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far. Seriously, I went right back to the beginning. I rambled on and on and on…
    At some stage the lady had nodded to Goth girl and two mugs of delicious hot chocolate had appeared. (I’d completely forgotten about the takeaway tea that was getting colder by the minute.) And still I went on, spilling out all the stuff about not wanting to Dream the Dream, or be a plumber, how my parents had bought me an enormous tool bag for my birthday when I’d much rather have got a new football kit, how I was being stalked by a thuggy angel, about Thelma Potts and her fish-eye pies, and how I was supposed to stay close to her because something awful was going to happen tomorrow. Then, finally, quite suddenly, I just ran out of words, stopped, and sort of crumpled into a heap.
    The angel lady took my hand. I know that probably sounds wet, but it was lovely. She had really soft hands – pink, of course. She placed one on my forehead and I suddenly felt soothed, as though I’d off-loaded all my burdens on to someone else’s pink, fluffy shoulders.
    â€˜Have you got the feather?’ she asked softly.
    I had, though I’d no idea why. For some reason I’d tucked it down my right sock before we’d left the house.
    She held it lightly in her palm.
    â€˜Well, it’s genuine,’ she said firmly. ‘See the golden shimmer…’
    I couldn’t, to be honest. It looked just like a bog-standard bird feather to me.
    But the angel lady was mesmerised. ‘I’m afraid this means you must do as your angel says. Though I must say, I’m appalled at his approach.’
    â€˜What?’ I said, sitting bolt upright, my calm evaporating. ‘But I can’t really be an angel. And even if by some strange freakish thing I am, how am I supposed to save Thelma Potts, and from what? Honestly, if you knew her, you’d see what I mean. She doesn’t need protecting.’
    â€˜Sometimes the biggest giants need help from the smallest snails,’ the angel lady said with a sigh.
    I wasn’t altogether sure I liked being called a snail! But I was too polite to say anything.
    â€˜I know it’s all a bit of a shock,’ she said softly. ‘But there are angels all around us and not all of them are visitors from heaven. Some are people, just like you and me. Really, it’s an honour to be chosen to become someone’s guardian angel.’
    That didn’t make me feel better.
    â€˜Maybe Thelma plans to murder her ex-boyfriend tomorrow?’ said Goth girl. ‘And your mission is to stop her. Sort of save her soul.’

    I sighed. That was what I didn’t want to hear!
    â€˜So you think she wants to poison him with fish-eye pies?’
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ said the girl sternly. ‘It sounds more like black magic to me. If you take a closer look at all that stuff that was blocking the pie-shop drain, you’ll probably find its newts’ feet, fish eyes and pig hair. They’re the basic ingredients you need for witchcraft. Personally, I think Thelma’s been using the pie-shop kitchen to brew up a potion…’
    I couldn’t help but laugh. I sat there on the pink sofa, surrounded by angels and had a right good chortle. ‘My day just gets better and better,’ I grinned through gritted teeth. ‘Hocus-pocus pies! I’ve heard it all now.’
    â€˜Perhaps not witchcraft,’ said the angel lady soothingly. ‘Perhaps the girl is just trying to make a charm to win back her lost love. But whatever it is,’ she added. ‘I think she’s in trouble, and for some reason you’re the only one who can help her.’

Chapter 8
    I left soon afterwards. But not before Goth girl had tried to sell me a naff-looking pencil holder, and three packs of cherubic thank-you notes she said were on special offer.
    â€˜My aunt needs the cash,’ she said grumpily. ‘She spends so much time helping