A MILLION ANGELS (15 page)

T
he Bean's name is Joe. Mum decided in the night. But to us he'll always be the Bean.

“I like it,” says Mum. “It'll look nice on a birthday card.
Love from James, Bex, Jemima, Milo and Joe.
”

If I had my way I'd call him Gabriel or Michael or Raphael because the Bean is an angel here on earth.

After school I call my mum.

“I'm going to the hospital,” I say. “I need to talk to Tory. Then when I get home I'm going to tell you the truth.”

 

The hospital rises up from the ground like a great grey monster with a thousand window eyes blinking in the
sun. I stand in front of those eyes. “I'm not afraid of you, Tory Halligan. I'm not afraid of the truth.”

Tory is out of intensive care. She's propped up on pillows in the children's ward. Paper birds hang from the ceiling and fly around her head. Painted rainbows stretch across the walls with pots of gold at the end.

Tory blinks when she sees me.

“Um, hi!” she says.

“Hi!” I say back.

I sit on the edge of her bed and then I'm not sure what to do next. I've never visited anyone in hospital before and it's weird being here with Tory. I look at her. She looks at me. My tummy flips. We're both waiting to see who will speak next. I feel really awkward and I'm scared my words are going to clog up in my throat. The silence between grows too long, so I offer her one of Mrs Bostock's chocolates. I still have plenty of them in my blazer pockets.

I take a deep breath.

“I needed to come,” I say, “to say sorry. What I did was really stupid.”

Tory puts the chocolate in her mouth. She fiddles with the golden wrapper. She stares at her hands.

“I feel embarrassed,” she says. “I should be the one saying sorry. I don't know what happened to me. I just got carried away and turned into this completely spiteful she-devil. What I did to you was really mean.”

“I thought you were dead,” I say. “When you were on the ground all quiet and your leg was twisted. I was really scared.”

“Why did you try to jump?” she asks. “What were you trying to do?”

I sigh.

“I've been trying to get the army to send my dad back home and I thought if something bad enough happened then they'd have to. I miss him so much when he's away, I can't bear it. And I get scared about stuff. So I began this Bring Dad Home mission. I started with the angels – I thought they might keep him safe – then it was the fire alarms. It was me who set them off and I was hoping Mrs Bostock would get really angry and expel me, but all she did was give me these.”

I show her my pocket full of bright chocolates.

“Then I thought,
I know, I'll pretend I'm really ill
, so I tried to make myself have a fever and stuff. I thought about breaking my arm. I thought if I could get to be
here, in hospital, like you, then he'd
have
to come home.”

Tory's eyes are wide.

“You must REALLY want him home,” she says, “to do all that.”

“I do,” I say, “a lot.”

“But don't you think it's a bit extreme, Jemima? I mean, he will come back eventually.” She smiles. “My dad would think I was completely crazy if I tried to hurt myself like that for him.”

“My dad will think I'm crazy too,” I say, “if he ever finds out.”

“You're even freakier than I thought, Jemima,” she says. “You're totally freakily bonkers!”

“I know,” I say. “I can't help it. It's just how I am. But it gets worse. So then you and me were at the window and I was so, so angry with you. For a moment, I really hated your guts and if I'd have followed that hate I might have pushed you, Tory, because in that split second I did want you dead. It's true and I'm sorry for that. I'm really, really sorry. That's what's so scary. What happened was bad enough, especially for you, but I keep thinking about what
might
have happened. You
keep giving me bad dreams. I keep seeing you tumbling like a white ghost through the air. But anyway, we were at the window and I think I knew, deep down, that I
wouldn't
push you, but suddenly I had this crazy idea. I thought,
This is it! This will definitely Bring Dad Home.
”

We look in each other's eyes. She's waiting for the final bit of my story.

“I thought I could fly like an angel,” I whisper. “I knew it would hurt when I hit the ground, but it felt worth it to see my dad.”

Tory stares at her hands. She fiddles with the chocolate wrapper.

“He's lucky to be loved so much,” she says. “But he'd never want you to do that. It's seriously extreme, Jemima. I mean, jumping out of the window!”

“I know,” I say, “and I feel really bad about the fact that it was you who ended up getting hurt. I was really stupid. I
am
crazy.”

I twiddle my chocolate wrapper round and round my finger and make a tiny purple goblet. I balance it on my palm and offer it to Tory. Granny's words are spinning in my brain.
Backbone, Jemima, backbone!
I swallow hard and look Tory in the eye.

“I just need to say that it really hurts my feelings when you say mean things about my dad being in the army. And when you laugh about my clothes. And my presentation and stuff. Your words confuse me. They make me feel lonely.”

