The Unconventional Angel (2 page)

‘Thar she blows again about age.’ Yves sucked harder on his pipe.

‘I mean, what sort of quality of life can you have without money, Yves? I hate to say it, but you are a prime example. You have one good boot, your clothes are horrible, you don’t have a bed to sleep in. I don’t believe you can ever wake up feeling happy.’

Yves ignored her comment and offered Evie his hand to help her up. She sneezed again loudly. He took his coat gently from her shoulders, reached into a pocket and dabbed a menthol-smelling yellow cream under her nose.

‘Oi.’ She pulled away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Trust me and meet me five p.m. tomorrow on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral.’

Evie finished wiping her nose and turned to answer, but the young tramp had already disappeared into the cold December night.

Chapter Three

‘What do you mean, someone put some ointment under your nose and your cold has completely gone?’

‘Just that. Honestly, it was the weirdest thing. I’m no longer sneezing, my sore throat’s gone, even the cough. I’m one hundred per cent better; in fact, I feel bloody great.’

‘It’s just a coincidence, Evie. I mean, colds do that. They come and then they go.’

‘He told me there was no such thing as a coincidence.’

‘Who is this man who has brainwashed you, anyway?’

‘His name’s Yves. He was born on Christmas Eve so his parents called him Yves. He’s a tramp.’

‘I know it’s only ten o’clock but are you on the sherry already?’

‘No. I’m not! I met him at the homeless shelter. He’s sweet. He said some lovely things. I’m meeting him later actually. At St Paul’s.’

‘I think you’ve gone mad – and where does the lovely Greg feature in all this?’

‘The lovely Greg has a girlfriend, unfortunately. I was all set to ask him out for a drink and she suddenly appeared. All petite and perfect, to work the night-shift with him.’

‘Well, it’s just a girlfriend, not a wife. You ‘re still in with a chance if you play your cards right.’

‘Bea, you are terrible! I do have some morals. Anyway, Happy Boxing Day you old tart. How was yesterday?’

‘Just the usual. Mum, Dad and the sisters. Auntie Flo, Uncle Pete. Oh, and Tom and Vera came round from next door with number one son, Josh, for the evening.’

‘And did you?’

‘Just a blow job, in the utility room.’

‘You are unbelievable.’

‘He’s twenty-four now. He’ll be too old for me soon.’

‘I wish I had your gall.’

‘It’s short-lived gratification, Evie, and it’s not big or clever. Just a complete and utter turn-on.’

‘Don’t ever change, Beatrice Stewart.’

‘So, back to Yves the tramp. I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. Why are you meeting him later?’

‘I don’t actually know.’

‘What?’

‘Well, there’s something about him. He is really interesting. I feel drawn to him.’

‘Come on down! Meet Beatrice Stewart, shagger of toy boys and her friend Evie Harris with her fetish for tramps.’

Evie laughed out loud. ‘Let me just go with it.’

‘He might be after your money.’

‘What bloody money? Nah, he knows I’m skint.’

‘OK. Well, be careful and make sure you call me later and give me the scoop.’

‘I will. What are you doing later anyway?’

‘Hopefully, Josh. His mum and dad are going out and I said I’d pop round to pull his cracker later.’

‘You are insatiable, girl.’

‘I know! Now, bugger off and go and see old Christmas Yves, you weird tart.’

‘He’s not old.’

‘You said he was a tramp?’

‘Look at you labelling. It’s hard to tell exactly how old he is, as he has a bushy beard and a few laughter lines, but he’s only around thirty, I reckon.’

‘Get in there then, girl. Who knows? This could be the man of your dreams.’

‘You make my heart smile, Bea. You really do.’

‘Good. Enjoy yourself whatever you do and I cannot wait to hear all about it.’

Chapter Four
Peace

It was eerily quiet on the tube on Boxing Day and Evie enjoyed the tranquility. One benefit of being out of work, she thought, was that she could step out of the rat race, even if just for a short while.

Yves was wearing a light grey suit and his beard looked slightly shorter than she remembered. He was waiting at the bottom of the steps to the spectacular St Paul’s Cathedral. Evie had read about the cathedral on her iPhone on the way here.
She could recite off pat the fact that it sits at the top of Ludgate Hill, the highest point in the City of London, is dedicated to Paul the Apostle and dates back to the original church on this site, founded in AD something or other. The present church had been designed by Sir Christopher Wren. Phew!

