Angel of The Willows

damages.

Chapter 1

Summer 2013

The late evening sun was beginning to set over the Elmwood Estate, streaking the clear, blue sky with a beautiful crimson-pink haze.

A crowd of small children, wearing nothing but vests and pants, scattered in various directions alerted by their mothers calling them in from their brightly coloured front doors. Bath time, no doubt, and not a moment to waste if the mums were to catch the late repeat of Coronation Street.

I watched as the children obediently ran to their houses like small, clockwork mice, their bare feet slapping on the hot concrete as they went. Not one of them complained, cried or demanded an extra ten minutes. Quite astonishing, I thought. It seemed after a long day playing in the sun they were, by now more than happy to have the day’s grime and sticky, black ice-cream residue soaked from their skin before slipping into fresh, clean pyjamas.

As I sauntered on through the expanse of newly built houses, I noticed that they all appeared to be virtually identical, each one with the same open-plan front garden. I couldn’t help but wonder how the owners ever managed to find their way home. Of course, the fact that the vast Elmwood Estate was broken down into smaller, more manageable closes or cul-de-sacs consisting of around four to ten properties, made it a little easier to negotiate - especially for a newcomer. Each little group of properties was given a name which had been etched onto a brass plaque on a stone wall at the entrance.

I noticed immediately that the allocated names left a lot to be desired: Cumberland, Wiltshire and Lincolnshire had clearly been named after sausages (my mind was momentarily whisked away to distant memories of char-blackened sausages stuffed inside a bread roll and smeared in tomato sauce and mustard. I felt hollow inside as the imaginary aroma of fried onions devoured me). And across from the sausage area there were: Stilton, Cheshire and Edam. Well...they didn’t take much working out.

The architect who’d designed the whole estate had clearly drained himself of any type of imagination by the time it came to address names; either that or he was a martyr to his belly.

The further into the estate I got though, the nicer the names became: Lilac, Lavender, Ivy, etc. I imagined that the areas with the most expensive houses were rewarded with the prettier names.

Another thing that hit me as I continued on my eye-opening journey was that almost every driveway on the estate came complete with its own highly-polished people carrier. The glare from each one was such that a pair of sunglasses would have come in very handy. Said people carriers came in every colour of the rainbow and each one was kitted out with a number of over-sized child seats and Winnie the Pooh window blinds.

There was clearly a severe case of ‘keeping-up-with-the Jones’ syndrome going on here. I supposed that was understandable, since I had now reached the ‘kings and queens’ area.

Victoria was splendid: not a blade of grass out of place, no dehydrated leaf nor cigarette butt littered the pavements. Every house sported window boxes and hanging baskets in full bloom and terracotta pots complete with mini-shrubs lined the driveways. The smell of car polish hung heavily in the air as the husbands cleaned the people carriers to a mirror-finish, whilst the wives cleaned the living-room windows until they sparkled. There wasn’t a child to be seen. Each one was by now tucked up in bed, dreaming about paddling pools and trikes.

I stopped a while to watch the couple at number nine and inhaled the invigorating scent of cut grass whilst I lingered. The young man, wearing nothing more than a pair of cut-off jeans and flip-flops had just finished packing his lawnmower away. The woman stood on a chair washing the window frames, her long black hair flowing, and her summer dress fluttering in the warm breeze. Her husband watched intently. Higher! he called over. She spun around, almost losing her balance on the chair. What?

Up there, right at the top. You missed a bit.

The woman stretched up as far as she could reach; far enough to reveal a flash of white knickers. Perfect, the husband laughed. Now just stay there! He made himself comfortable on the grass, crossing his legs. The wife, realising exactly what he was up to, turned and threw the sopping wet sponge which hit him full-on in the face.

It was all so romantic. I could have stood there watching them all night, but it would be getting dark soon and I still wasn’t any the wiser.

The young man jumped up and carried his lovely wife down off the chair and kissed her passionately as he carried her into the house. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. The soles of her feet were black with dirt.

Well, this certainly wasn’t the place. I’d gone wrong somewhere. Maybe I’d taken a wrong turn. I’d gone through the whole estate and still hadn’t found it. The families on Victoria certainly weren’t falling apart at the seams. I could sense their vibes of love, happiness and kindness from where I stood, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

I turned to head back to where I’d started to see if I could work out where I’d went wrong, stopping along the way to examine a white smear of dried polish that remained on one particular black people carrier. Maybe these people weren’t so perfect after all, I thought.

My concentration was shattered then by a blood curdling scream which was closely followed by what could only have been the ferocious sound of dogs in full strike. I flinched at the sound and felt adrenaline course right through me. I just knew I’d found it.

