A MILLION ANGELS Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mum.
    â€œCarry?” he whispers.
    â€œI can’t manage you, darling,” she says. “Not in this state. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œBut my legs won’t work,” he cries. “I need a caaaarrrrryyy!”
    Mum sighs. She rubs her enormous belly and looks at me.
    â€œCan you manage him for me, Mima, sweetheart? He’s so upset. I can’t do it and Granny clearly can’t. I don’t know what’s got into her today. It’s like she’s been transported to another world. I hope she’s not going to go all Alzheimer-ish on us. That’s all I need!”
    I know what’s wrong with Granny and it’s not Alzheimer’s, it’s Derekheimer’s, and no one knows but me that she’s hiding the photo of him in her bra. I don’tsay anything about it to Mum. It’s Granny’s secret. And mine. I pull Milo into my arms, heave him up on my hip and whisper into his ear.
    â€œI’m thinking hard, Milo,” I say. “I’m planning a Bring Dad Home mission and I promise you he’ll be home soon!”
    â€œCome on,” says Mum. “Let’s get some lunch, shall we? We’re all just hungry and tired and overwrought.”
    She rests her hand on my back and rubs soft warm circles.
    â€œI know it’s hard, Mima,” she whispers. “I don’t really feel like being here either, but we have to go. We have to keep up appearances. For Dad. And sometimes the support of everyone helps, you know, because we’re all going through the same thing.”
    She tucks a curl behind my ear.
    â€œLike Granny says, chin up!” she laughs, guiding us in. “Chin up, and remember to be polite.”
    While Mum greets everyone with her fake smile and chats about when the Bean’s due and how bad her backache is and how hard it is for her to sleep, Milo and I are forced to stand next to her and smile. Red puckered kisses land on our cheeks like planes. Perfumechokes us like fire. I wish I were brave enough to stand on a chair and make an announcement. THEY ALL MIGHT DIE! I want to say. THEY SHOULD BE HOME HERE, WITH US, EATING ROAST BEEF! HAVEN’T YOU NOTICED THAT THEY’VE GONE?
    My dad and the other soldiers have barely even said goodbye and it feels like everyone but me has already bleached them away. Everyone is chattering and laughing like normal. The gaps at the tables where they should be sitting are filled with bright fake laughter that’s shrieking through the air and shattering it like glass. I wish I were young like Milo. I wish I could stand up and have a tantrum and say, I WAAAANNNTTTT MY DAAAAADDD! I’d love to see the look on everyone’s faces if I did and if I were brave enough, I would. I promise you. I’d open my mouth and let the words tumble right out.
    I try. I open my mouth wide.
    Hoping.
    But the sounds just jumble and crash in my throat.
    My dad is probably still on his plane and I wonder what he’s having for his lunch. He’s up there somewherein the storm clouds. On his way to Afghanistan. I know he’ll be waiting until it’s dark. Until it’s time to put his helmet and body armour on and for the lights to black out so the plane can dive towards the ground, unseen. Until the heavy desert smells and heat rise and swallow him up him for six whole months.
    I’ve seen it happen in some of Dad’s films. I shouldn’t really, but I sneak them from the shelf sometimes and watch them on my laptop, under my covers, at night. In one of them all the soldiers rushed off the plane with their guns poking out from under their arms. Their heads twitched around, looking for danger and then piiiaaaooooww, like Milo does, the guns started shooting and bodies were everywhere, flying through the air.
    I can’t believe that all this might be happening to my dad while we’re here waiting for lunch. It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem right.
    I pick at