Be an angel for a day.
Diary Entry
Sarah
I dont think Ive ever been as afraid or as lost as I was today, climbing up those narrow, worn steps to a flat in East London. My heart thumped against my chest so hard I wondered if people passing could hear it, and my mind was a mess of fear, shame, guilt, hurt, and through it all, a strange, fierce pity. Pity for myself, pity for how I ended up here, and a deep ache for the tiny life that had begun to grow inside me.
Id planned to deal with everything quickly, thought Id put an end to it all with a couple of little pills Id bought, hidden away in my coat pocket. But then he ranga trembling, urgent voice, desperate, almost, as though he feared I might do away with myself, though I think he was really more afraid for his own skin.
He started to offer a way out.
Sarah, dont be stupidlook, it happened, okay? hed said, trying to sound casual. You go, theyll knock you out, youll wake up and itll all be over. Ill find the money, I promise. Want me to come take you myself?
The idea made me sick. His presence, the thought of his eyes, his breathI couldnt bear it. I shut off my phone and ignored the calls. Id rather be alone than hear his voice.
That dreadful night came back to me in flashes and shuddershow Emily had dragged me along to that party. I do love to dance, back when I felt safe. He turned up, Ezekiel White, always lurking, always watching. Hed brushed my elbow and muttered something about my skin being like silk. Id made it clear I wanted nothing to do with him. He was persistent. When he gave up hovering, I thought I was safe.
The drink must’ve been spiked. I remember nothing clearly after that. I came round, half-unclothed upstairs at his place, weak, blurry, my head a storm. I tried to fight, I scratched his face, I bit him, but I couldnt move properly, couldnt scream. Afterward, I stumbled home numb and silent, afraid my gran would notice anything. I scrubbed myself in the bath for what felt like hours.
Later on, when I realised I was pregnant, I panicked. My gran had raised me on beliefs about chastity and sin, bearing a child before marriage as the worst disgrace. Mum never spoke about my own fathershe died when I was twelveand I always hoped someday shed tell me her story. Gran came down from Yorkshire to look after me. Now here I was, alone, repeating an old mistake.
All I could do was follow Ezekiels instructions, ashamed and empty, imagining myself as my mumall alone, with no one to listen.
Today I went to end myself, or at least thats how it felt.
I hesitated, ducked into a café for a cup of tea, but steeled myself and walked on, teeth clenched. In the courtyard below the building, a young woman tripped and fell, but I couldnt stop. Id talked myself into this.
The flat was opened by a stern, older woman. She looked me up and down, unimpressed.
Come on, love. Eaten today?
I shook my head.
Thats better. Get undressed, go through to the bedroom. You shaved?
I didnt know what to say.
No? Ill handle that, then. Stop shaking. Ill give you something for the nerves, petal.
She tossed me an old, oversized t-shirt. It barely covered me, made me feel even more exposed. The clanks of metal in the room next door were unnervingtrays, instruments under a plastic cover. A basin. My hands wouldnt stop trembling.
Thensomeone was banging on the front door downstairs, as though trying to break it down.
The woman swore, rushed to the door. Next moment, someone was crashing at our door too.
She rounded on me.
God above, is that you? You brought them here?! Get dressed, quick!
I panicked. Grabbed my clothes, dropped them, and curled up on the sofa like a child.
Everything happened at once. The midwife tried to keep the door closed until they started bashing it in.
Then the door gave and two people burst ina man in a grey suit and a young woman hobbling, arm tucked close, raincoat torn and dirty.
The sight of me half-naked stunned them. The man sent the woman, Jennifer, ahead.
Its me again, she said, folding onto the sofa beside me. Youre probably fed up of me! Lets find your knickers. There, you do it, my arms useless!
She was clearly in pain, face pale, but tried to be light-hearted. Fumbling, she helped me pull on my skirt and jacket.
Im Jenny. Your friend. Or maybe your guardian angel? she said, trying to make me laugh. Everyone needs an angel. Today its me. Ive been assigned!
Assigned by who? I managed a weak, puzzled smile.
The archangel, of course. The boss angel, she rambled, obviously trying to keep me calm.
