Last Chance Angel Read online

  I was shaking quite violently now, so I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to suppress the sobs that were building inside me like a tidal wave.

  “Th-there must have been some mistake. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here.”

  The words tumbled out, tasting of salty tears and something else – fear. I don’t think I’d ever felt proper fear until then. It was like an acid waterfall crashing down on me. I felt as if I was dissolving into the surrounding mist, disappearing until there was nothing left of Jessica Rowley any more. He wafted a hand theatrically across his forehead.

  “Of course you should be here. We don’t make mistakes.” He sighed again.

  I looked around for an exit. Nothing to be seen except dense fog and this creature who had me trapped.

  “You people don’t make this job any easier. Even if you didn’t pick up a ticket you should still be on the list.”

  He lifted his gaze and eyed me critically.

  “You’re definitely not. Are you late?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know anything – what time it is, what’s happening to me…”

  I swallowed, vaguely reassured by my basic bodily functions.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s what they all say,” he replied, “or most of them, anyway. We get the odd one that’s ready but most of them are quite difficult.”

  “Most of whom?”

  Why did I say that? Why did I play into his hands? He rolled his eyes underneath perfectly curled and separated eyelashes. Another over-the-top sigh swished from deep within him.

  “The Dead, of course.”

  When I came to I was lying on a pure white couch and he was fanning me with his clipboard.

  “If I had a pound for everyone that’s passed out at those words I’d be able to put in for gold-plated wings,” he muttered. “Right, let’s get on with this, shall we? It’s nearly my going-home time.”

  Home – how I wanted to go home!

  “It’s possible you should have arrived yesterday, which was my day off, and someone’s forgotten to give me a late arrival chitty.”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  I couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer.

  “No one does at first,” he said, matter-of-factly, “but you’ll get used to it.”

  “I won’t. I want to go home. Please let me go home.”

  “You can’t.”

  He flourished a piece of paper and a quill pen towards me.

  “Fill in this form, stating at the top date of death.”

  I pressed my lips together, shook my head and put my hands behind my back.

  “It’s Friday, March the third,” he said. “Eight-forty a.m.”

  I felt my eyes widen and my mouth fall open. March – a whole month since the accident. I couldn’t believe it. I sat up and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. What could I do? There must be something…

  ‘The thing is,” I said, “I’m not sure that I’m quite dead yet. I’ve been in a coma, you see, and although I can’t move or open my eyes I can hear things. I know what’s going on around me. I’m going to get better. I know I am.”

  Was it my imagination, or had a few worry lines shimmied across his forehead?

  “I admit that the last I heard it wasn’t good, but I don’t remember anyone saying that I was…”

  It was so difficult to say the word. It stuck in my throat.

  “… dying.”

  I spat it out like a piece of mouldy apple, and he could hardly have had a worse reaction if I’d announced that I’d got a mega-dose of nits. Horror intensified the baby-blue of his eyes, his hands flew to his cheeks and he jumped back several paces. The clipboard dropped into the fog beneath his feet.

  “Not another one dilly-dallying,” he snapped. “How did you get past security? What are you doing here if it’s not a definite demise? There’s no try-before-you-buy up here, you know. I thought it was too good to be true. Everything’s been totally tickety-boo all night, and then you turn up.”

  “Someone called me,” I said. “It sounded like you.”

  “Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t,” he replied, a little bit sulkily. “I can’t remember. It’s been a busy shift.”

  Suddenly he perked up and pushed back his shirt cuffs.

  “A coma, you say. Does that mean you had an accident?”

  “I was on my brother’s bike.”

  “Lights?”

  I shook my head. He jumped up and down as if he was really pleased with himself. Little particles of cloud puffed up around his knees.

  “Helmet?”

  “They make you look geeky.”

  “That hospital gown isn’t exactly a fashion statement,” he sneered.

  “It’s not my choice,” I fired back. “Look, are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake? I admit that I took the bike without asking, which isn’t like me. Normally I’m quite sensible, but I was in a hurry. I thought I’d be home before it got dark, but the maths took longer than…”

  He held up a hand to stop me. The clipboard spiralled up from the cloud and landed in his palm. He leafed through more pages. Suddenly he was very still, and I’m sure his halo slipped slightly.

  “Oops,” he lilted. “My fault…”

  I swear my heart swelled.

  “You mean I’m not going to die?”

  He shot me a smile.

  “Now that would be cause for concern. No, it’s not as bad as that.”

  He pointed to a squiggle of writing.

  “I’ve got my fives and my threes mixed up. You’re not expected for another couple of days.”

  He glanced around as if to check whether we were being watched.

  “We’ve got a bit of an issue here. I can’t let you in before time, not without St Peter’s permission.”

  He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper.

  “You’ll have to go back…”

  I felt a smile start to take shape inside me. Then he smashed it to pieces.

  “… just until Sunday.”