Despite the area around the cathedral being well lit, Yves shone a torch towards her so Evie’s path was even clearer. Today, his brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail. She hated to admit it but he did look quite handsome in a hippyish sort of way.

‘Hello Evie with an E, how are you?’

‘My cold has gone! I feel so much better. Haven’t sneezed even once today.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘What
was
that ointment you put under my nose? Is it a wonder cure?’

‘Ointment? Sorry, I don’t understand. I had some hand cream on that they had put in the toilets yesterday, maybe it was that you smelled?’

‘Oh, maybe.’ Bea was right, she was imagining things. Her cold had gone, and for this she was pleased – whatever the reason.

‘These are for you.’ She handed Yves a carrier bag.

‘Trainers? Wow. That’s really kind. Thank you – and they’re the right size.’

‘Well, I thought you looked about the same build as Darren, and he won’t miss them. He’s got hundreds of pairs.’

‘I really appreciate that, Evie. Right, I’m glad you are early. Evensong is about to start and I want you to experience it.’

Evie wasn’t particularly religious; she had gone to a Church of England school and that was about as far as it went. She knew the Lord’s Prayer and a few hymns, was all.

However, she gasped as she entered the cathedral. She had obviously seen it on the television at various state occasions and had seen images of Charles and Diana getting married there.

‘Was Diana’s funeral here too?’ She was whispering now.

‘No, Westminster Abbey.’ Yves tucked his pipe in his pocket.

Evie giggled. ‘We should go up to the Whispering Gallery.’

‘Ssh. Another day.’ Yves’ beard tickled her ear.

They were ushered to seats right within the choir stalls. Once everyone was settled, it was the loudest silence she had ever experienced. The beauty of this magnificent place of worship overtook her and her eyes filled with tears. Yves reached for her hand and squeezed it. She was in awe of the magnificently painted ceiling, the ornate gold decorations, the architecture, the sheer size of the place.

But, most of all she was overcome by the sudden feeling of peace that washed over her when the choir began to sing. She took a deep breath and thought of her beautiful mum, as she always did when she ventured into a church. Celia Harris had died when she was just thirty-five, of a sudden brain haemorrhage, and it had been the single most horrific event to date in Evie’s whole life. She was so glad that Celia had had her when she was just seventeen, as it had at least given her eighteen glorious years with her mother. She still missed her every single day. Celia had not only been an amazing person, but also a gifted artist, and Evie knew that if she had been allowed to reach her potential, her paintings would have made it to top London galleries. Such a waste of a beautiful life.

Evie knew her love of photography must have come from her creative mother. She had never met the man who had fathered her. She was the much-loved result of a dubious one-night stand, Celia had told her, and nothing more glamorous than that. Evie wasn’t angry: she had loved the frankness and eccentricity of her adored mother, and didn’t miss having a father in her life.

Evie had read somewhere that love and peace are supposed to fill the hole that a bereavement brings. She was yet to experience that, but hoped one day it might come true.

The last hymn reached its heartwarming crescendo and Yves guided her out of the choir stalls and towards the Nativity Scene, which had been set up on the way out of the cathedral.

‘It’s so sweet,’ Evie said quietly.

She then noticed rows and rows of lit tea-lights. They looked so beautiful and it felt so Christmassy. Without prompting, she put her money in the box for one. Wishing her mum happiness wherever she might be, she lit it, put it amongst the others. Quietly at first, then more loudly on reaching the cold fresh air, she began to sob. Big, fat, snotty sobs on to Yves shoulder.

He rubbed her back gently. ‘It’s OK, Evie, get it out. You will feel so much better.’

After about five minutes she stopped and pulled away from him.

‘I am so sorry.’

‘Never ever apologise for expressing emotion, Evie. And if anyone is not kind enough to comfort or understand you when you do, then they are not worthy of your time or love.’

‘Thank you.’ She blew her nose.

‘Can I ask who it was?’

‘My mum.’

Yves shut his eyes. ‘I feel your pain and bless you.’ After a moment, he went on: ‘When you asked about Diana’s funeral earlier, I remembered her sister reading the most beautiful piece.’

‘Go on, will it make me cry again though?’

‘Maybe, but it is so beautiful. I want to share it with you.’