My former feeling of euphoria was now smothered in a fog of gloom. Yes, there was definitely something wrong here. I could feel it in my bones (or at least I would have, if I’d had any. Bones, that is). So, instead of leaving as planned, I continued a short way to the farthest little cul-de-sac on the estate which I hadn’t noticed since the entrance was concealed by a variety of shrubs and bushes.

The brass name plate read ‘The Willows’. How nice, I thought, with a spark of hope and enthusiasm. I felt quite honoured that I’d been spared the shame of writing my address as Cumberland or Cheddar.

It had been a challenge but I’d arrived at last. This was definitely the right place. I could feel the negative energy all around me like an electrical charge. I was going to have my work cut out. I just knew it.

The Willows consisted of three identical detached houses and one bungalow. I noticed an elderly woman peering from behind the nicotine-yellowed curtains of the bungalow (number three). With her ointment coloured (think germolene) nylon overall, pearl necklace and tight bubble-permed hair, she bore an uncanny resemblance to the Queen of England, if not a tad more youthful.

She had clearly been alerted to all of the commotion that was going on in the neighbourhood as another blood curdling scream rattled every window pane of number two.

Outside number one, on the front lawn, the source of the commotion soon became clear. The young girl, petite and pretty, had a mouth on her that was much too vicious to go with her appearance. The air was blue as she swore and cursed as she used a sweeping brush as a lethal weapon to lay into the black and white mongrel that was latched onto the back end of the little Yorkshire terrier. Shove off, you dirty skank! Or I’ll smash this broom shank over your back!

No amount of prodding and shoving with the brush would force them apart. The two dogs were stuck like glue, a spinning, howling, yelping mass of fur and drool. Max! Here, boy! The obnoxious teenager patted her knees and tried to maintain her composure in a bid to encourage the little dog to obey without the need for force. Her wavy blonde hair broke free and hung in her eyes and she whipped it away furiously with the back of her hand.

Finally beaten by the whole terrible situation in front of her, she stormed off into the house and returned carrying an overflowing bucket of water before hurling it over both dogs. More yelping and squeals ensued as the dogs separated, much to her relief. Now scat! And don’t come back, she yelled, her face red with fury. And you! She turned her attention to Max. Get in that house now! It would serve you well to remember you are a boy. The little Yorkshire terrier stared up at his mistress with doe eyes. I’m ashamed of you. Now get out of my sight, she added before slamming the front door behind her.

I spun around as another paralyzing scream pierced the air. What the hell was going on here? What had I let myself in for?

Chapter 2

My Gucci handbag! Sylvia Blacklock (number one) snatched her designer bag up off the floor and began rubbing it vigorously with a tea towel. It’s ruined! You’ve covered it in amniotic fluid!

I slipped in through the front door that had been left ajar and took a seat on the red, dralon armchair beside the window.

Never mind your stupid handbag - look at the state of my good carpet! Jackie Armstrong cried out, as another ripple of blinding agony washed through her. Propped up by cushions on the living room floor with her skirt yanked up around her chest, she tried to remain as calm as the situation would allow. And isn’t it me...who’s meant to be...screaming? Now please, get back here! I can feel the...

This time, it was the screams of a new born baby that shattered my eardrums, as he slithered into the world and lay pink and wet on his mummy’s ivory, shag-pile carpet.

I was floating on air. I had just witnessed the gift of life first-hand. I felt honoured to have been present.

An ambulance ambled into The Willows as if the driver didn’t have a care in the world then crawled into the driveway of number two.

Where’s that bloody ambulance, Sylvia demanded as she wrapped the baby in a clean, warm towel and made Jackie comfortable by covering her with a blanket.

I craned my neck in order to get a better view out of the window and was astounded to see through the twilight, the paramedic sitting with the driver’s door open, his legs swung outside, stuffing a burger and chips down his face. His music was playing so loud that he was oblivious to any of the commotion that was going on right under his nose.

You greedy, useless slob, I thought with angst as I watched him. This woman; my neighbour and soon to be friend, needs you. Then, as though he’d read my mind, he cast the remains of his food over the front lawn and set about attending to his duties.

What kept you? Jackie asked, feigning anger, but unable to hide her joy and happiness as she gazed with pride into the clear, blue eyes of Benjamin Armstrong - her second-born son.

I hung around long enough to see Jackie and the baby safely bundled into the ambulance.

The obnoxious teenager reared her head once more, calling over the road, Mum, Mum! What’s going on? Why’s there an ambulance here? She looked even younger now with the heavy make-up stripped from her face and wearing teddybear-print pyjamas.

Sylvia put her arm around her young daughter, Audrey. It’s all been so exciting, love. You missed all the action. Jackie had the baby in the living room and I played the part of midwife.