  So there was no get-out clause after all. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Lying in that coma, I’d been thinking of all the things I would do when I got better but I’d been fooling myself. Despite my prayers, I’d never be able to speak and laugh and run about again, not on earth anyway. I’d never get another chance to argue with Jamie, go into town with my friends or try flirting with Will. It didn’t seem fair. I mean, I wasn’t asking for an amazing life. A normal one would do.

  When Gran started to sing to me last week I knew it wasn’t a good sign but I’d still refused to believe the worst. Now, even my obstinate hope was crumbling like a biscuit at the bottom of my school bag. Much as I wanted to go back to the real world, what was the point? Another couple of days of feeling Mum and Dad shrink with grief as I faded away – it felt like too much to bear. Now that I was here I might as well stay. It’s amazing how you feel differently when you’ve taken a decision, when you have a bit of control.

  I wiped my cheeks and squared my shoulders. If this was it, THE END, then I was going to at least try to be dignified and not behave like a victim.

  “You’re joking,” I gulped. “Haven’t my family been through enough? Wouldn’t it be better to get it over and done with? Besides, two more journeys in the Flume of Fate are more than anyone should have to put up with. All that bright light could give me a migraine and believe me, my head’s in a pretty bad way as it is without any extra help from you. And I nearly had a panic attack. I’ve been very claustrophobic since my brother shut me in a cupboard when I was four.”

  I paused for breath. Had I got any breath? I must have: my voice was coming from somewhere and my chest was heaving up and down. My teeth grated against each other but I wasn’t going to let nerves get the better of me now. Don’t let him know how scared you are, Jess, I thought to myself, or he’ll take over and you won’t have any say in what happens next.


  “It’s freezing up here. My feet are getting frostbite. You’ve put me through this nightmare and now you won’t let me through the Pearly Gates. It’s not good enough.”

  I felt quite proud of myself. Momentarily, I seemed to have surprised him too. A look of alarm crossed his face and he took a step back.

  “Where is St Peter?” I demanded. “Why can’t you get his permission?”

  “He’s off sick with stress and can’t possibly be disturbed.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he placed his delicate hands on his hips and jutted out his chin. I knew that stance. Mum used it when I wanted a new pair of expensive shoes or to stay out really late or to eat chocolate muffins for breakfast. Even so, I wasn’t fazed.

  Angel of Death: 2, Jessica: 1, I thought. Let’s see if I can level the score.

  “When will St Peter be back?”

  “I’ve no idea. January and February are such busy times for us. It’s all got on top of him, the poor dear.”

  “This is really rubbish service,” I managed to say in a more assertive voice. “You get the date wrong, you put me through that awful journey and then expect me to go back without so much as an apology. If my mum was here she wouldn’t let you get away with this and nor would my gran. She knows all of her retail rights and believe me, you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. She’d tell me to complain.”

  He didn’t like that. I’d hit a nerve, if he had any. I was on a roll.

  “It can’t be acceptable to call people early and then send them back. I could demand compensation. I could even contact the papers. What do you have up here, The Daily Spirit or something? That wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?”

  I paused and glared at him. I had sounded just like Mum before Dad’s affair stole her self-belief. I was even intimidating myself. I watched as what little colour he had drained from his cheeks.

  “Whoa! Calm down, Jessica Rowley,” he flustered. “There’s no need for any complaints. There must be a way to sort this out to suit both of us.”

  Gran says that silence can sometimes be more effective than words so I didn’t reply.

  “I’ll get into such a lot of trouble if you report me,” he said whiningly. “It’ll mean a black mark on my report card. I could get demoted, and you seem like quite a nice girl. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Actually, I would, I thought, but I didn’t say it.

  “So, what’s the answer then?”

  He looked around, stepped closer, and kept his voice low.

  “I could grant you a wish – to make up for the inconvenience. I don’t have the power of life over death but other things can be arranged.”

  “Such as?”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know. It’s up to you to choose. What do you want?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “What I really want is to see my friends. They haven’t been allowed to visit me in hospital. I don’t know why – probably because I’ve been so ill. Even my best friend, Sara, hasn’t been to see me. Mum says that she’s been phoning every couple of days, though, to find out how I am. Apparently everyone at school is praying for me in assembly. I really want to see Sara. I need to know that she’s okay. Then there’s Yas – I don’t want her to feel too bad about the accident. And Kelly’s hoping to be picked for the county tennis team but she’s got such a lot on her plate already, without having me to worry about. And Nat—”

  He held up a hand.

  “Stop! How many of these friends are there?”

  “Just one more, just Nat. I have to tell you about her.”

  His wings sagged a little.

  “Go on then,” he said.

  “Nat’s not seemed herself recently,” I said. “Before I had the accident she’d lost quite a lot of weight. I mean, she’s always been careful about her figure but, well, I’m worried she might be taking it a bit far this time.”

  I bit my lip and studied my hands before looking up at him.

  “If I’m going to die…”

  “You are,” he interrupted.

  I frowned and he looked slightly apologetic.

  “If I’m going to die,” I repeated, “I need to see my friends before I go. They’ve been the best group of friends I could have wished for. I want to say goodbye.”

