THE ANGEL: CHAPTER ONE
I was only four years old the first time I went to a funeral. It was for Great Aunt Aggie; she had died of a heart attack, aged 93. At the time I didn’t understand what was going on. No-one wanted to explain death to a child and to be completely honest I can’t blame them. I didn’t understand why we all had to wear black clothes. It was so hot that day and I longed to wear my favourite summer dress. It was beautiful; yellow and white adorned with pretty orange flowers. I cried my little, blue eyes out when I was made to wear my specially bought black one. I didn’t understand why everyone had tissues or handkerchiefs grasped in their hands. I just thought it was something that you had to do at funerals. I remember tugging on my fathers sleeve and asking if I could have one; he thought it was so cute of me. I defiantly didn’t understand why everyone came to the service. To me it seemed like the whole world had turned up. I spent most of the day asking my mother who everyone was. I don’t think she minded, it must have been a good distraction for her. She really loved Great Aunt Aggie.
That was my first experience of a funeral, eleven years ago, and I had just lived through my second. This time I understood. I wish I didn’t, though. I wish I could go back to being that innocent four year old, just for today. Maybe it would make the pain just a little bit softer.
The service ended an hour ago and now I’m sitting on the church step watching the snowflakes fall from the sky. I wrap one arm around my little brother as he sobs quietly; he hadn’t been born when the first funeral happened. He hadn’t known Great Aunt Aggie. Everyone has said to me today that it will become easier. That I have my little brother to take my mind of it and that eventually today will all become one big blur. I think they’re wrong, every single one of them. Wrong. I’ll always remember today. I’ll remember sitting in the front row of pews, grasping onto my brothers hand and watching him out of the corner of my eye, completely worried about him. I’ll remember having to stand in front of everyone and say my speech about how wonderful they were in a big, grown-up voice. I’ll even remember getting ready this morning. Putting on my black, school dress, pulling my hair into a neat bun and having to go into my brother’s room to help him put on his suit. But the one thing I will remember everyday, from now until I’m at my own funeral, is the coffins. Two polished, oak boxes laying at the front of the church – as cold and lifeless as the people inside them. We placed white lilies across the lid and stood by them as they slowly moved into the furnace. And that was it. Over. Finished. The end. Ironic really, their life had been so full and surprisingly long and their funeral had been very dull and remarkably short.
“Alice, do you think Mummy and Daddy are angels in heaven now?” My little brother’s squeaky voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’m quite glad of the distraction and ponder his question before answering it. I don’t even know if I believe in heaven yet. We’ve never exactly been a religious family, but Jamie’s at that age when you believe what you’re told and unfortunately that’s what the vicar had told him. Not wanting to disagree with a vicar I answer in the best way possible.
“Of course they are, Jamie. God is very lucky to have them.” I nod solemnly when he looks up at me. Stroking his thick hair to comfort him, I can see him thinking about his next question carefully. For an eight year old he is very astute.
“Do you think it hurt?” That took me by surprise. Jamie hadn’t been told about what had happened by me, one of the doctors had offered to do it. I thought that they would have explained all of that to him. Then again, no-one wants to explain death to a child, right?
“No, Jamie, it wouldn’t of hurt.” I was struggling to keep my voice even and soft, trying hard to make it believable. I look down at my brother, his baby-blue eyes staring up at me. I hated lying, but I couldn’t tell him the truth, it would crush his tiny heart. I had to indulged him and tell him what he wanted to hear. “It was probably over in a flash, they wouldn’t have felt a thing.” I wish I hadn’t said that. Over in a flash, yeah right. The car crash had been brutal. I was there, so I should know.
