Entertaining Angels




Angel

 
On Christmas Eve, James stepped out of his detached bungalow and double-locked the front door behind him. One couldn't be too careful, especially during the festive season. He almost took the Porsche - it was gratifying to note the envious glances - but decided against it. The roads would be grid-locked and he would make faster progress on foot. He detested wasting petrol. Smiling, he surveyed his property. The smile waned as he noticed an empty bottle which had dared to sully his pristine lawn. He tutted as he picked it up gingerly and, having binned it, he set off towards the shops.

James was looking forward to a Christmas of sedate and measured enjoyment. He had ringed the programmes he intended to watch on his state-of-the-art TV. That evening, his friends Charles and Veronica would come for a drink. Their friendship, although long-standing, had never really progressed to any degree of closeness. Conversation consisted mainly of comparing home improvements. All three had worked in the same accountancy firm since university. All three had a keen sense of their role as respectable citizens.

Turning a corner, James passed the dilapidated mid-terraced house belonging to his brother, Rick. The broken gate swung in the wintry breeze and the front garden contained an assortment of bikes. James tutted again. Rick had lived in the same house for twenty-five years, with his loud family and a collection of friends who were always dropping in. James rarely dropped in and Rick's visits to James were strictly rationed for fear that the teenagers might dirty or damage something. Rick was going to be fifty on New Year's Eve and had had the temerity to suggest a party at James' house in honour of the occasion. "We'll get the food and drink, of course, Jim. It's just that you've got so much more space for a party." Stung by James' frosty refusal, Rick had added bitterly "It's not like you ever use all the space you've got." The subject had been dropped.

James reached the shops. Having selected two bottles of good, but not overpriced, wine, James left the supermarket and crossed the town square. He ignored the collection boxes rattled by the carol-singers. He never gave to people on the street. He ignored the crazy old bag-lady who handed out religious cards outside the Angel Pub. Such people were not to be encouraged. A group of street performers caught his attention. There were three of them - four if you counted the dog - two men and a girl dressed in eccentric clothing, juggling, somersaulting and playing the violin. They had attracted a crowd and their collecting tin was rapidly filling with coins. James paused to watch the violin player who capered around, fingers moving like quicksilver over the strings. The dog capered after him, to the delight of the watching children. James was enthralled in spite of himself. Time passed until, checking his watch with a sudden start, he realised he had spent forty-five minutes watching the entertainers.

Turning to go, James lost his balance. He felt searing pain as his ankle twisted and he collapsed in a heap, almost dropping the wine. The crowd parted and several people offered him a hand. One of them was the violin player who asked in a cheery voice "Need a hand, mate?" James shook his head. "I'm afraid I've twisted my ankle. I'll have get a cab home." "You'll be lucky on Christmas Eve", said a second voice. This time it was the girl juggler, all piercings, tattoos and spiky black hair. " But we could take you home, if you like. Where do you live?" James was by no means certain he wanted to entrust himself to this motley crew but the shops were closing and he did need to get home. The pain in his ankle made him feel a little faint. He would have to call Charles and Veronica and put them off.

The violin player, who introduced himself as Mick, called to his somersaulting friend Raffi to help him lift James to his feet. The tattooed girl, named Ange, took charge of the dog, the violin and the collecting tin. Together, they helped James to a battered minibus. Ange swept a pile of magazines from the passenger seat and they hoisted James into it. Mick took the driver's seat and the others climbed into the back. The engine spluttered into life and they chugged off towards James' home.

"Nice place you've got", said Mick as they pulled up in the driveway, missing the Porsche by inches. James let out the breath he had been holding and said "Yes". Recovering his manners, he added "You've been very kind. I don't know how to repay you." Expecting polite protestations of "Don't mention it", he was astounded when Mick said breezily "Well, a drink wouldn't go amiss. Something to eat would be even better". Without quite knowing how, James found himself fumbling for the door-key and letting three outlandish-looking strangers and a dog into his cherished house. Ange looked round the living room, taking in the tasteful decor. She twirled. "Lovely room for a party", she said. Raffi did a cartwheel. "Oh, mind the Waterford crystal", began James. He took an involuntary step forwards until a twinge recalled his injury and he sank into a chair. "Don't fret, Jim", said Mick. "You sit there and we'll find something to eat and drink. Very nice of you to invite us in, I'm sure." "But.." said James to Mick's retreating back. Things were starting to seem a little unreal.