  I could see alarm registering on his face.

  “Okay,” I said. “I can see that might be a bit difficult. It was stupid of me to ask.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I can do that – sort of.”

  I frowned.

  “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

  “Well, you’d be totally invisible, so you could see them but they wouldn’t be able to see you. I think an invisible Jessica Rowley talking to them might be a bit scary, don’t you? You could watch and listen to them, though.”

  There was an evil glint in his eye.

  “You might even find out what they really think of you and discover a few secrets about them too. It could be interesting.”

  “We don’t have any secrets from each other.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

  “Mock all you like,” I flared, “but we don’t.”

  “Whatever.” He grinned, studying a calendar which had suddenly materialised through the mist. “So, are we going for this invisible visit, or what?”

  “How long have I got?” I asked.

  “You’re due back on the fifth but I can change the five into an eight. If anyone asks any awkward questions I can always say it’s to give us a bit of time to catch up with the winter backlog. I’ll send you back first class,” he added. “It’ll make the journey more bearable.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Oh, absolutely nothing,” he replied. “I’ll send you directly to the hospital bed, and when you’re ready you can slip your spirit out of your body and off you go. Easy-peasy.”

  Finally, I looked straight into the clearest, brightest blue eyes I had ever seen.

  “How do I know that I won’t be whisked straight back up here, without a moment’s notice?”

  “You have my word – as long as you stick to the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “You must just visit your friends, no one else. You mustn’t have contact with family or pets or anyone…”

  He winced slightly.

  “… anyone close. That would be extremely undesirable.”

  “If you say so,” I muttered.

  “I do.”

  He held out his hand. Tentatively, I shook it. It was cool and surprisingly firm. His palm felt as soft as goosedown.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “I’m Darren, an angel of death dedicated to your service.”

  He gave a small bow. As I went to pull my hand away he clasped my wrist and leaned towards me. His grip was like a vice.

  “You must return. I want you back in your hospital bed and ready for collection on Wednesday the eighth at one minute past midnight. If I can slip you in at the start of the day it’ll be a bit easier.”

  “Fine,” I said, shrugging.

  His eyes hardened.

  “I have the horrible feeling that I’m being a complete idiot here. You will remember what I said? You will remember the rules?”

  He was having doubts, thinking of changing his mind. I could sense it. Keep your tone light, Jess, I thought, or he’ll never let you go. He’ll keep you up here shackled in some foggy corner until the time is right.

  “Of course. Don’t worry. I’ll do as I’m told and I’ll be there on the eighth.”

  He stared at me. I wanted to look away but knew that I mustn’t. My brief future depended upon it. I managed a weak smile.

  “I promise.”

  He paused and released my wrist, clicking the fingers of his other hand.

  A silver surfboard appeared in front of me and I lay down on it. To the side of him the fog cleared, revealing the entrance t
o the tunnel.

  “You’ve got five days, Jessica Rowley,” he said, and the slightest push with his foot was all it took to send me careering back to the real world.

  FRIDAY, 3 MARCH – 8.59 A.M.

  The return journey passed in a flash and I was back in my body just as if I’d never been away. I wondered if there’d be a bit of a panic, or if someone might have noticed something different, but nothing seemed to have changed. I was aware of Mum hunched by the bed in almost the same pose as I left her in. The first few nights after the accident she’d slept in the chair next to me. Now she went home, but she obviously didn’t sleep properly because sometimes she was back really early, before the rest of the world woke up.

  It seemed as if I’d been away for ages, yet it had probably only been a few minutes at most. I was acutely aware of everything – the starchiness of the sheets, the banging of doors in the distance, the clunking of the machines, the scent of the primroses on the table at the end of the bed. Every couple of days Mum picked them from the border outside the kitchen window at home and brought them in to show me.

  “Here we are, Jess,” she’d say. “Aren’t they lovely?”

  She’d waft the flowers under my nostrils, completely unaware of how their subtle scent tugged at my heartstrings. One spring, when I was very small, I’d snapped off every single one of the tender yellow heads with my still-clumsy, babyish fingers. Mum was so cross but Dad was my protector then. He’d understood that I couldn’t resist them because they were so pretty. He was the one who had fished the wilting flower heads out of the bin and floated them in a blue glass bowl brimming with water.

  It was one of those silly family stories that got repeated every year. If it was February it was the primrose story, and it got so predictable and boring and, if Will was around, embarrassing. But now I longed to sit at the kitchen table with a resigned expression on my face while Dad teased Mum for getting so cross and Jamie reminded me of the time I’d screamed when I found a worm in my pocket. Everyone would laugh, even me in the end, despite the fact that I still can’t bear worms.

  Now, after a month in that hospital bed, I almost couldn’t remember what laughter sounded like. Instead, my ears were tormented by the sound of Mum’s heart breaking. It didn’t seem possible for it to shatter into any more pieces, and I knew that even time spent in her beloved garden would never be able to totally heal the damage.