They walked down the cathedral steps together, an unlikely couple, but Evie didn’t mind what anyone thought. Yves had such a good soul – who cared if he looked a bit of a mess. It really didn’t matter. Without warning he started to recite –

Time is too slow for those who wait,

Too swift for those who fear,

Too long for those who grieve,

Too short for those who rejoice,

But for those who love, time is eternity.

All of a sudden, some fireworks lit up the night sky behind the dome of the cathedral.

‘I adore fireworks.’ Evie laughed happily. ‘How magical is this. Who wrote that poem, by the way?’

‘It was a guy called Henry van Dyke, a nineteenth-century American author, educator, and clergyman.’

‘You’re far too clever to be a tramp.’

‘Another unfounded generalisation, Evie with an E. Now what was it that the dandy Oscar Wilde said?
One has a right to judge a man by the effect he has over his friends
. But I won’t bore you with more of my quotations.’

‘You’ve haven’t bored me once. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing me here. It’s been truly amazing and I feel honoured that I could get upset in front of you.’

‘See, you don’t need money to do things that make you feel good.’

‘No, tonight does prove that, but please let me get you dinner to say thank you?’

‘Evie, if you were to use one word to describe to me how tonight’s experiences have made you feel – the singing, the surroundings, the candle, your release of tears – what would it be?’

Without hesitation, Evie replied very softly, ‘Peaceful. Yes – peaceful, that’s how I feel.’ She smiled at him. ‘So, dinner?’

Yves shook his head, placed a piece of white card in her hand, closed her fingers around it and was gone.

The small, business-sized card had the most beautiful water-colour painting of a dove on one side, and on the other in perfect handwriting were the words:
Meet me at the bottom of The Shard tomorrow night, half an hour before sunset
.

Chapter Five

‘He obviously wants to shag you.’ Bea put a glass of white wine down in front of her friend and sat back in a leather sofa in their favourite Chelsea bar.

‘Oh Bea, not everyone thinks at such a base level as you,’ Evie said, then looked around the place. ‘Quiet in here today, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I guess everyone’s saving themselves for New Year’s Eve.’

‘I hate this mid-Christmas lull time. It’s so quiet at home without Darren too. But weirdly, I don’t miss
him
, just the company, I suppose. I was usually in the bedroom whilst he watched sport in the lounge anyway.’

‘I know you said definitely no before, but maybe it is a good idea to get somebody to share with you. You need to get someone to split the rent or you’ll have to get out anyway.’

‘Yes, I know – but I don’t even want to think about it now. I’m all right up until the end of January, then I’ll be homeless too.’

‘Well, that’s all right, you can snuggle down underneath the arches with your new mate. Where does he sleep anyway?’

‘We haven’t talked about it.’

‘Really? I’d be interested to know. God, I bet his cock smells rank.’

‘Bea! Being friends with you is like being friends with a man, you are so bloody coarse. And anyway, he doesn’t seem to smell that bad actually. I think he must be staying at a hostel where he can wash and store the stuff he has got. I will ask him just for you later.’

‘Later? You’re seeing him again!’

‘Um, yeah.’

‘You haven’t really told me much about last night either, just you went to St Paul’s Cathedral, saw a choir, lit a candle and he disappeared again.’

It had been such a special experience that Evie felt she wanted to keep it to herself. Bea belittling it would take some of the magic away. And it had been really special. In fact, she was really looking forward to seeing Yves later. She felt drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain.

‘I’m starving but I’m going to wait to eat until I get home, I can’t spunk any more of the rent money on food, can I?’

‘I’ll treat you, Evie – it’s fine, darling. You know my City bonuses are disgustingly massive.’

‘Well, as long as you’re sure. And you know as soon as I get a job I’ll repay the favour.’

‘Evie, you are one of the most generous friends I have. Please just let me treat you without even thinking like that. It’s a Christmas present, OK?’

‘OK, but I can’t drink much. I’m meeting Yves at the bottom of The Shard – and if we are going up there, I shouldn’t really get drunk.’

‘With your fear of heights, honey, I think you
should
have a drink. And anyway, I think it costs a fair bit to go up there, so I doubt if that’s what you’ll be doing.’ Bea chuckled. ‘I’ve been waiting on an invite to go up there. Mind you, it will be a brave man who asks if I want to be taken up The Shard, without repercussions.’

Evie’s face remained deadpan. ‘Bea, you will never go to heaven.’

‘As if I’d bloody want to. I mean, nobody who’s any fun will be there for me to play with.’