Ange seated herself at the corner desk and began folding pieces of James' best white paper. After a few deft snips with the scissors, she unfolded strings of cut-out angels which she proceeded to arrange on James' Christmas tree. "That's better", she said, surveying her handiwork. "You can never have too many angels." "I don't believe in angels", said James. "Really?", asked Raffi, looking genuinely surprised. "What do you believe in, Jim?" James began to say that he believed in order, good manners and people behaving properly in other people's houses but, just then, Mick re-appeared with a tray of James' best glasses and two bottles of his best wine, bought as a retirement investment. Mick had also discovered the Fortnum and Mason mince pies which had been purchased to impress Charles and Veronica. James opened his mouth again but nobody was listening. Raffi was pouring wine, Ange was dispensing mince pies and Mick was playing "We wish you a merry Christmas" on the violin, dancing around the room with the dog in joyous, tail-wagging pursuit. A glass of ruby wine was pushed into James' hand. "Happy Christmas, Jim", said Raffi. James took a sip, then another. It really was very good wine. He wondered briefly why he hadn't opened it before, then remembered his retirement investment. Still, it didn't hurt to open a bottle or two. He drank deeply.

Raffi and Ange clinked glasses. "Cheers!" Raffi started singing "We three kings" and James found himself joining in. Ange refilled his glass and he felt the wine taking effect. "So, what's it like", he asked Mick when the singing stopped, "being street performers?" "Oh, we don't do that all the time," said Mick. "We just felt like having fun today, as it's Christmas. Mostly, we hang around in different places, looking out for people." "Looking out for people?", repeated James, bemused. "You mean, like store detectives?" The three laughed heartily. "No", said Mick. "I mean looking out for people who need help. Like you." "Me?", said James. "You mean, because I hurt my ankle?" "Oh no", said Mick, "I mean because you need a lesson in living." Before James could protest, Ange continued. "Here you are in a beautiful house which you hardly use yourself and rarely open to anybody else. You have wine you never taste. You never take a risk, you never allow anything to take you by surprise." "But", faltered James, "I was only being careful. Life's hard, you know. You have to take care of yourself. You have to plan for the future." His voice trailed away. "Sure, Jim", said Raffi gently, "but when do you get to live? You're so busy being careful, you're missing your own life. If you never take a risk, you'll be safe, but you'll never be surprised or delighted. Now, your brother - he knows how to live..." "How do you know my brother?" gasped James, outraged at the audacity of these down-and-outs and incredulous that they knew so much about him. "You get to know lots of things on the streets", said Mick.

The doorbell rang and James realised he had forgotten to call Charles and Veronica. Ange flung open the front door and beamed at the couple, who took a step backwards at the sight of her multiple piercings. Ange explained that James was incapacitated but they were welcome anyway. Charles and Veronica were surprised to see that James and his strange new friends had already emptied three bottles of wine before 6pm. They noticed James was smiling more than usual and was clearly the worse (or the better) for drink. A couple of glasses later and Charles and Veronica were laughing uproariously at Mick's jokes. Veronica's hair had come loose from her chignon and Charles had removed his tie. James was deep in conversation with Ange about the merits of piercing when the doorbell rang again and Raffi let in James' brother Rick with his wife Sheila and four teenagers. After his initial astonishment, Rick handed James a bottle of champagne. "I hope you don't mind us popping in", he said. "I didn't want us to be on bad terms at Christmas-time. Forget I ever mentioned the party." James was touched by the gesture. Mick greeted Rick like an old friend and soon everyone was laughing and talking. They played charades, made paper angels until the paper ran out, ate, drank and told stories until the clock struck midnight. Charles and Veronica said they really must go and staggered off into the night calling "Merry Christmas" over their shoulders. Rick hugged James. "Thanks for a great evening", he said. Even the teenagers gave Uncle James a smiling thank you as they filed out. In the quiet, Mick played "Silent Night" and James found his eyes closing.

He awoke to Christmas morning and a chaos of bottles, glasses and crumbs on the carpet. No sign of Mick and friends - the minibus had gone - but a card propped against the overflowing collecting tin said "Thanks for a great evening. Happy Christmas, Jim. Live a little." James smiled in spite of his hangover and, for once, left the chaos and went outside to sample the sunshine. His ankle still ached but he could walk if he rested occasionally.

He was resting on a bench when he saw the crazy old bag-lady approaching. She stopped, delved deep into her moth-eaten bag and ceremoniously handed him a card. James thanked her and, on impulse, he fished in his pocket and handed her a five-pound note. "Here", he said, "Happy Christmas!" "So what if she drinks it away", thought James. "It's Christmas." He glanced down at the card she had given him. It was a prayer-card, no doubt filched from a nearby church, and it read "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." James shook his head - he didn't believe in angels - but he had found that welcoming strangers, opening himself up to the unexpected, had made him feel more alive than he had in years.

Back home again, James picked up the 'phone. His brother could hardly make himself heard above his noisy household but he greeted James warmly and James felt it was good to have family. "Hi Rick", he said "When can we get together to discuss your New Year's party?"