I'm on the train! (19 page)

Darting from the bathroom as she heard her mobile ringing, she picked it up with a sudden sense of dread. Suppose it was Mike, about to cancel? The very thought was—

‘Eunice here. I just wanted to wish you luck, dear. I know how much this evening means, so Arthur and I will both be praying for you.’

As she thanked her new ‘grandma’, she wondered how she had ever managed without the kindly pair. This coming Sunday, they had invited her to accompany them to Mass and then go back with them for lunch. It would be her very first Mass – the first of many, she hoped – and would also give her a chance to tell them, in person, all about tonight. And Sunday was perfect timing, since Mike was going to Tottenham to watch the match with Fulham.

‘Hey, Eunice, listen – Averil said I’m definitely in line for a
pay-rise
, after my yearly review. Apparently, they all think I’m doing well … No, it won’t be a fortune, but every little helps. In fact, I’d like to buy you a present, so can you think of something you’d like? … No, sorry – I insist. But, look, I’d better go. I’ve just stepped out of the shower and my hair’s dripping down my back!’

Once she’d dried it and removed any hint of frizz, she rifled through her drawer to find some sexy underwear. She had to admit she did feel distinctly awkward putting on her black-lace knickers and matching Wonder-bra, with Michael only yards away. But, with his usual tact and good breeding, he simply glided to the window, only turning back to face her again, once she was sitting at the mirror, about to do her make-up.

Even her complexion had improved since his arrival, and he’d undoubtedly made her worry less about the tiny hairline scar above her eyebrow. Friends had been assuring her for years that it didn’t really show, but only now did she believe them. In fact, she felt more attractive in general, as well as loads more confident. After all, if she was important enough to have the highest rank of angel as her personal attendant, she must be special, surely. Nor had it failed to impress her that a commander-in-chief like Michael was willing to ignore his warrior duties, in order to devote himself solely to her – an even greater sacrifice than when Mike gave up his ticket for the Tottenham/Man United match, to come shopping with her in Oxford Street, the first Saturday they’d met. Admittedly, it hadn’t happened since, but it would again – she knew. Michael had taught her two really vital things: first, you had to believe you were worthy of good fortune, and then trust that life would provide it.

She applied her blusher with careful concentration, glad she’d invested in a decent brand, since her healthy glow looked natural now, not falsely pink, like the Tesco one. Lipstick, next, which she blotted several times, to prevent it coming off on Mike. She still missed him terribly: his wild, insistent kisses; the way he gripped her body so tightly, his nails left deep red marks – marks she prized, as a reminder of their love-making.

Angels didn’t make love, she’d now found out; nor did they eat
or drink and, if they needed to move from one country to another, on some angelic mission, or streak up to heaven and back, they could cover such vast distances in micro-seconds. Not only had she learned much more about them, she had also come to realize that it was extremely common for ordinary folk to experience their
intervention
, just as
she
was doing. Some of the stories were incredible: one woman, weighing a scant seven stone, had overturned a car with her bare hands, to free the child trapped underneath – all with the help of an angel. And a lonely old man, in the last stage of prostate cancer, had been comforted by an angel in the form of his long-dead mother, who sat holding his hand in the hospice. And angels didn’t balk at doing much more mundane things, such as finding their charges a parking-space, or a free seat on a crowded train.

What she
didn’t
like were the commercial angel-sites, which sold such low-grade tat, they seemed an offence to Michael. Why should she want an angel fridge-magnet when she had a real-life angel – an angel who was part best friend, part an older, English version of Zac Efron, and almost a god in his own right.

Shit – her mobile again! Each time it rang, she was terrified it might be Mike: he’d gone down with some bug; had a ghastly motor-cycle accident; or been knifed by a drunken yob.

‘Hi, Carole! It’s Tracy. Sorry to ring you out of the blue, but—’

‘Tracy! Great to hear you! It’s ages since we spoke.’

This call was Michael’s doing. He must have realized,
instinctively
, that, however mad she was for Mike, she did truly miss her old Norwich life: the girly talk, the shopping expeditions, the sense of female solidarity. And now here was Tracy on the phone!

