missions, to perform tasks, to deliver messages, and because some of us quite like it here, we get a chance to stay a little while and hang out.”
Angels just hang out? How very bizarre.
“Right. Yes. Okay. I sort of buy that, even though it still seems totally out there.” I stare at him, entranced by his winsome little smile, this angel on holiday. “Er, are there usually many of you around down here? Hanging out?”
He waggles his brows at me. “Oh, about a pinhead’s worth, at any one time, give or take.”
We both laugh, despite the fact that I feel sort of woozy, as if I’ve wandered into The Twilight Zone .
“And is it very different here? I mean, to the other place?” I can’t bring myself to say the word Heaven.
He looks more sober all of a sudden. “More different than you can possibly understand. In fact, while I’m in human form, I find it quite difficult to comprehend it myself.”
“I don’t understand, you are still an angel, aren’t you? I saw wings.”
“Yes and no.” He frowns very hard. As if he is trying to understand and describe the unknowable. “To be here I have to take a temporary human form. When I’m there—” he looks up, but somehow I don’t quite think that’s where he means “—I’m a different kind of being entirely, existing in a different state.”
My head’s starting to ache. “But what are the wings? They looked like wings would look…down here. There must be some similarity.”
“They’re a metaphorical representation of something beyond your imagination.” He shrugs again. “Like I said, something the human mind has no conception of.”
I struggle and struggle, despite this, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. I always have been a stubborn cuss. And I when I fail, I start to shake, feeling scared and filled with wonder in equal parts.
This is so big.
In a move so fast that it too may be incomprehensible, Patrick is close to me, holding me against his warm and very human-feeling chest. It dawns on me that my shaking must have been visible. Just like the pallor in my face. I’m in shock.
“Don’t be afraid,” he croons. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never let anything hurt you.”
And in that moment, I believe him and wind my arms around him.
“I could do with a drink. I had a couple of glasses at lunchtime, and I don’t normally do that. But if ever there was a special circumstance, this is it.”
“Do you want me to fetch you something?” He strokes my hair lightly, the soothing action making me feel better by the moment.
“No, it’s all right.” I edge away, looking into his blue eyes. “I’ll get it. Better still, let’s go inside and have a drink across the kitchen table. I always feel more sensible and in control when I’m in my kitchen”
“Good idea.”
Together we make our way through my bedroom and along the landing and down the steps. Patrick leads, unerringly locating the kitchen.
“I suppose you know everything, that is, including the exact layout of my house?”
Patrick smiles as he draws out my chair then grabs two glasses from the drainer and the already opened bottle of red wine. “No, I don’t know everything. Only my Boss knows everything. We angels just have very sure instincts. Coupled with which, the layout of the Johnsons’s house is exactly like yours.”
We laugh again. How prosaic is that? I’m attributing him divine powers that he doesn’t actually have. Although I’m trying not to think about that other unknowable concept, the one he calls the Boss.
The wine is rich and warming, an easy-drinking California blend, full of fruit. It hits the spot and I start to feel calmer, as if everything that’s happened, and that I’ve learned in the last few days, isn’t quite so preposterous.
“So how did you end up here?”
Sitting across from me, Patrick sips his wine with obvious enjoyment, and I wonder what he drinks wherever it is he usually hangs out. No, silly, he probably
Angels just hang out? How very bizarre.
“Right. Yes. Okay. I sort of buy that, even though it still seems totally out there.” I stare at him, entranced by his winsome little smile, this angel on holiday. “Er, are there usually many of you around down here? Hanging out?”
He waggles his brows at me. “Oh, about a pinhead’s worth, at any one time, give or take.”
We both laugh, despite the fact that I feel sort of woozy, as if I’ve wandered into The Twilight Zone .
“And is it very different here? I mean, to the other place?” I can’t bring myself to say the word Heaven.
He looks more sober all of a sudden. “More different than you can possibly understand. In fact, while I’m in human form, I find it quite difficult to comprehend it myself.”
“I don’t understand, you are still an angel, aren’t you? I saw wings.”
“Yes and no.” He frowns very hard. As if he is trying to understand and describe the unknowable. “To be here I have to take a temporary human form. When I’m there—” he looks up, but somehow I don’t quite think that’s where he means “—I’m a different kind of being entirely, existing in a different state.”
My head’s starting to ache. “But what are the wings? They looked like wings would look…down here. There must be some similarity.”
“They’re a metaphorical representation of something beyond your imagination.” He shrugs again. “Like I said, something the human mind has no conception of.”
I struggle and struggle, despite this, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. I always have been a stubborn cuss. And I when I fail, I start to shake, feeling scared and filled with wonder in equal parts.
This is so big.
In a move so fast that it too may be incomprehensible, Patrick is close to me, holding me against his warm and very human-feeling chest. It dawns on me that my shaking must have been visible. Just like the pallor in my face. I’m in shock.
“Don’t be afraid,” he croons. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never let anything hurt you.”
And in that moment, I believe him and wind my arms around him.
“I could do with a drink. I had a couple of glasses at lunchtime, and I don’t normally do that. But if ever there was a special circumstance, this is it.”
“Do you want me to fetch you something?” He strokes my hair lightly, the soothing action making me feel better by the moment.
“No, it’s all right.” I edge away, looking into his blue eyes. “I’ll get it. Better still, let’s go inside and have a drink across the kitchen table. I always feel more sensible and in control when I’m in my kitchen”
“Good idea.”
Together we make our way through my bedroom and along the landing and down the steps. Patrick leads, unerringly locating the kitchen.
“I suppose you know everything, that is, including the exact layout of my house?”
Patrick smiles as he draws out my chair then grabs two glasses from the drainer and the already opened bottle of red wine. “No, I don’t know everything. Only my Boss knows everything. We angels just have very sure instincts. Coupled with which, the layout of the Johnsons’s house is exactly like yours.”
We laugh again. How prosaic is that? I’m attributing him divine powers that he doesn’t actually have. Although I’m trying not to think about that other unknowable concept, the one he calls the Boss.
The wine is rich and warming, an easy-drinking California blend, full of fruit. It hits the spot and I start to feel calmer, as if everything that’s happened, and that I’ve learned in the last few days, isn’t quite so preposterous.
“So how did you end up here?”
Sitting across from me, Patrick sips his wine with obvious enjoyment, and I wonder what he drinks wherever it is he usually hangs out. No, silly, he probably
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