She drops her head.

“I know,” she whispers, “and I'm sorry. I don't know what gets into me. I'm spiteful and horrid to everyone. I think I just get really bored or something and I take it out on everyone else. But it's true, a part of me
is
curious about you, Jemima, and a bit fascinated by… you know… your weirdness and everything.”

I hand Tory another chocolate. It's wrapped in red. It's going to be crunchy.

“I don't feel weird inside,” I say. “I just feel like me. I can't help it. It's just how I'm made. I guess we just have to get used to the fact that everyone's different and that that's OK. It doesn't make them wrong.”

She nods. She offers me a grape. The ones Mum and I bought her.

“And the Ned thing,” she whispers. “I'm sorry about that too, because it's obvious he likes you. I don't even fancy him, but I just got so jealous, I had to try to pull
him away from you. I don't know why, but I always
have
to be the best, and the first. I hate it if I'm not number one. So I guess I'm pretty crazy too!” She sighs.

“And I had some pretty mad dreams while I was unconscious. It's weird knowing I slept for a whole week and missed everything.”

Tory's mum and little sister appear with at least a hundred shiny pink balloons. I slide off the bed. I give her another chocolate, a yellow one. It's a toffee.

“I'd better go,” I say, looking at the balloons. “See you around, Tory, and I hope you get better soon. I really do. All the girls at school are missing you loads. They don't know what to do without you.”

And then I walk away.

 

On my way home I feel different inside. A little bit braver. A little bit taller. I bend down to tighten the laces on my boots. My dad would be shocked if he could see them now. I haven't cleaned them in weeks. They're all dull and dusty. I can't wait until he comes back home and we can sit on the back doorstep to polish and talk and I'll tell him I've discovered that weird isn't really weird at all. Weird is just different. I skip up our front
path. I haven't skipped in ages. I like different, it's OK.

When I go indoors, Granny makes a cup of tea, then takes the boys out for a walk and leaves Mum and me to talk.

Mum gets out the special shortbread biscuits. We press our fingers in the sugar. We let the tiny crystals slowly melt in our mouths.

“I'm sorry,” I say, when I've finished my story. “I got muddled up. I was angry with the army and with Dad and with you.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” Mum says, wiping sugar from my chin. “I know you miss Dad, but I didn't know things were that bad. I should be the one saying sorry. I think I should get the award for being the worst parent in the world. You could have hurt yourself really badly. I can't believe I missed the signs. I miss Dad so much when he's away it's hard to be patient with everyone. It's hard to even notice what's going on. Inside my head I'm screaming at the world because I need him here. Then I take it out on you.”

“Do you really think I'm unhinged?” I say.

Mum laughs. Her eyes look so tired and sad. “I'm
the one who's unhinged!” she says. “I'm so sorry you heard those things. I was just letting off steam. Mums worry about everything and everyone, Mima, and sometimes we say stuff in the heat of the moment that we don't mean. I didn't ever want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

I dig in my blazer pocket and pull out a chocolate. It's wrapped in shiny purple. It's a nutty one. My favourite.

“For you,” I say, giving it to Mum.

Then she pulls me on her lap. I feel huge compared to Milo and the Bean. My legs are everywhere. My elbows jab in her ribs.

“My beautiful baby girl,” she says, holding me so close I can feel her heart beating under her skin. “My beautiful Mima. I do love you.”

I
have to do my presentation in three days' time and all I have are a few dusty old boards and not a lot to say. I pull the boards from under my bed and dust them off.

Mmmm, what to do?

I pull on my gas mask. I lie on my bed. I think.

I pull out my laptop and give fate just one more chance.

I type
Derek – Canada – Blitz – Boat
into Google. I can't believe my eyes. There is his name. Right at the top of the page!

It's Derek
Bech,
Granny. Not Derek Bach!

My heart skips a beat. I read on. There's so much information about him.

On 13 September 1940, nine-year-old Derek Bech and his family set sail on a ship called the SS
City of Benares
. They were heading to Canada, to escape the war. Just like Granny said. Then, on the evening of 17 September, a German torpedo hit the ship. It sank. There were more than ninety children on board and seventy-seven of them drowned.

My excitement slides away. Like oil in a pan.

Poor Derek.

Poor Granny.

He most likely drowned. I flick an angel off my arm. “Fly to Derek,” I whisper.