‘Why I’m ringing, Carole, is to let you know that me and Sue have decided to follow your example.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, lolling back on the bed.

‘We’re moving to London … Yes, honestly, it’s true! We’ve found this flat-share in East Finchley that needs two extra girls.’

‘Brilliant! We’ll be neighbours, more or less. East Finchley’s on the same tube-line as me, just a couple of stops further out. So when do you plan on coming?’

‘Quite soon, with any luck. We have to wait for Sue to find a job, but that shouldn’t take too long.
I’m
OK, because I can just transfer to the London office, which they’ve been wanting me to do for yonks. Anyway, it would be great to meet and everything, and we’re hoping you might fill us in on the best shops and bars and
night-spots
and all that sort of stuff.’

‘Yeah. ’Course. No problem. And we could even have a party, once you’ve settled in – maybe persuade a few of the others to come down for it, as well, if only for a night. But, listen, Tracy, I’m a bit pushed for time right now. I’m dying for a chat, so I’ll give you a ring tomorrow and we can gossip for hours, OK?’

As she snapped the mobile shut, she wondered how Tracy would react to the idea of an angel sharing her flat. As yet, she hadn’t told a soul, mainly because the crowd at work were such total cynics, they would regard her as insane. Yet, in point of fact, they were in the minority, by far. An online poll showed eighty-two per cent of respondents believed they had a Guardian Angel, while only a mere one per cent thought no such things existed.

She rose slowly to her feet, feeling rather apprehensive about having to give her friends the lowdown on trendy night-spots. As yet, she hadn’t been out clubbing even once and, as for bars, the only ones she knew were those she went to after work with John and Ruth and co, and Mike’s favourite pub, The Antelope.

The whooshing sound of Michael’s wings roused her from her thoughts. ‘It’s time to finish dressing,’ he prompted, moving from the mirror to the wardrobe. ‘We ought to leave in fifteen minutes.’

She didn’t need an alarm clock. Michael got her up in the morning; reminded her of every engagement and gently intervened if she happened to be running late – and all without owning a watch. (Angels didn’t have possessions, despite the pictures showing them with harps and spears or whatever, which were simply artist’s licence.) It was undoubtedly convenient to have an in-house
time-keeper
, but that was a minor matter compared with the overwhelming fact that Michael had transformed her world entirely. She was no longer forced to cling to other people, because she believed she wasn’t good enough in and by herself. And all her
usual dread about things going horribly wrong had been banished at a stroke.

Indeed, when she finally left the flat – looking as good as she had ever done – she had total faith that the evening would be an
unqualified
success. And, as she set off down the street, with all-powerful Michael shadowing her steps, she knew, deep down, that she was worthy of all the good fortune in the world.

‘My boyfriend booked a table – name of Cartwright.’

The waiter checked his list. ‘Ah, yes. Come this way.’

He led her to a table in the corner – an empty table.

‘Don’t worry,’ Michael soothed, folding down his wings to fit the crowded restaurant. ‘He’s probably been delayed.’

Having drawn out her chair with a flourish, the waiter offered her a drink. Her first instinct was to wait for Mike and let
him
choose the wine, but, with Michael’s blessing, she went right ahead and ordered a glass of Chardonnay. Normally, she drank
Diet-Coke
, but Chardonnay was Averil’s favourite tipple, so presumably it must be cool.

While she waited for the wine to come, she surveyed her fellow diners, most of them in couples, of course. In the ordinary way, she would feel distinctly awkward sitting on her own, or even imagine people pitied her because they assumed she had no friends. Tonight, it didn’t bother her at all. If they only had the eyes to see, they would realize that a superior Being was hovering in attendance.

When the waiter brought her wine, she was tempted to offer Michael a sip, or at least pass him the bowl of olives, or a piece of crusty bread. It still seemed rather strange to her that he should have no appetites; had never experienced a sexual urge, or enjoyed the smell of garlicky prawns – now wafting in her nostrils as a waiter scurried past – or the taste of hot buttered toast. But perhaps her own enjoyment of such things only proved how far she was from being spiritual. She hoped, with the old couple’s help, to remedy that lack, and she was certainly looking forward to seeing their local church. All her life, she had regarded churches as dreary, even dismal places, but now she was keen to
add some new ones to those she’d already discovered near the office.

