Just Another Angel by Mike Ripley

even good friends, but there was something between us for a brief moment, and in my book that means at the very least that we should listen to each other if we have a problem. You have a problem and you want to tell me. I don’t know why me and I don’t really care. If I can help, I will. If I can’t, I’ll tell you. Can I say fairer than that?’
    Another one of the young Cheryls appeared with a saucer full of coins from behind a potted plant big enough to hold a squad of Japanese who didn’t know the war was over.
    â€˜Your change, madam,’ she said as she’d been rehearsed, and waited, poised.
    Jo looked up at her and smiled. As she did so, I noticed how cleverly her hairdresser had flecked silver highlights in among the mousey blonde roots. She waved the change away as if blessing a church offerings plate, then turned back to me.
    â€˜That was a nice speech and probably more than you’ve ever said to me before put together. It makes it more difficult for me, but I need to ask a favour.’
    (Rule of Life No 477: when a woman admits it’s difficult to ask for something, leave immediately.)
    â€˜Go ahead, it costs nothing to ask.’ Why don’t I listen to myself?
    â€˜I’ve had something stolen and I need it back and quickly.’
    â€˜Do you know who?’
    â€˜Yes, but I don’t know where she is. Well, not now.’
    â€˜She?’
    â€˜Carol. Carol Flaxman. She was a friend of mine.’
    â€˜Until when?’
    â€˜Last night.’
    â€˜She’s the one you were with at the club?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said quietly, giving me an up-from-under innocent surprise look that didn’t quite work now she’d had her fringe chopped. ‘Did you see her?’
    â€˜Only from the stage. You’d both gone by the time I came looking for you.’
    She glanced down into her coffee. ‘I’m flattered you looked.’
    â€˜I’m flattered you came to see me play.’ I gave her a flash of my standard charm smile but pulled the plug on it when she said, with appalling honesty:
    â€˜Oh, we didn’t come to see you. I didn’t even know you’d be there. We came to see the band –’
    â€˜Peking.’
    â€˜Yeah, Peking. It was Carol’s idea, because she knows the girl who plays the drums. That’s why I thought you could help, if you knew her too.’
    I decided to join her in a cigarette, though these days I tried to hold back until nightfall.
    â€˜I don’t follow. You think this Carol has gone to the drummer’s pad?’ She nodded. ‘Then I don’t see the problem. I can get you a phone number at least, if not an address. We can go round there and see her ...’
    â€˜No, I don’t want to see her again. Ever. That’s what I want you to do. I’ll pay you if you help me.’
    â€˜Help you do what, exactly? No, wait.’ She was about to speak, but I reached out and touched her knee, and felt her flinch. ‘Just who is this Carol person and what has she stolen?’
    Jo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly the way people are taught to by psychiatrists. It’s not a bad way to ease the whirling pits in the stomach when the stress takes over. Neat gin’s good too.
    â€˜I met Carol at university four – no, five – years ago. She was heavily into women’s politics; still is. She drops in and out, taking a year off from her course, then going back and then going abroad for a year or something. I don’t think she’s very serious about it. In fact, she’s totally irresponsible about most things.’
    I’d never even met Carol but I was beginning to warm to her.
    â€˜She’s been staying with me for the last two weeks. Oh, we always kept in touch, although she usually called to borrow money or clothes or when she was bumming around London and needed a bath or a bed. Anyway, this time she stayed longer than