Gabriel's Angel Read online

  ‘I want to see Michael, just for a moment,’ said Julie.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Gabriel. ‘I need a cigarette.’

  Back in Julie’s room, Lynne and Michael were sitting quietly next to Julie’s still body. Lynne was smiling.

  ‘What?’ said Michael

  ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, leaving aside the fact you persuaded me to risk my future career by helping a desperate stranger to take sperm from a bloke in a coma …’

  ‘How come that risks your career?’

  ‘To nurse, I have to be on a register you know, have to be seen to be fit to serve the public and all that. I reckon the powers that be, while not having a precedent for what I just did, might not take too kindly to my aiding and abetting the phantom wanker.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—I would have taken the blame of course.’

  ‘Oh very gallant,’ laughed Lynne.

  Michael smiled, maybe for the first time in days. ‘Well, Julie would have helped, wouldn’t she?’

  Lynne liked the fact that Michael thought that about Julie, but she liked even more the fact that he was asking her for confirmation. There are few comforts to anyone sitting at the side of a friend in a coma, but recognition of their right to be there is one of them. ‘Yeah,’ said Lynne. ‘She would have.’

  Meanwhile, Moira had rushed downstairs and out of the building, across the busy car park in front to the main road, where a figure on a blue Vespa scooter sat revving the small engine. As Moira approached, Knight Rider lifted its dark visor, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman set in grim determination. ‘Moira?’ she barked.

  ‘Mrs Schmelling?’

  ‘Who the fuck is Mrs Schmelling?’ asked Gabriel.

  ‘Can’t be sure,’ Christopher said, ‘but I believe she works on the reception desk at the ACU.’

  ‘That little lady who booked our appointments and gave us forms to fill in?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘She rides a Vespa?’

  ‘Apparently. Maybe Dr Samani arranged this.’

  ‘Well, God bless Dr Samani.’

  ‘I’ll have a word, although after this I may not have much influence in that department,’ said Christopher.

  Mrs Schmelling unzipped the breast pocket of her leather jacket. ‘Have you got it?’

  ‘Right here,’ said Moira, handing over the bottle.

  ‘Well done,’ said Mrs Schmelling. ‘Must dash.’

  ‘Right. Good luck,’ said Moira, and she watched as Mrs Schmelling raced off, threading through the London traffic. A medium-paced scooter would be at the ACU in about seven minutes.

  Moira sat down on the kerb, closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed out for what felt like the first time in about three-quarters of an hour. Her relief was such that she didn’t notice her sister as Izzy stepped from Sam’s car and headed into the hospital. Izzy, determined, purposeful Izzy, didn’t notice Moira either.

  30

  If Wood Green were a food, it would be celery: inessential and tasteless. James took comfort from this fact as he drove toward Matthew’s house. He may be rich, he thought, but what is the point of money if you don’t know how to spend it?

  However, Matthew and Alice lived near Wood Green in the way that the Queen lives near Penge. Rather, they lived in more of what you’d call Muswell Hill, on what was clearly one of the more exclusive roads. As James drove slowly down the wide, clean street he may have passed Kate Winslet pruning an already perfectly sculpted hedge. Landscaped front gardens, expensive cars, and no discernible traffic. Even the birds sang quietly. But perhaps it wasn’t quite what he would want if he won the lottery, James thought: he would want a small castle with battlements and moat. Still, this was nice—rubbish if you are ever under attack by an army of bowmen, but nice nonetheless.

  He rang the doorbell of the three-storey, red-bricked detached house. It sounded old fashioned and authentic. James half expected a butler to answer.

  ‘James! James Buchan, good lord, what are you doing round here?’ Matthew was wearing a hooped and ironed rugby shirt in black and white, and sand-coloured baggy cords. Even at the height of Dog in a Tuba’s—whisper the word for fear of people laughing—fame, Matthew tended toward knitwear and a building society savings account. He was, in James’s estimation, always a secondary school teacher waiting to happen. He was also pretty easygoing, so James was rather hoping for some enthusiasm about the reunion. As for Alice, it wasn’t that he hadn’t considered her, it was just that he couldn’t really imagine her saying much. Probably because the last time he remembered seeing her she had either her mouth or her nose full.