Then I type in Derek, Barbara and Sonia Bech, just to find out more and my eyes can't believe what they find. They're splashed all over Google. And in big bold words it says,
Derek Bech: survivor!
He survived! Derek Bech survived! Seventy-seven other children died, but Derek Bech and his sisters and their mum all survived! Apparently, Barbara managed to get on a lifeboat, but Derek and Sonia and their mum had to cling on to a raft, in the freezing water, all night long, before they
were saved. The ship had been like a palace, with amazing food and mountains of ice cream, then late one night a big BOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM sound filled the ship and it started to sink. They never did get to Canada and Derek Bech has lived in Bognor Regis all this time! Granny could have found him if she'd tried a bit harder.

Google is full of fascinating and wonderful information.

Eventually, I stumble across an article from the BBC. It's called
The Children of the Doomed Voyage
and a man called Steve Humphries has made a film. I'm dizzy with it all. I'm scared he might be dead. He must be really old.

I do some quick maths. If Derek Bech was nine years old in 1940 that means he'll be eighty years old this year. Same as Granny. Of course, she already told me they were born on the same day.

I want to leap up and tell Granny. But I want to keep Derek like a sweet surprise. A thousand butterflies fly from my heart.

I send an email.

I press send. I wait.

At suppertime I'm a jumping jellybean.

Granny says, “What's up, pet? Got ants in your pants?”

Then Milo pipes up. “No, Granny, she's got jelly in her belly!”

Then the Bean does a massive fart and we all fall about giggling.

For the first time in ages things feel normal. The house feels normal. Well, normal for us, that is! And my mum is even smiling. I'm smiling too.

A beautiful pink flower of hope opens in my heart.

Then my phone goes.

Pip. Pip.
My mum told me U tried 2 jump! That proves it. U really R mad!

I text back.

Pip. Pip.
Maybe, Jess. But Truth is better than Dare.

At bedtime I check my emails.

Nothing.

In the morning I check my emails.

Nothing.

Only two days left to go.

I have a serious talk with Granny.

“Granny,” I say, “I need your help. I really need you to come to school on presentation day and talk about the Blitz. Otherwise my presentation will be rubbish.”

Granny looks at me. She pours some tea. Her spoon clinks against her cup.

“Oh, pet,” she says. “I don't know. It was all so long ago. I'm sure no one will be interested. I'd rather not.”

“Please, Granny?” I plead. “I really
need
this.”

 

At lunchtime I find Ned. His eyes are red-rimmed. He's in the library choosing readings for his gramps's funeral. He's getting used to foster care.

“Don't have any choice, do I?” he says. “But I'm
definitely going to boarding school. They just need to find me a guardian for the holidays.”

I tell him about my plan.

“I'm not doing my presentation,” he says. “Mrs Cassidy understands. It's all a bit much, really.”

After school I check my email.

And there it is. Fate is working well.

I'm a firework inside. Totally fizzing with joy. I write Derek's number on my hand, creep into Dad's study and shut the door.

I dial the number. My heart starts pounding in my chest. What am I
doing
phoning a total stranger? What am I even going to
say
? Derek might be cross. He might not be as lovely as Granny remembers. The phone starts ringing and I'm so nervous I want to throw it down.
You have to go through with this, Jemima
, I say to myself.
You can't back out now!

He picks up his phone.

“Hello!” he says. “Derek Bech speaking, can I help you?”

I'm shaking like a leaf.

“I… I'm…” My voice won't work.

Come on, Jemima! Speak! It's Derek Bech in Bognor Regis! It's actually him!

“Hello?” says Derek. “Is anybody there? Look, if this is a prank call you can forget it and push off…”

And then I find my voice. I speak up loud and clear and Derek Bech and me stitch and weave a plan.

 

When presentation day comes it's the last and least worrying thing on my mind. I'm not scared. I'm not even that bothered.

Callum Richardson's presentation is still quite boring. He shows us his football kits and tells us all about the life of being a fan.

Mrs Cassidy stifles a yawn.

Hayley's presentation is amazing. She has little bowls of melted chocolate and cream. She wears an apron all covered in flowers. She has big wooden spoons and chocolatey lips and hands out coco-dusted truffles at the end.

Jess is full to the brim and over the top with dolphins when it's her turn. She's already adopted one called Splash and her mum is taking her to Florida in the summer to see it for real life. Her dolphin collection has grown to aquarium heights and she hands them out for everyone to see, for us to marvel at their glittering glory.

