‘Well,’ Aoife says, getting up and smoothing her dress with a tricksy little smile. ‘What wonderful advice.’ She fixes her eyes on mine. ‘Now get up. Get up and go visit your friend – show her what that looks like.’
I bluster and scowl, and make a bit of a fuss about it all, but nobody’s really taking much notice any more, so in the end I do. I get up, and dressed, and when it’s dark and the stars are shining bright in the December sky, I go to her. And every step of the way I’m arguing with myself, because it’s over now, and she won’t want to see me. She won’t want to be reminded of it all now that it’s done and she’s free. Why will she want that?
‘She won’t,’ I tell myself.
‘Yes, she will,’ I reply, surprising myself, stomping down the hill.
Such a weird feeling. After all the adrenaline, the life or deathness of it all, just to go home – a bit pale and bloodless, but essentially whole and well – and have Mary give me a lecture, and to listen, nodding, just like I have a thousand times before, and know that it’s all over.
What now?
‘Angel!’ Mary shakes her head, her eyes bright. ‘I have never known a girl like you – and I’ve raised two, and worked with a hundred more. You’re like a little spirit, slipping between my fingers. Stop it! Come away from that window and listen to what I’m saying!’
‘What is it?’ I ask, flinging myself down next to her. It can’t really be another lecture, can it? I’ve just been mooching around the house all weekend, in between visits to Bavar. I didn’t stay long, when I went. The house felt weird, all big and echoey, and he never really seemed to notice I was there anyway.
Would he even want to see me now?
Mary scooches closer. I think about moving away, but I don’t.
‘You’re such a bright thing,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘And I don’t mean in the school way, especially – I think there’s probably a little work to do there – but . . . we haven’t spoken much, and I don’t want you to think I haven’t noticed.’
‘Noticed?’ I look down at myself. Does it show, what happened the other day? Am I different now? ‘Noticed what?’
‘How hard you’re trying,’ she says. ‘Some days are better than others, I know that, and maybe something happened with Bavar. I don’t know – you’ve been so restless this weekend. You don’t have to tell me, but I wanted you to know that I see it anyway. I see you, Angel. I see how you never stopped trying. I have no idea, with what you’ve been through, how that feels, but I wanted to tell you . . .’
She hesitates, her eyes glittering.
‘What?’
‘You’re wonderful,’ she says, looking me square in the eye. ‘Just as you are. Whatever you do. Good days, bad days, always.’
There’s a long silence. I can’t look away from her. She sounds so sure. Her whole self is so sure of it.
‘Do you really think that?’ My voice wobbles, and I wish it wouldn’t, and I wish I didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to hear it, but I do, so badly. After what happened, I felt so lost. I knew we’d done the right thing, but it didn’t make everything right. And the cost to Bavar was more than I wanted him to pay, and so I felt like maybe I’d got it all wrong. That I was all wrong. That I always would be, after that night when I lost Mum and Dad.
‘I know it,’ she says. ‘I know it, and so does Pete. And so did your parents.’
I stare at her. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
‘There’s work to do,’ she says with a smile, as if she knows I can’t bear the intensity of her love just there like that, so open, for a second longer. ‘But I wanted you to know that, first.’
I look away.
Breathe.
Breathe.
And I can. I can breathe. I wrap my fingers around the edge of the settee. Here I am, sitting next to nice Mary, in the vanilla house, breathing.
I guess vanilla isn’t the worst thing to be stuck with.
‘OK.’
‘OK?’
‘OK.’
And then the doorbell rings, and I get up to answer it, and a seven-foot-tall boy walks in, looking all pale and about as out of place as I feel most of the time. And Mary shakes her head at both of us as we stand there all awkward and silent, and goes to fetch biscuits.
‘OK?’ I whisper eventually.
‘OK,’ he says.
There’s a shadow of a smile on his face. I think there’s probably one on mine too, as we head into the sitting room and ruin its vanilla perfection just by being there.
The house is heavy with silence. Like it doesn’t know what to do now, without the rift screaming at its heart.
At mine.
I guess I’ll get used to it.
I miss Grandfather, the rumble and the grumble of him. I miss that tension in the air, the feeling that you could just weave your fingers and make magic of nothing. I miss all of them, even the teasing gargoyles. I kind of wish I’d taken the time to hear all their stories, before they stopped telling them. I miss all of that, but I don’t miss the monsters. I don’t miss the shock of their call, the score of their claws upon the walls, latching deep within my skin. I don’t miss that at all.
‘Bavar!’ Aoife’s voice rings out, and I tramp down the stairs. She’s standing there in the hallway with Angel, who looks like she’s about to burst with restrained laughter, just at the sight of me. ‘Your lunch!’ She hands me a picnic rucksack thing, and I suppose it’s an improvement on the basket, at least on the outside. She still makes the most awful, oozing cakes. Actually they’re worse now. I wonder if she used the magic to make them better, before.
‘You have a uniform!’ Angel crows, looking me up and down, her eyes dancing.
I frown. Aoife made it for me. The usual ones didn’t fit. It’s pretty atrocious, to be honest. The material is too shiny, the collar on the shirt is about twice as big as it should be, and the trousers are like shapeless bags. But she meant it well.
‘You reckon they’ll see me now?’ I ask.
‘Oh, they’ll definitely see you!’ she says.
It doesn’t sound very reassuring, somehow. I dart into the drawing room to have a quick look in the mirror. I know it doesn’t really matter, what you look like, all the wise words say that. But it does sort of matter, when it sets you apart. Still too tall. Still with the beaky nose, and the ridiculous hair. But the shadows don’t cling so tight now; that warp in the air is no longer there. It’s a little bit brighter. A little bit more normal.
A little bit like hope.
‘Ready for your first real day at school?’ Angel chimes, joining me at the mirror. I can only see the top of her head reflected, she’s so small.
‘Not really,’ I grumble, pulling at my tie.
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ she says, peering up and smoothing her hair. ‘You wanted normal. This is normal. Worrying about what other people think of you – normal. Not fitting in – normal. Being different – normal.’
‘We’re both just normal then?’ I demand.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘About as normal as extraordinary can do, anyway . . .’
There’s a little shiver in the air as she says it, the chime of a piano note. The mirror mists over, just for a second, and there’s a flutter of bright wings that sparkle in the morning sun.
My heart thumps. I turn to Angel. She grins back at me.