  ‘Wanted to see what a win on the lottery buys these days.’

  ‘Oh, you heard about that? Bit embarrassing really. But everything happens for a purpose, eh? How are you James? It’s been a very long time.’

  ‘It has, Matt. I’m all right, mate.’ The same self-conscious silence that swept in on the phone arrived quicker then either had anticipated. They stood momentarily embarrassed, quiet with each other, the way only men can be.

  ‘So Matt, gonna invite me in or should I go round to the tradesmen’s entrance?’

  ‘Oh, sorry James, of course, come in come in.’ Which bought a few more seconds and hopefully, assuming the house had wallpaper and rooms inside, would create a whole new gamut of conversational opportunity before Dog in a Tuba had to come up.

  Matthew, like most people last seen in the 1980s, had swollen. In fact he was almost portly. He had held on to his healthy, thick reddish-brown hair but, seemingly because of some hair-retention pact with the devil, kept it in a style that made him look as though he had half a fox stapled to his head. He also wore a pair of John Lennon glasses.

  If the house had looked big from the outside, it was palatial inside. A large oak staircase, up which you could drive a tank, failed to dominate the marble floored hallway. High ceilings gave the impression of being in a tent, or small church, and whichever way you looked there lay the promise of expensive furniture or perhaps some fields. James could see into what he would have considered a living room, if it weren’t so bloody big; straight in front of him, albeit some way away, lay a half-open door into the kitchen. Before the kitchen there were three other doors off the hallway, probably a drawing room or a library or the indoor pool, he thought sulkily. He fixed his gaze on the kitchen: he could see movement and hear voices and he could smell food.

  ‘Darling, guess who’s come for dinner?’ shouted Matthew, adding quietly, ‘You will stay for dinner, won’t you?’

  ‘Well if it’s no trouble, Matt, that would be nice, I’ve been living on hospital food for a while.’

  ‘Oh dear, not been well?’

  ‘No no, a friend had a nasty accident—I’ve been keeping vigil, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, really sorry. Come in, come in, let’s have a drink eh?’

  James followed Matthew toward the kitchen; on the way he noticed that Matthew’s cords had turn-ups. He was unlikely to notice anything else about Matthew because, as he entered the kitchen, Alice turned to see who Matthew was bringing into her home.

  Alice, it occurred to James, had grown into just about the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. The Alice he remembered had sniffed a lot, had blonde straggly hair attached to a blotchy teenage face, with a little too much fat round the cheeks, although she had always had a nice arse and good tits, small and perfectly formed. She may have been tall, but appeared gangly; she may have been pretty, but appeared stoned. She tended to wear … jeans? He couldn’t remember what she wore, he only noticed her when she was naked or on the way to being naked.

  Now she looked as though modelling was an option, but one she considered beneath her. It was her skin he noticed first, it made everyone else look as though they were made out of cow. She looked soft, a bit Swedish, which was daft given she came from Cromer: her hair was golden, her eyes—which he
hadn’t ever looked at before—were green and shining. She looked like a goddess and he wanted to marry her.

  ‘Red or white, James?’ asked Matthew.

  I’ll have whatever she’s been drinking, thought James, and said, ‘Alice?’

  ‘James Buchan?’

  And, just for a moment, James thought she was going to throw her arms around him, like the long-lost love of her life he quite fancied being. Instead she said, ‘My, you’ve aged. What have you been doing with yourself?’

  ‘I’ve got older,’ he stammered. ‘It’s what happens. You look great, really good. How have you been?’

  ‘I’m well.’ She looked him up and down, showed not the remotest sign of feeling, and turned to a small, shiny man sitting at the kitchen table.

