Free Winging It by Annie Dalton

humans were barging right through us as if we were thin air. I told myself it wasn’t personal. I’d probably walked through a few angels myself in my time.
    But when we reached the platform, I almost bolted straight back up to the street. It was like the entire neighbourhood had come to spend the night in the tube. The air stank of underground trains and stale smoke, plus that sour pong of people who could use a really good wash. Friends, relations and total strangers all squashed together like factory chickens, cracking jokes and eating sandwiches, even knitting, as calmly as if they were in their own living rooms.
    The younger children were mostly tucked up, fast asleep, unaware of the planes droning overhead. Except one tiny kid who couldn’t stop coughing. His cheeks were hot and red and he was getting really upset.
    “Hey, short stuff!” Lola said softly. “Would you like me to fix that mean old cough?”
    The little boy’s eyes opened wide. He stretched out his arms, smiling.
    “He can see her!” I breathed.
    “Of course he can!” said Orlando. “Toddlers are smarter than grown-ups.”
    There was a huge explosion overhead. I squeaked with fright.
    “Don’t tell me the Agency’s sending babies now!” said a clipped British voice. “Enjoying the pretty fireworks, darlings?”
    Orlando grinned. “Hiya Celia! How’s it going?
    For the first time I realised that the tube station was full of Earth angels, all wearing elegant 1940s clothes.
    “Splendidly, thanks,” Celia was saying. “Luckily you’ve come on a quiet night. Absolutely no sign of You Know Who!”
    And she and Orlando launched into one of those advanced angel conversations which I totally couldn’t follow.
    “So what are we supposed to do, exactly?” I asked Amber.
    She looked surprised. “Just be yourself, of course.”
    But Celia’s glamorous army made me feel totally inadequate. I felt like some sad girl who was only pretending to be an angel. I looked around for Lola who was still cooing to her toddler.
    I can’t do this , I panicked. I shouldn’t have come .
    Then I saw Molly.
    She couldn’t have been more than six years old, but she had the wisest eyes I’ve ever seen on a human being. The other kids were all in big family groups. Molly was just with her mother. Her mum was really young and full of beans, more like a big sister really - kidding around and pulling her daughter’s pixie hood over her eyes.
    “I want you to tell me a story,” Molly kept saying.
    “Slave driver,” sighed her mum. She put on a posh voice. “All right, which story does Modom require?”
    Molly’s mum was a wicked storyteller. Her version of The Princess and the Pea was a hoot.
    With a brilliant flash of inspiration, I saw how I could make myself useful. I crept up really close to Molly and her mum, linked myself up with my power supply and began radiating lovely vibes.
    Other kids began to edge closer. Soon Molly’s mum had a crowd of spellbound children lapping up every word. I decided I could get seriously hooked on being an angel. Between us, we’d created this charmed circle, and suddenly everyone was desperate to be inside it.
    All at once, the ground shook as there was another super-massive explosion overhead. You could see people shudder, wondering if it was their street, their house, which had caught the blast. Without missing a beat, Molly’s mum carried right on describing how the old queen made up the bed with twenty quilts and twenty feather beds. Somehow she kept all the kids, and some of the adults, listening, and she didn’t stop until she reached the part where everyone got to live happily ever after.
    “Go on, missus,” said one of the older kids wistfully. “Tell us another.”
    Ah, this is SO sweet , I thought. Then I almost jumped out of my skin. Scary Celia was standing right next to me!
    “Well done, dear,” she was saying crisply. “When humans and divine personnel work together, that’s when miracles