She pulled the t-shirt off me, handed me my blouse. As she whispered, “The babys all right, isnt it?” I nodded and suddenly burst into tears. Jenny looked relieved I was cryinglike it was a sign I was coming back to life. She sniffed herself, but stayed steady, holding me tight with her good arm.
Let it out, she said. If you need to cry, thats what you should do. Youll be all right, you and your baby. Your gran will come around. Ill even come with you; Im your angel, arent I? Only thing is, Im an angel with a busted wing. Bloody hurts, this arm does.
She collapsed onto the sofa in tears herselfa heavy, exhausted sort of cryingsaying how sad it all was, and how much she wished people could see their happiness instead of missing it entirely.
The front door slammed and two men strode inAndrew King and his friend Tony. Jenny was still snuffling when they came in.
Did we get here in time? Andrew asked, hope and fear all over his face.
We did, Jenny reassured him, wiping her nose. Tony nodded toward her arm. Looks like youre hurt, Jenny.
As I pulled myself together, Andrew insisted, Right, hospital for your arm, Jenny. And as for this lot with a nod at the flats owner, the police will be interested.
No goodbyes said. Jenny and I, bundled in the back of Andrews car, Tony in front. Jennys arm now throbbing. Her raincoat was filthy.
Im a mess, she giggled, my friend will kill me, coat ruined. Not mine anyway, and this she unfastened a wig, isnt even my hair. I was in disguise to spy on someone. And you, Sarah? Why did you get mixed up with them, Andrew?
Tony averted his eyes. Jenny scowled, frustrated.
Andrew finally said, Youre my sister, Sarah. We have the same dad. Different mums, but the same dadBoris King. Your gran knows.
I stared, stunned. My gran?
Yes. He loved your mum; he was married to mine. We only found out later. I used to be bitter, but now Well, thats a long story. The realisation stunned me. But Jenny, by now, was nodding off. Andrew looked back and noticed. Are those pills all right for the baby?
We rushed off to the hospital, my head spinning, but there was no harm done. Jenny had broken her arma bad fracture. They put her in a cast and me, groggy from the pills, was handed over to the doctors. Andrew stayed with Jenny, who nagged him for not telling her about our shared parentage. The truth tumbled outhe thought shed been following me to dig up dirt on his father, but shed just known something bad was coming.
Later, at Grans place, Andrew and Jenny brought me home. Gran was so anxious when she saw Jenny in a cast and Andrew looked as though he hadnt slept for days.
Is Sarah all right?
Shes fine, Jenny reassured her before Andrew could speak. Just sleeping it off. Shell be in soon. Dont worry. How many drops do you take, by the way?
We told Gran the whole story after Id been checked over. The threats Id faced, my pregnancy, everything. At first, Gran looked as though shed break, clutching at her chest. But then she pulled herself together and made strong tea, fussed over us, and listened as Andrew explainedtelling her about my dad, about past mistakes, and about sticking together.
Jenny, bone-weary, huddled under a borrowed blanket on Grans lumpy sofa, thinking shed never felt so wrung out, drifted off. She woke later to her phone buzzing.
It was Emily.
Jen, you all right? You vanished. Everything okay?
More or less, Jenny said, eyeing her cast. Ill be home soon. Had a rough day.
Gran came in with sandwiches and tea. You must be hungry, love. Sarah said we shouldnt wake youyouve had enough today. But if youd like, come eat.
Jenny gratefully accepted. Over dinner, Gran opened up, confessing how hard shed found things after Mum died, how shed resented her daughters choicescarrying so much shame, for so long. Now, all she wanted was for me to be happy, for there to be another chance. Shell have her baby, Gran said, well manage. Im not losing another girl to bitterness and regrets. Youre right, Jenny. Maybe angels do show up when you need them.
*** ***
Jenny
Youre always hard to pin down, arent you? Michael grumbled down the phone, but I could hear the warmth in his voice. I was propped up on the new sofa, arm in plaster, bright daylight slanting across the cushions. Sick leave, Andrew wrote in the get-well card. The boss even texted: Get better soon. Regards to your mum.
Strange. Id been thinking of going up to Lincolnshire to see MumI missed her, and being helpless with my arm, well, it made me ache for home even more.