  ‘This is Adam Aldanack, our pastor. Adam, this is James Buchan, an old friend of Matthew’s. You may have heard of Adam; if you haven’t, there is every chance you will soon. He is a spiritual leader, a great man, and, we are pleased to say, our personal friend.’ Said with the rolling, soulless perfection of a chat show host.

  James turned to face the thin man in a grey-flecked jacket and black polo neck jumper. He had a hefty silver cross hanging around his neck, the sort of moustache that James hadn’t seen outside of a porn film since the early 1970s, and thick, swept-back, dyed black hair. Adam beamed enthusiastically; he must have been around fifty. James thought that he had the look of a man who had wanted to be one of the ‘Persuaders’ but had settled for religion instead. He stood up and offered James his hand.

  ‘Hello James,’ he said with the over-rehearsed warmth one might expect from someone about to sell you their god.

  ‘Hello,’ said James. ‘Is that an American accent?’

  ‘Well I was born here, but spent most of my life in the States, so something of an Anglo-American I guess. But it’s all just one big garden as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Red or white, James?’ asked Matthew again. ‘James has been spending a lot of time in hospital lately, he was telling me; a friend of his is unwell, isn’t that right, James?’

  ‘Well yes, car accident, pretty bad I’m afraid. This is the first time I’ve been away from there in days. I thought I needed to get away, the doctors said they’d call if there was any change, but you don’t like to leave just in case, you know.’ Everyone looked at James and he sighed. At that moment he actually believed what he was saying himself, so he assumed everyone else was bound to.

  Matthew handed James a glass of red. ‘I decided for you,’ he said. ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘Well, nothing in particular,’ he lied. ‘I was talking to Michael, he’s down with me, and he said you lived out here so I just thought I’d pop over.’

  ‘So you don’t want money then,’ said Alice, smiling thinly.

  James reddened.

  ‘Alice, please,’ mocked Matthew.

  ‘That, darlin’, is a little uncharitable,’ said Adam.

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry James, it was a bad joke, and you know what they can be like.’ Alice stared hard at James for a moment, before adding, ‘I really do apologise. But I’m sure this visit is not purely social. By the way, are you vegetarian?’

  ‘Good God, no.’

  ‘We are.’ She turned back to a large pot and started stirring, seemingly uninterested in what was happening behind her. James sat down at the large oak table and tried not to stare at her arse.

  ‘So, James, what have you been up to? How’s Michael? I saw him on the late show a few weeks ago; hasn’t he done well? I meant to give him a call to say well done,’ said Matthew.

  ‘He’s fine, still writing for that magazine,’ guessed James. ‘What about you—teaching, I hear?’

  ‘No, no not any more; I was, but when we won the lottery I moved on.’

  ‘Well, who wants to work, eh?’

  ‘Oh I don’t mind working, it’s just I found something else to work on.’

  ‘What’s that? Not music is it?’

  ‘No no no, although I dabble for fun, have a studio downstairs and mess around … but no, I work for Adam’s church.’

  ‘Oh, how nice,’ said James. ‘I’m a Buddhist myself.’

  ‘Really?’ said Adam earnestly. ‘What does that mean for you? I mean which God do you talk to?’

  ‘Er, the Buddhist one?’ offered James, relieved when Matthew and Adam laughed. ‘So are you a minister?’

  ‘Yes sir I am, the first minister of the Church of Three.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘First minister of the Church of Three.’

  ‘I don’t think I know that one.’

  ‘Well I expect you know it in your heart, you just haven’t met it yet,’ said the odd American. As he spoke he looked above James’s eyes, staring at the centre of his forehead, and he managed to smile, really smile with all of his teeth between each sentence.

  ‘And what do you do to help there, Matt?’

  ‘Whatever I can,’ said Matt.

  ‘So how do you know each other?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Went to school together,’ said Matthew.

  ‘And we were in a band together, I’m sure Matt’s told you: Dog in a Tuba?’

  ‘Oh yes, Matthew has told me, his rock-and-roll phase—damn fine, I love to rock myself.’ Adam drummed something out of time on the table and grinned

  Really, thought James, Pat Boone or Cliff bloody Richard. ‘Well funnily enough,’ he said, ‘that’s one of the reasons that brought me here, I’ve been wondering about getting the band back together … you know … unfinished business.’

