Page 91 of The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels
FROM:Paul Cole
Dear Oliver,
Many apologies for my delay in replying to your email. I have been on a spiritual retreat, far away from any internet connection. You ask me to explain what I mean by ‘the other side’ and Gabriel’s potential link to it. I will try.
We visit this earth many times and live many lives, but returning is never guaranteed. It’s a privilege and an opportunity. We choose aspects of our life before we are born – our parents, for example – but there are rules. We must counteract light with dark in every life we live. In turn, each of us must endure difficult lives in order to enjoy brighter, happier lives in future.
We are part of a collective consciousness, yet we are each on our own journey. For spiritual evolution to take place, we must be born with no conscious memory of the other side. Dreams are our bridge between the worlds and I believe that is where Gabriel has an unusual gift. However, most of us will experience things that make us wonder. How did that happen? Whatwasthat? Events that have no logical explanation.
You may think our earthly lives are preordained. That everything happens for a reason. Fate. Destiny. Not necessarily. We have free will. We can enjoy sudden success, joy, riches … as well as accidents and disaster. Our lives can go horribly wrong at the hands of others.
I believe Gabriel has a psychic power and a connection – as to whether he is the archangel Gabriel, of that I am less convinced.
All the best,
Paul
A page torn from the novelMy Angel Diaryby Jess Adesina:
Wednesday the whirly-third of Glitter-spin
There’s a new girl. And she’s an angel, too.
Thursday the whirly-fourth of Glitter-spin
So, whatdoyou do when another angel arrives in your cosmic orbit? I’ll tell you whatIdo. Nothing. I am struck speechless and frozen to the spot. Her name’s Ashleigh. She’s from a public school, so her parents must have fallen on hard times. Perhaps her mother gambles online, or her father is in prison for illegal dealings on the dark web. She has long brown hair with blunt ends. Miss Crosby asked Daisy to look after her. Huge moment of glitter-pointment. If she’d asked Georgia, I could have, without an attention-grabbing breach of clique boundaries, actually spoken to her. I know at this point you’re wondering: how can Tilly be so sure this new girl is an angel too? You can’t tell just by looking, and she hasn’t even spoken to her yet. Well, I’ll tell you the secret of how we recognise each other: angels born on earth must wear their wings in their eyes. Ashleigh has wings in her eyes. And I am in love (again).
A page torn from the novelWhite Wingsby Mark Dunning:
Celine smiled coquettishly at the ambassador. Her Givenchy gown was so minimalist in structure and fashioned from a material so sheer, his gaze would never reach her customised Manolos. Dissected and rebuilt not by Mr Blahnik, but by Gabriel. One false step would activate the device, blow her cover and scupper an entire operation with interested parties larger and shadier even thantheirorganisation. If the explosion didn’t do the job, Gabriel would finish her off with pleasure. The term killer heels had never been so apt.
The ambassador’s diplomatic eyes skimmed Celine’s gazelle-like body the way a butterfly skims an outcrop of pink pampas at the end of summer. Somewhere inside she acknowledged a faint wave of disgustthat this man had known her since childhood and was, in fact, a distant cousin of her father’s.
While she would have preferred to believe Gabriel valued her for her whip-smart mind and breath-stopping beauty, she knew that really, it was for this. Her impeccable connections. Because Celine had the poise and the accent. The style and the content. She could glide into these events, through the corridors of power, seven-star hotels, towering office blocks, super yachts and penthouse suites … right up to the gods of world society without even the lowliest security officer checking her credentials. Once inside, she could do anything.
Celine’s eyes flicked left and right. She kissed the ambassador on both cheeks and stalked past. The click-click of her heels broke an admiring silence as men and women alike paused to admire the compelling lines of her shoulders and slink of her hips.
Pages torn from the scriptDivineby Clive Badham:
INT. LIVING ROOM, FLAT – THE NEXT DAY
LOUD SCREAMS from the rocking Moses basket under the coffee table. The clock reads 11.30 a.m. Holly, in cheap pyjamas, stamps into the room, sees the room’s empty, stamps out and bangs on a nearby door.
HOLLY
Jonah! Jonah!
Thumps and mumbles from behind the door. Jonah, also in pyjamas, squints out, face creased with sleep.
JONAH
Uh?
HOLLY
It won’t stop. Where’s Gabriel?
So sleepy he can barely answer …