Yuck! I’m glad I missed it, Audrey said. Can I have a look though, at the baby?

Sylvia and Audrey climbed into the back of the ambulance where Jackie sat nursing a sleeping Benjamin. Look, he’s holding my finger! Audrey said as the baby’s tiny hand clung on to her.

What do you think of him? Jackie asked.

He’s really quite ugly isn’t he? She clearly had a front to maintain, but now wasn’t the time. I’m sorry, Jackie, I didn’t mean it. I love him. He’s really...tiny.

Sylvia gave Audrey a hug as the ambulance drove off. Come on. Let’s go home, shall we? And they strolled back to number one arm in arm.

As I headed to my place, I caught a glimpse of an elderly man wearing striped pyjamas at the front door of the bungalow. He had a little look around up and down the road, then went back inside. Her Royal Highness had clearly given up on the stake-out and retired to bed.

I heard the metallic clank of locks from the inside of the door and a moment later, the lights went out. Exhausted, I went inside number four and made myself comfortable. It had been a very long and exciting day and what I needed now was a well-deserved rest.

I woke to the sound of birdsong and rays of sunlight blazing through every pane of glass in the house. It felt so good; I almost felt like me again, but not the old me - never again would I want to be her. No, this felt different. I just knew I was going to like the new, improved me.

A slight tingling reverberated through my whole being. Looking down hopefully at my hands and feet, I wasn’t surprised to see nothing there. I had been warned that it could take a couple of weeks before the new ‘mortal’ me would start to take shape. But still, I knew it was happening, slowly. I could feel it, like an energy that was building inside me every minute of every hour.

Of course, it did have its benefits, the invisible state that I was in. I’d be able to pass my time floating from house to house and getting to know my neighbours well before they knew me.

And there was Luke. I was told that this was the place.

Talk about killing ten birds with one stone. I’d be kept busy alright. I was enjoying it already. I’d be just like a ninja, moving with stealth from place to place gathering information in order to assist me in my quest.

Chapter 3

Five years earlier

Tracy Taylor’s house felt more like a nightclub than a semi-detached shoe box on Western Road. She had put in so much effort to make sure we were all guaranteed an awesome night for her seventeenth birthday. All of her hard work had paid off. The ambience was spot on. Multi-coloured fairy lights had been hung around the living room in abundance; and disco lights throbbed and flashed in time to the base line of the dance tunes that risked rattling the windows of every house within a ten mile radius.

Darren Connolly was on the decks. Only sixteen, but he had both the tunes and the personality to fit the role of ‘Superstar DJ’ and he was already getting regular bookings for parties in the local area.

Tracy’s parents had flown off for a package holiday to Spain. Fifty odd years old and neither of them had ever been out of England except for the time they went to Scotland to attend a family funeral.

We’ve never even owned a passport, they’d complain to anyone who was prepared to listen. But rather than feeling embarrassed about the fact, it was almost as though they were bragging about their ridiculous existence.

Even when the holiday was booked and paid for, they still weren’t happy. What if we don’t like the food? they’d asked. What if factor sixty isn’t adequate? What if we get Delhi-belly?

They were two peas in-a-pod, Tracy’s parents; both of them afraid of breaking their cycle of misery. Too old, boring and set-in-their-ways to want to step outside of their everyday mundane existence.

Look, just go and enjoy yourselves for once in your lives. Do what everyone else in the world does, Tracy had pleaded with them as she bundled them into the taxi with their suitcases. They looked more like they were going to the gallows than to an all-inclusive, luxury holiday resort. Get screwed, get pissed, get high, get...

Tracy! That’s enough of that filthy talk, young lady, Mrs Taylor scolded, but a flash of mischief danced in her eyes.

You make sure you behave yourself, Mr Taylor added. No parties or boys or...

Oh, just go will you? The taxi’s been sitting there for twenty minutes already.

A few hours later the party was in full swing. The small house was bursting at the seams with the local youth and the music was like honey to my ears.

Tracy had taken care of every eventuality, having covered the floral couches with plastic and rolled up the carpets.

The kitchen had become more like a pharmacy: lines of coke stretched across the work-top for as far as the eye could see and a variety of pills were being popped. The drinks flowed freely and the table had been laid out with a selection of snacks and nibbles (not that anyone showed much interest in them).

The living room was hot, dark and lit up by all the coloured lights flickering around the room. The music reverberated through my bones and brain. I kicked off my shoes and began to dance on the makeshift dance floor where earlier, a rectangular rug had lay. I was always the first to get up. I had a reputation to maintain for being the one to really get the party started.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the psychedelic, amphetamine-induced haze that flushed through my body and held me tight in its grip. When I opened them again, there he stood. Directly across the room from me, staring right back, the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. But when I say beautiful, I don’t mean in a feminine way. There was nothing feminine about him with his black messy hair that hung over one eye, his strong jaw and the scattering of dark facial hair that only served to emphasise his good looks.