When it's my turn, I face the class with a crystal voice and speak. I focus, focus, focus. I stand up tall. I show the class my rain-grey boards full of sparkles and hearts. I tell them about missing my dad. I tell them about Granny and Derek and the incredible story of the SS
City of Benares
. I tell them about how many children died and about how war breaks hearts. I show them my angels. I tell them about hiding in my dad's wardrobe. I tell them about setting off fire alarms and pretending to be ill and wanting to fly. I tell them everything and that Truth is better than Dare.

When I've finished there isn't a dry eye in the room. I have touched them with my truthful words. And Mrs Bostock is standing at the back, listening with a smile. She raises her arms up high when she claps. She unwraps a shiny chocolate and pops it in her mouth. It's a purple one. My favourite.

Jess shrinks down in her seat. She nods at me when I pass. We'll never be real friends, Jess and me, but hopefully now she'll leave me alone. Hopefully now we have a truce.

After school Ned is waiting for me at the gates. His eyes are shining.

“You were brilliant, Jemima Puddleduck,” he says. “Truly brilliant!”

He looks at his watch. Time to go. Everything's working to plan.

“Thanks for your help, Ned,” I say. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

He smiles. “No problemo, Miss Puddleduck. No problemo!”

When we get home, we act like normal, as if nothing life-changingly earth-shattering were about to happen in our house. Granny is fluffing in the kitchen. Mum's doing spellings with Milo. Ned helps me make some tea. I pull the special shortbreads from the cupboard. I pop them on a plate.

Then the phone rings exactly according to plan. Everyone's ears stretch. They all think it might be Dad. Mum leaps up. I grab hold of her arm and pull her back in her seat.

“Let Granny get it,” I say.

Granny looks up.

“Me?” she says.

Ned pulls his camcorder out of his bag. I want him to record this amazing momentous occasion for all of history to see and for Dad to watch when he comes back home and for Granny to have for ever. Ned pushes the red button. Granny gets up to answer the phone and puts the wonderful Beany boy in my lap. I press my finger on my lips to shush Milo and Mum.

“Hello?” Granny says. “Is that you, James?”

A pause that seems to last for ever fills our ears. My tummy flips with excitement. Granny looks puzzled for a moment and then her hand flies to her mouth. She takes a sharp breath in. She stumbles backwards and I quickly put the Beany boy in Mum's lap and leap up to find her a chair. Her eyes twinkle and shine like Christmas and a look of pure wonder spreads across her face. She smiles at me. She takes my hand and we thread our fingers together and hold on tight.

“Derek?” she says. “My Derek? Is that really you after all these years?”

Gentle tears of joy roll down her cheeks. Her face blooms pink and opens like a beautiful flower. She looks at me and mouths, “Jemima Taylor-Jones! I can't believe it! You're a real miracle-maker!”

And I almost can't believe it either. The real, actual Derek Bech is on the end of the phone and my granny is on the other. So much time has passed and here they are again, chatting like no time has passed at all! Seventy-one years later they are reunited by fate and well… maybe by a little bit of help from me.

Granny pulls the photo of the small boy with big solemn eyes out of her bra and kisses his tiny face.

“Well, pet,” she says, laughing into the phone, “I've got a bone to pick with you, Derek Bech, see. You didn't keep all those promises you made me and neither of us are getting any younger, so what are you going to do about it?”

She laughs and they start to talk. They talk and talk all about the torpedoed boat and Barbara and Sonia and Bognor Regis and Wales and the war. They fill each other in on the past seventy-one years. They talk and talk and talk like they've never really been apart. And while they make plans for meeting up so they can talk some more and start keeping promises, the rest of us eat biscuits and dip our fingers in sugar and let the crystals slowly melt on our tongues.

All the wonders and the mysteries of life unfold. I still don't know if God exists or what makes wonderful things and terrible things happen in this world, but I do know I can't stop people dying when they need to die. I can't stop them doing what they love with their lives. I can't
make
my dad come home or change his job until he's ready. I can't make a baby be a girl when it's a boy or wake a girl from a coma until she's finished with her dreams. And I definitely can't stop a boy with halo hair and laces
like vines from liking me, when the real truth is, he does, even if I'm weird or different or whatever.

But I do know I can stand up for love because love is the best and most wonderful thing in this life. I do know I can stretch my heart wider than the ocean and further than the stars and that I can stand up in front of a class and speak out with a clear crystal voice. That I can stand at the window to face the eye of the wind and say, “I'm not afraid of you.”

I know I cannot control the secret mysteries of the universe because the universe and people's lives are not mine to rearrange.

I know that Truth is better than Dare.

I stand at my window and look out at the night. I hold my arms up high and set a million angels free. They flurry from my skin as inky blue shadows. They flap their brilliant white wings and soar as a magnificent