Free Flights of Angels by Victoria Connelly

crust has flaked down the front of her jumper? It was little things like this that you remembered when somebody was no longer there.
    Turning away from the window, Claudie headed down the street, bending her head low against the icy wind. Where were her angels when she needed them? Could she call them now for a bit of company? She knew she’d said she wanted to have them at work, but did that preclude them from everywhere else?
    She wondered what would happen if she called them.
    ‘Jalisa?’ she half-whispered into the night. ‘Are you there?’
    There was no response, so Claudie quickened her pace and headed home.

Chapter 9
     
    As Claudie gazed out of the train window, she thought that the last week had probably been the strangest in her life. Bar one.
    Friday had come round so quickly, and it was time for her weekly session in York. But did she have the nerve to tell Dr Lynton about the weird and wonderful things which had been going on on her desk at work? Could she tell him about Jalisa, Lily and Mary, Bert and Mr Woo? Did she have the nerve to say that there were five mad angels occupying her workstation? Would he believe her, or would he call for the men in white coats straight away?
    Perhaps, she thought optimistically, his other clients had experienced something similar? For all she knew, it could be a very common phenomenon. There might even be group meetings: Angels Anonymous. Hmm, she thought, perhaps not.
    But surely she wasn’t the only one to be visited? Jalisa had said that there was a whole army of angels, ready and waiting to be despatched into flights as soon as they were needed, and Claudie was beginning to wonder how on earth she’d coped before their arrival.
    On Wednesday morning, despite just one glass of wine at the restaurant, Claudie had awoken feeling as if King Kong had been jumping up and down on her head. She’d wandered into the office like a zombie and had been greeted by much laughter from the flight.
    ‘I thought you were meant to look after me,’ she’d complained bitterly.
    ‘But you must still look after yourself!’ Bert chided. ‘I don’t know. If you drink like a fish-’
    ‘But I didn’t!’ Claudie complained. ‘I wouldn’t care if I had, but I was very restrained.’
    ‘You should have taken the day off,’ Mary said.
    ‘My head feels like a cannonball.’
    ‘Goodness me!’ Jalisa giggled again. ‘’Fraid that’s not my department. But Mr Woo’s probably got a solution for you. Mr Woo?’ Jalisa called, and he walked out from behind the pile of files Mr Bartholomew had left on her desk.
    ‘Here, Claudie,’ Mr Woo said shyly, head bent so that he hardly looked at her. ‘Take with little water.’
    ‘What are they?’
    ‘Will taste bitter but very good for headache.’
    Claudie took the little brown packet from him and peeped inside. The contents looked like fragments of burnt paper. ‘What on earth is it?’
    ‘You’re probably best not knowing,’ Jalisa pointed out.
    ‘No! Don’t ever ask when Mr Woo gives out medicine. It’s probably worse than the stuff we used to use in the sixteenth century,’ Mary said.
    Claudie had taken it and, as promised, almost spat it out at the first taste. But it had worked miraculously quickly. She’d thought of asking for some for Kristen, who’d looked decidedly ropy that morning but, she supposed, Jalisa wouldn’t allow that.
    Then there’d been Bert’s show. Ever since the angels had arrived, Bert had gone on about putting on a show.
    ‘We not entertaining troops now, stinky bird egg!’ Mr Woo had said.
    ‘No, we’re entertaining Claudie ,’ Bert had said graciously, ‘a far more important audience.’
    So, somewhere between Claudie’s Rolodex and in tray, Bert had organised a rehearsal. Claudie had been told not to watch but it was rather hard to ignore five little angels singing, dancing and ordering each other around, and it was far more entertaining than Mr Bartholomew’s amendments to the