I had plenty in the bank now, enough to take a break. The last job paid double what Id expected. I was overdue a rest. But all I could do was mope, my whole body aching, a thick cold creeping over me and my throat starting to hurt.
In the morning, Emily had made a fortress of pillows around me, insisting I keep warm. I tried some home remedies, drank coffee, and went back to bed.
So much had happened recently. I barely felt like myself. When Michael rang, I was glad for the distraction.
Youre always busy, Jen. Never free for a chat.
Im all yours, mate. Go on.
So, is it trueEmilys split from her bloke?
Thank heavens. Steered away from disaster. What, you fancy her yourself?
Maybe Not that you mind?
I laughed. Of course not, Mike. Shes a catch. Just ask her to walk home with you after her late shift at the petrol station. I always worry when shes alone after ten. Fetch her, be a gent.
Yeah, of course. I know where she works, Jen.
Id expect nothing less, Mr Tech Savvy, I teased.
Mikes a good sort. Theyd make a nice couple if it worked out. I hoped it would.
Suddenly the tiredness crashed over me and my eyes stung. My arm throbbed, my throat itched, and I felt myself wanting to cry for no big reason. Nerves, I guessed. Its justId seen and done so much lately.
I remembered my cases faces blurred, but stories sharp: the girl Id found by the river, the family Id helped back on their feet. I kept in touch from time to time, popping up at shops with little gifts (that hippo for Milliea silly thing, but she loved it).
You think hell come back? shed asked about her old friend.
Maybe, maybe not, I said, but he mightve been your guardian angel.
Millie was doing better, spent the summer at a youth camp in Devon instead of somewhere abroad, made new friends. Paul was out of hospital and his wife Lucy was glowing, caring for him and driving them both around to see sick children at the local hospital.
Then there was Mrs Clifford and Mr Bankslovely old couple who insisted I visit for tea, reminiscing about how they met, walking hand-in-hand down the promenade in Brighton all those years ago.
And I remember once, tailing Paul across rooftops in Hackney, only to stumble across two twelve-year-old boys daring each other to leap the gap to the next roof. It looked just close enough to risk.
You boys studied physics? I asked, sizing up the drop.
We dont even have physics yet, they grinned.
All right, you first, I said, calling their bluff, I bet you miss the jump by ten centimetres and theyll scrape you off the pavement with a dustpan.
In the end, they didnt jump. As they left, one asked:
What are you doing up here, anyway, miss?
Me? Here to rescue you. Im your guardian angel. When you leave, Ill just fly away.
They didnt believe me. Why would they? Im no angel. Just a woman built more for rugby than ballet, on a Hackney rooftop in the wind, chilled to the bone, watching over people who dont even know I care.
But sometimes, it almost seems like these thingsthese stray moments and second chancesarent just accidents.
Maybe we do have guardian angels, after all.
***That night, unable to sleep, I sat at the window and watched the citys fuzzy orange glow. A taxi slid down the street below, trailing music and laughter. Sometimes you have to look hard for hope, I thought, but tonight I could sense its quiet pulserunning beneath everything, as sure and persistent as the distant hum of Londons traffic.
My phone pingeda photo. Sarah and her gran, side by side in the kitchen, flour dusting Sarahs nose as she tried to bake scones, Andrew grinning in the background with the kettle steaming. They looked like a family just learning how to be one.
I smiledthere were still shadows at the edges, but the worst of the storm had passed.
Thank you, Sarahs text read. If you hadnt come, Id be gone. My gran made you an extra scone. She says youre always welcome. I hope your wing heals soon.
I stared at my arm, still awkward in its cast, and felt an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. Maybe thats what being an angel really wasshowing up on a day when it mattered, even in the rain, even when your own wings were broken.
Somewhere outside, fireworks flickered behind the clouds. The world wasnt perfect; it never would be. But I knew, wherever I ended upon rooftops, in crowded wards, at kitchen tables with strangersId keep showing up. Not to save the world, but to rescue a moment here and there, to choose kindness again and again.
Because sometimes all you have to do is be there.
And that, just for one day, was enough to be someones angel.