Despite Michael’s presence, it required an effort not to keep glancing at her watch. Her glass was already half-empty, yet there was still no sign of Mike. Instantly, however, Michael tuned in to her thoughts.

‘Remember that broken-down train at Camden? Well, it’s
probably
something similar. Just trust that all will be well.’

‘Trust’ was a word she distrusted, mainly because of her mother, who was always saying ‘Trust me, Carole’, only to betray that trust. Her childhood would have been easier altogether had she been aware of her Guardian Angel from the moment she was born – as Eunice and Arthur had. But at least now she had her beloved Michael for the whole of her adult life, and angels, unlike parents, were free of all human frailties. Dishonesty, unkindness, selfishness and unreliability were simply foreign to their nature. So, if her angel told her to trust, then trust she would, despite the fact that Mike was now eighteen minutes late.

She stretched out her legs, glancing down at her knee-length, mock-croc boots. They pinched at the toes and the heels were crazily high, but Mike adored high heels and that alone made them worth the pain.

‘Try to relax,’ Michael advised, aware how fidgety she was. So she leaned back in her chair and made a deliberate effort to stop fretting; focusing instead on the thrill of her first date. They had sat at a corner table and she’d noticed several women eyeing Mike with interest. They envied her – that was obvious – and the waiters had all treated her with incredible respect, because they could tell he was somebody exceptional. Every detail of the restaurant had remained imprinted on her mind since then: the terracotta floor-tiles and rustic glass carafes; the posters on the walls depicting fabulous places like Venice and Verona; the romantic music and air of happy bustle; the blackboard with the daily specials chalked up in looping script. And, this evening, it was just as lively; a buzz of conversation competing with the Italian crooner pouring out his heart and soul on the sound-system; wild bursts of laughter exploding from the
customers, and waiters darting to and fro, with trays of steaming pasta and exotic coloured ice-creams. Maybe she and Mike could come here once or twice a month, as Eunice had advised. After all, he earned a lot – far more than she did, anyway – and, once she got her pay-rise, she could even treat him, sometimes, if she saved up long enough. She could see their future stretching ahead in a glorious golden glow – the only problem being that he hadn’t
actually
arrived. Had something hideous happened? A fatal stabbing? A terrorist attack?

Just as she began to panic, Michael bent his majestic frame a little closer to her ear. ‘Turn round towards the door,’ he whispered.

Swivelling round obediently, she gave a cry of delight to see Mike hurtling into the restaurant, out of breath and clearly in a state – a very different Mike from the one who’d kept her waiting in the past and usually sauntered blithely in, without a twinge of guilt.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he panted, rushing up to the table and all but colliding with a waiter. ‘There was a signal-failure at Moorgate and it buggered up all the bloody trains.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Carole said, registering Michael’s impassive face. Angels never said ‘I told you so!’, but hers had every right to do so. How could she have doubted that her boyfriend would turn up, when Michael had assured her of the fact? But, mixed with the relief, was a sense of almost … shock. His changed behaviour was a blessing, but not the change in his appearance. However weird it sounded, he just didn’t seem the same – not as tall and nothing like as gorgeous. And he’d obviously shaved in a rush, because there were tiny spots of blood on his face and even a few stubbly bits he’d missed. Angels didn’t need to shave, which meant Michael’s chin was as soft as a fluffy summer cloud and, of course, he wouldn’t dream of swearing, whereas Mike was still ranting on about ‘the sodding underground’. His voice struck her as almost coarse, to be frank, compared with Michael’s hushed, celestial tones, which resembled the sweet pluckings of a harp. And she was so used to her angel’s lustrous eyes, with their piercing, otherworldly gaze, Mike’s eyes seemed plain insipid – blue, maybe, but the blue of faded denim, not the blue of heaven.

‘You look fantastic, darling!’ He stooped to kiss her – a full-on tongue-kiss that lasted so embarrassedly long, she tried to pull away. People at the adjoining tables might be offended by such public snogging and, anyway, she was distinctly worried about how Michael would react.