Page 54 of The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels
Unknown number
This is the Medway NHS Trust. I’m so sorry to inform you Mr Graham passed away with his phone in his hand. Your message was the last thing he saw. He’d pressed reply, but sadly suffered a heart attack before he could type his response. Are you a relative and if not, do you know if he had any? We are trying to sort out his affairs and have drawn a blank.
Amanda Bailey
I am so sorry to hear this sad news. I’m not strictly a relative, but we were VERY close. I’m more than happy to pop round to his place and help clear out any documents that may be there.
Unknown number
Thank you. I’ll pass your details on.
A page torn from the novelMy Angel Diaryby Jess Adesina:
Monday the Pinkish Twelfth of Rainbow Shimmer
I’m Tilly and I’m different. You’ll see how. But you won’t see why. So, I’m starting this diary. I admit some things you’ll read in it might challenge all you believe, but I say wake up, mortal! Smell the rose-scented glitter-puffs. Fact is, I’m an angel trapped on the earthly plane. With parents who think I’m just a human who should accept that not all the girls in my class will like me and absolutelynoneof the boys.
Want to know the most irritating thing about the whole situation? I have a really annoying little brother, who my parents firmly believeisan angel. Why else do they let him do what he likes, whenever he likes, with no repercussions? Don’t they realise it’smewho needs to sleep in late, watch TV all weekend and eat cupcakes with heavy sprinkles? They are the only things that restore my angelic power, after all.
My cat Gabriel understands. He knows the truth. That I’m not like anyone else on this planet. I’ve already told him what I’m telling you now: that if I’m still a double virgin by this time next year I’ll have to take drastic measures to restore balance in the universe. It’s my gift to humankind.
So, the next 365 days will be my angelic coming out. There’ll be no more dreaming over Scott all day. And no more trying to get Daisy’s attention by pretending I love swimming and hockey, when everyone knows angels are no good at sport. On the next pinkish twelfth of rainbow shimmer, Scott will be my boyfriend and Daisy will be my girlfriend. Boys, boys, boys. And girls.
A page torn from the novelWhite Wingsby Mark Dunning:
Celine lit a pink Ziganov and gazed over the Seine. Its waters were usually muddy at dusk and especially so in winter. Today – a cold, dry Tuesday in January – was no exception.It’s amusing, she thought, watching life trudge around her,how utterly normal today seems.
With one hand plunged deep in the pocket of her Loewe cashmere coat, she gripped her cigarette between Dior-kissed lips and pulled the belt tight around her narrow waist.
Gabriel said he’d be here. Now.
In Celine’s experience, and given Gabriel’s reputation at the bureau, if he said he’d be somewhere, and wasn’t – send a wreath to his mother.
Celine smiled. As if Gabriel ever had anyone who resembled a mother. Her box-fresh Louboutins made satisfying clicks along the sidewalk.
‘You’re breaking position.’ Neither a question nor an admonishment. The voice over her right shoulder had just the right tone, pitch and resonance to cut direct to her heart. That’s how he did it.
‘I knew you were there,’ she whispered, never confident enough in his presence to use her voice at its usual volume.
Gabriel fell into step with Celine. But stayed just enough ahead that she knew who was senior to whom.
A flock of doves lifted into the air before them with a collective thunderclap of wings. Even if it were not part of the plan, Celine would feel it in the air … what was coming.
Gabriel seized her around the waist. His lips on hers, she melted into his arms, all the time fighting to keep her mind on what he was doing. Quickly, deftly and out of sight.
Passers-by did just that. None saw anything beyond the ordinary. Gabriel’s hand as it transferred the package. Celine’s eyes as they flicked left and right. The vast white wings that soared into the sky, that made Celine and Gabriel untouchable.
Done. She pulled her coat tighter as they continued walking, hand in hand. She could feel it close to her chest. Wrapped so well, not a drop of blood would escape. It was larger than she imagined, harder. And perfectly still. The excised heart of the Russian ambassador.
Text messages between TV producer Phil Priest and me, 9 July 2021:
Phil Priest
I’ve just come across that unproduced script for DIVINE. It’s pretty good. The writer whose name I couldn’t remember is Clive Badham.
Amanda Bailey
Thanks, Phil. Would it be possible for you to send me that script?
