Angel 65 (old friends)

Church was off on the sick, the uniformed prison officer standing-in for her, a sour-faced, older woman stuck her head in the door. ‘You’ve visitors,’ she declared and stomped away and down the stairs.

Tony stood, wrong-footed, on the doorstep with a posy of sweet smelling greenery,  lilies and gladioli in his hand. Bruno behind him fingered a white envelope.

The closed blinds made the room dull and stuffy even though it was bright and sunny outside. Angel, still in loose fitting pyjamas even though it was past dinner time, leaned sideways, almost falling against the couch, and angled her head to see who it was. 

Tony had a worried expression on his face, as if he’d done something wrong. Flowers held out as a shield as he stumbled into the room.

‘I didn’t know whit to get.’ Tony glanced at Angel, but his face brightened when he spotted Adam crawling towards him and away from the couch stacked with bright children’s clothes.  He scooped Adam up into his arms and waited for him to start wailing, but he settled into the elevated position and looked about the cluttered room then fixed him with a toddler’s unblinking gaze.

‘I brought you a card.’ Bruno produced it, but held back. His gesture lacked his habitual flourish, a behavioural stutter as if not sure whether to put it on the mantelpiece or hand it to Angel and did neither. ‘Whit you doing?’ He frowned at the clutter.  

‘Whit does it look like I’d doing?’ shrieked Angel. She clutched what looked like an armful of her washing: bra, metal hooks tangled with a pink romper suit from the floor and flung it towards him. It landed, a damp squib, on the arm of the sofa, among her other togs. ‘I’m tidying up. Can you get boxes or black bags or something to put them in?’

Bruno glanced at Tony. Adam wriggled, girned and whined, he held his arms hands out to be lifted and comforted by his mum. Tony stepped around the mess on the floor, depositing the threshing arms and legs in a romper suit into Angel’s waiting arms. He eyed the mantelpiece and put his posy beside the fistful of white cards congregating around the clock.

Angel used the couch to stand up, clutching Adam. She swept the cards from the mantelpiece and onto the floor, picked up the posy and flung it onto the couch, where it nestled between, a bottle of folic acid tablets, stretchmark ointment, a pink sunhat with the picture of a stork on it and white bootees. Pink wellies, mittens and gloves.  A few books about babies with well dressed, smiling mothers, on the cover. She held out her hand and Bruno handed her the card and she added that to the pile on the couch. ‘That’s Lisa’s stuff, stuff I really need to get rid of. I want it out of here noo.’

She nodded towards the double buggy, parked at the door, the rain hood sticking out of corduroy compartment for storing luggage and shopping . ‘And I need to get rid of that.’

‘Mama,’ Adam whisperd and a smile swirled about his face. ‘Mama, Mama, Mama.’

Angel’s body shook and she clutched him as she sniffed and choked, tears running down her face. Adam howled in fright and she did too.

Tony shifted his feet, rubbed his face and half turned. ‘Maybe we should get somebody,’ he said to Bruno. ‘I don’t know whit to dae here.’

Bruno sighed. ‘Neither dae I.’

‘I don’t know why this happened,’ Angel’s voice rose. ‘Why me? Why Lisa? I didnae do anything wrang?’

Bruno brushed past Tony, crouched down, took her hand and stroked her arm. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong sweetie. You were a great mum.’ He stroked Adam’s hair. ‘I mean, you ur a great mum.’ He tried to hold back the tears, but leaned in and sobbed into her necks, so she was holding Adam and also had his squarish head tucked into the side of her tilted face.

Tony rubbed at his eyes, with the knuckles of his hand. He looked towards the door, turning his wan face away. Pretending he wasn’t crying too. ‘I’ll go and get somebody.’

‘Get who?’ Bruno speaks in a surprisingly well-modulated voice. ‘Sit doon there, yah big Jessie and shut up.’

Tony slumped onto the couch, sitting on top of the sleeve of one of Lisa’s favourite T-shirts and a maternity book. He leaned across and patted Angel’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, I’m no much good at this…When I lost my Ma…When I lost my Da…I never thought,’ he sobbed, falling into her, falling into them.

‘I know, I know,’ she shushed him.

‘Then there’s the funeral,’ he said. ‘The fuckin funeral. We need to book it. Yer babies deid and we need to book a fuckin funeral. Fuck off.’

‘Aye,’ she kneaded the back of his neck. Ashamed that she thought he looked good in cut down denims and red, cap-sleeved, T-shirt and he smelled manly, of sweat. ‘We dae.’

‘Whit about yer mum?’ asked Bruno. He’d shifted sideway. Kneeling and when that became too uncomfortable standing. ‘How come she’s no up, visiting?’

‘I never told her,’ Angel squinted at him and there was an iciness in her tone. ‘She never phoned me for about a month. Probably out of wan of her benders…And let’s face it, she didnae want me. She was forever telling me how huving me destroyed her life. So I don’t think she’d be that concerned about her granddaughter, do you?’

Adam was almost sleeping; he looked up at the glow of his mum’s bright hair and Angel snatched up a pink dummy from the couch and stuck it in his mouth. Tony shifted along and she lay him down between them, patting his stomach.

Tony shook his head. ‘You cannae dae that.’ He took a few seconds to think what he was going to say. ‘You’ve got to gie her her place. Remember my Da, he liked a good bucket, especially when my Ma died.’ He looked across at Angel. ‘But he pulled things together.’ He pressed his lips together and nodded, waiting for her to nod back. ‘And remember how he loved you. He used to think the sun shone oot of your arse…I was a wee bit jealous, I must admit.’

Angel looked down at Adam sleeping and she held his bird-like wrist, veins blue and fragile. ‘I don’t really remember him…I wiz too young.’

‘Remember when he battered Jaz?’ There was an element of pride in Tony’s voice. ‘Knocked him plum oot and that scummy pal of his ran away.’

Bruno perched on the arm of the couch, his arm flung over the back Angel’s head. ‘Whit about Pizza Face? Does he know?’

Angel shook her head.

‘Shit,’ said Tony. ‘He’s the da of your wain, he’s got a right to know.’

‘He was nae father to Lisa,’ said Angel. ‘He didnae ever know her.’

‘Fair point,’ said Bruno, ‘ but still…’

‘…Still nothing’

‘I could tell ‘im?’ said Tony.

‘Suit yerself,’ Angel sighed and stood up. She lifted Adam up and dipped her shoulder as she passed Bruno and put her sleeping baby into the cot.  ‘Just get us some bags so we can get this stuff oot of her