  Without turning round Alice started laughing; she was annoying, James decided. Beautiful, eminently fuckable, but bloody annoying.

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘I thought you thought I was here for money,’ said James, trying to smile.

  ‘Same thing,’ she said reaching for her glass and holding it out to Matthew, without looking at him.

  ‘Why on earth would you want to get the band together again?’ asked Matthew, taking Alice’s glass and filling it for her.

  ‘Well I thought it would be fun, you know—see how we’d all grown up.’

  ‘Or not,’ offered Alice.

  James looked away. He knew she was being hostile, but he couldn’t quite decide if it was a hostility born of sexual tension, or outright contempt. Given the look on her face, the presence of her husband in the room, and the way he treated her when she was young and vulnerable, the odds favoured contempt, but you never know, right?

  ‘But we’re all in our forties. Who needs the hassle?’ said Matthew, who was at least smiling.

  ‘What hassle? Gary Guitar’s up for it …’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ snorted Alice.

  ‘No, I’ve spoken to him. And Bernie …’

  ‘And Michael?’

  ‘I haven’t mentioned it to him yet … not really.’

  ‘I would have thought he’d have been the first you spoke to,’ said Alice.

  ‘Well my friend, the one in hospital, is a friend of his too, it didn’t seem right just yet.’ As James spoke, it dawned on him that he had, on some level, been aware of how upset Michael had been about Julie. This sudden realisation may have given the other people in the room the impression that James was sad.

  Adam broke the silence. ‘I think it’s an interesting idea Jim—can I call you Jim? Yes sir. Imagine Matt, playing to a crowd again, quite a rush I’d imagine.’ Alice and Matt looked at each other and then looked at the minister. It became clear to James that while what he saw when he looked at Adam Aldanack was a refugee from a 1970’s detective show, they saw a man to be listened to, respected, and trusted.

  ‘Hey, how about playing for the church?’ said Adam loudly, jumping from his chair. ‘A fund raiser, or congregation gatherer.’

  Neither Alice nor Matt spoke.

  ‘Well, a couple of warm-up gigs might be good,’ said James enthusiastically, ‘before we went on the road with �
� you know, some of our peers. What kind of church is it?’

  ‘The Church of Three? It’s the church of the future son, the church of the future.’ Adam Aldanack glanced upward as he spoke, as if communing with at least one of his gods, and then he closed his eyes and nodded slowly to himself. In thanks, for being the one chosen to spread the word and from being transformed from the man who once sold vacuum cleaners for his brother-in-law in Arizona to the man who turned god into a committee.

  James stayed for dinner. He listened to Matt tell him about winning the lottery. ‘We didn’t even check the numbers, it wasn’t until the Sunday when we got back from church that I happened to flick on to teletext and … wow …’

  Matthew was perhaps one of the only people left on the planet who could say ‘wow’ and get away with it. What the hell Alice was doing with him was beyond James. She sniped through dinner, asking awkward questions about how James earned a living, and when he told her, she asked about the names of the bands he had produced. When he said that she wouldn’t have heard of any of them, she pointed out that she was younger than him and was therefore far more likely to be aware of emerging talent.

  ‘I never said they were talented,’ said James, ‘And I never said any of them got out of Norfolk.’

  Adam acted like he lived there. He watched James as he ate, which would have been annoying if James hadn’t been so hungry. James knew he was going to get a religious lecture at some point and he didn’t even care, so long as he could eat at the same time, but when it came it is fair to say it surprised him. It surprised him so much that it made him eat more slowly.

  The minister started by asking questions. Like, ‘Why are you a Buddhist?’ Fortunately he seemed prepared to answer them himself as James chewed. ‘Because you’re looking for something.’ And then he whispered: ‘And you, like so many others, are looking in the wrong place for the right thing, but doing it for good, good reasons.’