Luke (sexy) Thompson, as I was later to discover, walked straight towards me and it was as though time stood still. And no longer was I in Tracy’s cramped living room, but in some kind of beautiful parallel universe.

Luke’s skin appeared deeply tanned under the UV lights and his white T shirt glowed. My heart was racing and my body was in danger of overheating as I continued to dance, raising my hands to heaven as though I was at a rave, not my friend’s seventeenth birthday party.

Melting into his dark eyes, I knew this was more than a good trip. This was love at first sight and I was certain he felt the same.

I knew I would still love him in the morning. And I did.

Chapter 4

Present day

The sound of car doors banging outside woke me from my slumber, floating around a foot beneath the ceiling. It had been so long since I’d slept in a bed and it just felt too uncomfortable in my condition.

I was aware of my aura now, like a kaleidoscope of colours surrounding me. That was a good sign. I still couldn’t see me yet, though.

Jumping down to look out of the bedroom window, I was just in time to see Jackie Armstrong climbing tentatively out of a black taxi. In the pink velour tracksuit that she was wearing, I could see her stomach was still enlarged from pregnancy.

A man was carrying a blue fleece clad baby Benjamin in a sparkling new car seat. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he beamed at the little boy then put his arm around Jackie as he led her into the house.

This middle-aged man had to be Alan Armstrong, Jackie’s husband. I recognised him immediately from a photograph I’d seen the night before. The glint from the sun reflecting off his bald cranium was blinding. Around the bottom and sides of his head, he sported a glossy, black, bob type style that was curled tightly under at the back.

They let themselves into number two as I followed closely behind.

I’ve already explained to you, Alan, Jackie said. These hereditary things don’t necessarily just come directly from the parents. The genes could have come from a great, great grandparent on your side or the uncle of an aunt on my side.

I know and I’m not being funny or anything, Alan said, his previously cheerful disposition replaced by a more grave one. It’s just that it’s so...severe, don’t you think? After removing the baby’s tiny, cotton hat to reveal a shock of red curls, he looked at Jackie and said, He is a handsome little fellow though.

Jackie cleared her throat before saying, He certainly is, just like his daddy. Then she slipped her arms around her husband and clung onto him as she looked over his shoulder towards the baby who was sleeping soundly in his cot. Are you playing darts tonight? she asked.

Certainly not! I’ve got much better ways to spend my time now: like looking after my beautiful wife and my baby boy. The team will just have to manage without me for a while. The guilt of not being there for them both at the birth was clearly eating away at him. But it had been the quarter finals and how was he to know baby Benjamin would arrive a week early.

You don’t have to stay in, really, I don’t mind. You’ve got nothing to prove, you know, I do forgive you.

I know I don’t have to, but I want to.

And so it was that Alan Armstrong set about the role of model husband and father. He took on every household task from cooking and cleaning, to washing and ironing. And there was nowhere else he would rather have been.

I could feel it all around me, the love and contentment inside the walls of number two. However, there was something else looming. A black cloud was hovering above the perfect little family and it was soon to reach bursting point. There was nothing I could do to prevent it from happening. I could only be there to help pick up the pieces and put them back together again.

I’ve got a full week off from the garage and Brian says if I need any longer, it won’t be a problem. Alan hesitated before continuing, I told him you’d be fine to manage after the week.

The look of disappointment on Jackie’s face was impossible to hide. Oh, a week will fly over. I wish we could have you here with us for longer.

Me too, love. I want nothing more than to be here with you both but the mortgage and bills won’t pay themselves. Things have been tight enough since you left work. Anyway, I have someone lined up to call in to see that you’re alright once I’m back at work.

Who? Jackie asked.

I can’t tell you. That would spoil the surprise. Trust me, that’s all I can say.

I could feel the tension that seeped from Alan’s every pore. It was perfectly obvious that he was worried sick about how they were going to manage financially.

What about Jackie? I wondered. She’d clearly had a job before the baby arrived. Maybe she could go back to work once he was old enough.

I felt that Jackie was expelling the same vibes as her husband.

Alan fetched two mugs of tea from the kitchen and put them down on the coffee table. I would have done anything for just one sip of that hot, sweet liquid. I was parched. It had been years since I’d enjoyed a nice cuppa.

I was thinking, Alan said, his face serious as he sat down next to Jackie on the red, dralon couch that looked even uglier now than it had the first time I saw it. Surely they couldn’t be that hard up that they couldn’t upgrade to a more modern one, I thought. Maybe if she’d given birth on there