Falling: The Complete Angels Among Us Series. Linn Halton B.
remember a time when I couldn’t. It feels like it’s always been a part of my life. It’s as natural as breathing and, yes, there are times when I wish that wasn’t the case. I seriously doubt anyone would choose to get drawn into something they don’t really understand. Why would they?
I’ve read books of course, and talked to many people who think they know how it all works. When I say ‘it’ I mean life after death, or whatever exists beyond the here and now. What I have found is a very diverse range of opinions, often given out as if they are factual and with a belief so strong that it seems unshakeable. And that’s true whether the person is an adamant sceptic, or a believer. The point is—how can anyone know for sure until it’s their turn to follow the light into what lies beyond?
As I stir my cappuccino, the heart-shaped chocolate powder begins to melt into a swathe of pale brown trails. It strikes me that it’s a good analogy—when something you see is not what it seems. One moment it appears to be something of substance and in a flash it’s gone. It’s the same with my angels: almost real but not quite. I may be able to see them at times, but it’s always merely seconds before they disappear.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Seb’s voice breaks my reverie.
I look up at him. “I’m thinking about angels.”
“Oh, I’d hoped it was something more…normal.” He closes the conversation before it has even begun and I realise that my wonderful brother is simply out of his depth. It leaves me feeling guilty again. Why do I keep doing this to myself and to other people? Haven’t I been slapped in the face often enough to know that people loathe the word ‘angels’. It reminds them of death: of loved ones lost and another world that only exists in fantasy.
Except, of course, I know better.
“So,” I try to keep my voice upbeat and pretend I’m not disappointed he’s failed the test again, “why an autumn wedding?”
“Anna has found her perfect dress for the day and it’s red. Her heart is set on it and she wants the guys to wear Scottish kilts,” he smirks.
“But there’s no Scottish blood in our family,” I point out.
“No, true, although Anna says her great-grandfather’s second cousin was a Laird.” We burst out laughing at exactly the same moment and say in unison, “Mega!” Typical of the link we have as non-identical twins who are in tune on many levels, but so opposite in other ways. I’ve never felt that we struggle to assert our own identities though and I like to think Seb feels the same way.
“And based on that tenuous link you’ll be seeking someone to pipe you in I suppose?” I can’t resist teasing him, but I’m simply masking my concern. I hate myself for the sense of ‘knowing’ that I can’t shake off. She’s going to hurt him, more than anyone has ever done in the past and he’s going to crumble.
“How did you guess?” he quips, and I chuckle at the thought of someone piping my brother up the aisle. He has hairy legs, knobbly knees, and thinks that all Scotland has to offer is some amazing mountains to climb.
“Well, at least tell me you’re going to Scotland for your honeymoon,” I reply. He shakes his head.
“No, California. Anna wants to do the Hollywood walk of fame.”
I study my brother’s face. He’s a happy man and that’s all that matters in the grand scheme of things, but the ‘Anna wants’ phrase seems to keep cropping up in every conversation we have these days. Is that how she’s going to fail him? Or is it Seb who is going to fail, adoring her too much and making the relationship one-sided: all give and no take because he’s sadly, madly in love?
“Fabulous,” is all I can find to say, holding back the words in my head that have to remain unspoken. In my heart I know she’s a lovely lady, but my brother is an interesting guy and he’s never fitted the mould. A bit like me, I suppose. Only Seb doesn’t see angels and sometimes I wonder if he thinks I’m possessed, or mad. I know he won’t entertain any ideas about an afterlife, but aside from that he’s used to thinking outside the box. My greatest concern is that Anna is rather…well, predictable, trendy. Okay, what I want to say is shallow, but that makes me feel mean and it’s not true. Then I realise that it’s the vibe again, ‘the knowing.’ When exactly the hurt will come I have no idea, but my instincts tell me it’s there, somewhere in the future. Without understanding what or how, all I can do is sit back and wait, then help to pick up the pieces.
“I’m fine,” Seb says, placing his hand reassuringly on my arm. “I love Anna and if that’s what makes her happy then I’m happy too.”
His voice breaks my train of thought. “The angels,” Seb shifts in his chair uncomfortably, “you do know it’s all a figment of your imagination? You’re an extremely sensitive person and you over-think things, Ceri. I inherited the practical skills and you inherited the creative ones. Don’t get sucked in, and remember that you can’t believe everything you read.” He fingers a book lying on the table next to him. The title is Never Alone, and it’s about a woman who sees spirits.
I nod, inwardly shaking my head, and a part of me is sad that he has no idea. It’s not that I know all the answers: if I did I would be banging his head against a wall until he listened to me. I can’t prove anything and I wonder if that’s the whole point. To believe you have to rise above needing to be shown. You simply need to see with your eyes wide open. What I do know is that so far I have a journal that shows I’ve altered the course of events for over one hundred and thirty-one people.
What that means, I have no idea.
The moment I awaken I can feel it; a sense of uneasy anticipation. I try to shut it out and concentrate on the mundane—getting dressed, brushing my hair, cleaning my teeth. It doesn’t pass, but the intensity lessens. I step outside and have to force myself not to turn around. Instead I stand for a moment, take a deep breath, and begin walking.
The sky is that shade of cornflower blue that heralds the start of a really sunny day. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky and the birdsong sounds like an orchestra tuning up before act one. Suddenly I feel much better; lighter and more optimistic. I’m worrying about nothing and I give myself a mental shake as I walk. I have to stop living my life expecting something untoward to happen; maybe it’s true what they say about karma and sending out positive thoughts to the universe. If I’m constantly sending out worry and apprehension, then maybe I’m a magnet for all the stray negativity floating around in the ether.
I break into a smile and the old lady walking past me glances my way, frowning. It makes me chuckle and I can feel the tension leaving my neck and shoulders. It’s a good day to be alive and instead of pondering about what might or might not happen, I concentrate on my surroundings. It takes about twenty minutes to walk to the office and that’s the beauty of living in a green and leafy part of Gloucestershire. I walk past the park, and the colourful blossoms breaking out on the trees are such a wonderful contrast to the constant stream of traffic in the morning rush hour.
“Ceri,” my name appears to float on the gentle morning breeze. I turn my head and see it’s my boss, Mason Portingale, striding to catch up with me.
“Morning Mason.” I’m pleased that my voice sounds cheerful and confident.
“Ready for our big brainstorming session?” He peers at me and his tone sounds accusatory, as if I might have forgotten about it. Mason can’t help being somewhat curt, it’s the way he is and I have to be careful when I’m around him. Portingale & Hughes Advertising is a prestigious firm and the moment I step over the threshold I become a slightly different Ceri: reliable, solid, an ‘ideas’ person and bubbly. A sort of robot really,