Angel Grade (Wattys 2016)

4.Ghosts of the (human) past Pt.1

[Chris, unknown]

To this day, I can't forget the time I first discovered controlling people's emotions was not the only ability my indecisive father's blood bestowed on me. I was sat in the living room of my massive, currently empty house, drinking scotch and staring at the dead fireplace. Then, in a flash, the fireplace disappeared from my vision and was replaced by a foggy road.

She will be done doing groceries by now, on her way back from London. She will be in her little Skoda with the Beatles on full blast as she sings along. She's so happy. She is planning on coming home to cook me dinner and play house. She wants to light some candles, kindle the fire and make me sit in front of it with her, have a glass of fine wine. She yearns to kiss me with the combined passion of someone overcome with desire and the innocence of a girl unscarred by lovers lost. She can picture us together for a long time, can picture saving me from myself, helping me stop drinking and become a functional adult. Perhaps even go to university with her.

She will be looking distractedly at the road ahead of her, not paying much attention to the fog which hid the turns from view. She knows that road by heart now. She will be smiling, contemplating our live together. She'll reach into the glove compartment for her mobile, so that she can send me a cute text saying she's on her way. What she won't see is the sharp turn coming up ahead and the headlights right across from her. By the time she hears the screech of breaks from the other driver, it will be too late. The force of the impact will hit her from the side as she tries to swivel and avoid full frontal collision. She will die almost instantly, way before she hits the ghastly rocks on the side of the road. Her last thought will be of the dinner she never got to make and the guy she will never fix.

I downed the rest of the scotch in my glass before I got up to pick up the phone, already knowing what the police was calling me for.

Perhaps some broken people are not meant to be fixed.

[Luis, a few months ago]

[Int: Kitchen. Faded light streams from an elaborate chandelier. A woman with her back to the audience sobs. Enter a teenage boy].

BOY: Mother, what is the matter? Are you hurt?

WOMAN [still with her back to the boy]: Hush, Lui, don't get involved. It is not to do with you. He'll get upset if he hears you.

[Boy runs his fingers through his hair helplessly]

BOY: Do you seriously expect me to just sit back and watch him beat you to a pulp every night? [voice raising] I am not a child anymore, mother. I know what he's made of!

[Smashes a glass vase in the direction of a closed door]

WOMAN [turning around to reveal a growing bruise on her cheek and puffy eyes]: Behave yourself, Luis, we still live under his roof.

BOY [now shouting]: I don't care! I am not his property and neither are you, mother! Next time he raises a hand on you, he'll deal with me. I will crack his skull with one of his expensive swords and watch him bleed to death as I kick him across the gardens! I'll tear him to pieces and feed him to his own hounds! [shaking with wrath].

WOMAN [in a pleading voice]: Don't do this to yourself Lui! Don't poison your soul with hatred. It doesn't matter what he is, you are better than that!

[Door opens. Angry middle-aged man enters. Smacks boy across the face, rendering him unconscious, and drags woman by the hair to the back of stage. Fadeout].

Well I think it's safe to say I have never had to have a more awkward conversation in my life.

What is even worse is the fact that when I am done explaining, Vanessa is just sat there, looking at me blankly, one cheek crimson with the blood that still hasn't stopped flowing from the gash.

'I see. So his mum died years ago and now he is a sad little alcoholic who can't reign in his temper so he uses his past as an excuse. How is any of that my problem?'

I sigh. She is certainly a handful. I don't know her well enough just yet, but I can tell from her attitude towards people that she is either really thick-skinned or an incredibly good actress. And judging by the glare of pure annoyance that she is giving to the blank space where Chris was quarter of an hour ago, it is most likely the former.

I can help but be a little impressed with her balls, considering my broody friend with an alcohol affinity is three times the size of her and could break her with sheer physical force.

'Just don't get yourself killed before you've even been here a month, please, Ness.'

'Vanessa!' she corrects me sharply and goes to scowl, then winces.

I should probably offer to clean up her cut and bandage it in some way until her half-angel blood kicks in and heals it. The thing is, I can't quite bring myself to get closer to her. I tell myself it's because of the feline vibe that she has when she is angry. Then I laugh at myself. Because I know better than to pretend I am not terribly attracted to the redheaded minx sitting on top of my desk.

I swallow hard, hoping she doesn't notice my prolonged silence.

'So, are you gonna give me the medical kit, boss, or am I expected to bleed to death while you stare at me like you've just seen Father Christmas. And he is skinny. And mixed race. And a woman.'

This time I can't keep myself from laughing out loud before stepping around the desk to look at her cut.