘you know we’ve been friends for years, and I’ve supported you in everything you’ve ever done, haven’t I?’

Claudie nodded. ‘Even when I didn’t want to take Chemistry in my options.’

‘Yes,’ Kristen said, remembering. ‘And even the time you went out with Craig Evans.’

Claudie rolled her eyes. ‘What on earth did you bring his name up for?’

‘Because I want to make a point. I’m always here for you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘So you’ve got to listen to me now. I’ve been so worried about you, Claudes. I really thought that doctor what’s-his-name in York was doing you some good, but I can see that he’s just been ripping you off.’

‘He’s not, Kris.’

‘But all this talk of angels?’

Claudie bit her lip. There wasn’t going to be any convincing Kristen, was there? She’d always been a far more down-to-earth, logical person than she was, which was probably why they were such good friends: they balanced each other out. But Claudie should have known that she wouldn’t be able to convince her. If Kristen couldn’t suspend disbelief and watch an MGM musical, then there was little hope for her as far as angels were concerned.