We were driving along the motorway, me, Mum and Dad. Dad was driving, mum in the passenger seat doing her hair and me in the back playing on my phone. It was a really sunny day and everyone was happy; nothing could go wrong. That’s what I thought, anyway. Jamie wasn’t with us because he gets car sick really easily and it was a four hour drive, so he stayed with our next door neighbour, Lucy, and her cat, Tinkles. We were going to pick up our new car from some bloke in the north and swap it for our current one. Three hours into the drive and I my legs start to go numb. Mum suggested we park in a lay-by for a while and stretch our legs. Dad thought it was a good idea because he had a chance to look at the map to see where we were going. I stretched my legs with Mum when Dad asked her to come to the car. They were looking at the map together, planning the best route. I had turned away for a few seconds when a screeching sound filled the air. I turned around just in time to see a white, transit van crash into the back of our BMW, sending it flying over the railing and into the field below. I looked around, shocked to the core, and watched as other cars started to park up to help. Running, I lent on the side of the van for support and peered over the other side, every nerve in my body willing them to be alright. They were my parents; my wonderful, amazing, funny parents and I felt dead inside when I looked over the edge. Our silver BMW lay upside down on the grassy field, rocking slightly from the impact. Flames had started to engulf the vehicle and I could smell the petrol leaking out of the engine. I’m a teenager; I watch enough television to know what happens when the two meet. There was nothing anyone could do. As two strong arms grabbed me from behind, to pull me away from the wreckage, I noticed the one thing I wish I hadn’t. Mum had been leaning over the passenger seat, her Nike trainers planted firmly on the concrete ground, when the van hit. Now, those same trainers and the rest of the legs were sticking out of the passenger side; bloody, broken and most likely severed from anything else.
I shake my head to get rid of the image. It already haunted me through the night; I didn’t need it haunting me through the day as well. Patting my brother’s shoulder, I stand up and brush the creases out of my dress. I don’t think I’ll ever look at this dress in the same way again. I reach a hand out to Jamie, which he gladly takes, and holding hands we walk down the cobble path. The already settled snow is crunching under our feet. I look at all the gravestones as we pass. They had become so old and dirty, I doubted that anyone visited them anymore. Dorothy Simmons, 1926 – 1982, George Galley, 1832 – 1894, Maisey Lott, 1717 – 1761. I didn’t want that for Mum and Dad. I didn’t want them to be forgotten, rotting in the ground forever and having to put up with all the weathers. It had been my idea to cremate them. We went to a special shop yesterday to choose the urns we liked the best. Two black boxes with intricate metal work, gold for Mum and silver for Dad, so we could tell whose was whose. Jamie wanted to put them both on the mantelpiece so we could see them everyday, but our other neighbour, Ms. Lola, said that we wouldn’t be able to stay there anymore. Instead we have to go and live in a children’s home because we have no family left. Mum and Dad had no siblings and both sets of grandparents and their families died along time ago. Great Aunt Aggie was the last of them. This is where we’re going now. We were staying in our house with Lucy looking after us when we got a phone call saying someone from South Bank Children’s Home would pick us up after the service and get us settled in. How nice of them.
“Alice, look.” Jamie tugs at my dress, bringing me from my thoughts and pointing to something at the far side of the graveyard. To the left of us, amid the gravestones, stands some random guy. He’s dressed completely in white and I find it hard to distinguish between him and the snow. On his back he’s wearing what looks like a pair of silver wings. “Alice, it’s an angel.” I had to scoff at that.
“Don’t be silly Jamie, angels don’t…” I was going to say angels don’t exist but seeing as I said that Mum and Dad are probably angels now I knew Jamie would catch me out on it and be angry that I lied. He hates being treated like a child.
“Angels don’t what?” I had paused for to long and I’m trying to think of answer quick. Got it.
“Angels don’t walk among humans. They stay with God in heaven. It’s probably just someone in a costume.” That was to close. I tug on his hand to get him to walk again before he argues back. Getting to the gate at the end of the pathway I notice a small Vauxhall Corsa parked in the drive way. Pushing my brother through the gate, I walk to the car and greet the young woman stepping out of it. Her red heels crunch in the snow, leaving strange foot prints, and her office outfit is far to revealing for winter.
“Alice and Jamie Williams? I’m Susan Middles, your social worker. I’m here to take you to your new home.” Her scratchy voice hurts my ears and me and Jamie exchanged a worried glance.
Before getting into the back seat of the car, I take one last glimpse around the graveyard to find the man completely gone. Confused at how fast he left, I settle myself into the car. Angels don’t really exist, do they?
