An Unexpected Angel.

By Bob French

          Helen pulled her thin red cotton jacket around her body a little tighter and sighed as she tried to snuggle a little further back into the bus shelter on White Hart Lane on the outskirts of Chelmsford.  In the fading light of the day, she contemplated the past twenty four hours and felt annoyed with herself for the things she had yelled at her Dad before storming out. 

          The cold December wind was relentless as it gusted along the slowly darkening road, scattering dry leaves ahead of it; crackling like the flames in a fire. Suddenly a few sheets of newspaper fluttered into the shelter; the headlines, just visible in the fading light, told the country that hospital staff had gone on strike for better pay and conditions.

          She felt tired, dirty and the hunger pains in her stomach made her wince, but she was defiant that she would not apologise to that woman or go back home. The sound of an approaching bus made her sit up and eagerly step out onto the pavement and stare into the darkness of the countryside and the road that seemed to come from nowhere and go to nowhere.  It was then she felt the sting of the ice cold wind on her young face forcing her to stumble back quickly into the shadows of the bus shelter.  There was no bus. She was alone. No one loved or cared about her anymore. Time seemed endless as she stared out into the darkness from the shelter.  The lights of an approaching car illuminated the road briefly as it raced through the darkness toward her; the sound of Christmas carols playing loudly on its radio as it passed by; vanishing into the darkness, ‘probably someone going home to their family for Christmas’ she thought, then felt a warm tear trickle down the side of her dirty face.

          “I mustn’t get sentimental. It’s wasn’t my fault.” She said out loud as though defending her actions, then stamped her feet in a feeble attempt to try and keep warm.  As the cold crept into her frail young body she called out.  “A bus must come along soon,” and chanced another quickly look down the road into the darkness, but there was nothing, only the howling of the wind in the trees and the crackle of leaves.

          Back home in a smart four bedroom house just off Melbourne Avenue in Chelmsford, a plain faced policewoman sat cradling a lukewarm cup of tea. She had attended many runaway cases in the past and as she glanced discretely around the comfortable sitting room, with its photographs of Helen and her father; the Christmas decorations, and the roaring log fire her eyes came to rest on the worried looking woman who sat opposite her.

          “Please try not to worry Mrs Haversham, from our experience; we tend to…..”

          “Sorry… my name is Dorkins, Jayne Dorkins. Paul and I are not married yet.   That’s what caused Helen to run away I think.  She thought I was interfering in their life and would take the place of her mother.”  The Policewoman raised her eyebrows as though to ask a question. Jayne lowered her voice.

“She died of cancer about two and a half years ago and Helen has been Paul’s rock.”  The policewoman placed her cup and saucer down and picked up her notebook.

          “What kind of relationship do you have with Helen?”  Jayne stared into the fireplace, her mind hypnotised by the jumping flames and the crackling of the wood.

          “I’m not sure.  Helen’s a lovely child, well mannered, always smartly dressed.”  She stopped as though to think.  “Not a problem at all really.” The Policewoman leaned forward.

          “No, I mean how did you and Helen get on.  Did you ever go out shopping together, or help her with things around the house, attend any of her dancing competitions?  The policewoman quickly spotted the frown that crept across Jayne’s forehead.

          “Well, not really.  Helen is only fourteen you know.”  There was an unnecessary long pause.  The sarcastic tone of her reply told the policewoman all she wanted to know and went to stand up.  

          “Would it be alright if I could have a recent photograph of Helen so we can get on with the search?”  Jayne Dorking looked across at the mantelpiece and the photo of Helen holding the silver cup she had won at some dance competition a few months ago, then stood and picked it up and turned to face the policewoman.

          “It was a silly argument. I selfishly put my feeling over hers.  I just didn’t see that Helen, by caring for her father, was trying to fill the space left by his wife.  You see she…..” Her eyes had filled with tears as she stumbled into silence.

          “It’s alright Mrs Dorking, we’ll have her back in no time.”  The gentle hand of the policewoman on her arm didn’t help how she felt.  In the kitchen Paul Haversham stood at the sink, looking out over his back garden which had been ravaged by the bitter winter.  In his mind’s eye he saw him playing with Helen; rolling around on the grass; He could hear her laughter and feel the warmth of her young body as she threw her arms around him and hugged him.  He was her Dad and he loved her dearly. His thoughts were shattered by the policewoman who stuck her head around the door to say that she would be in touch. 

          In the background, he could hear Jayne crying in the sitting room and made a move towards the door.  The policewoman, realised she could do nothing more for the family, quietly let herself out of the front door.

           Helen’s body ached as she shivered and tried in vain again to get comfortable, but the cold had already bitten into her young body.  ‘Another cold night’ she thought as she fought back a tear.  She started to swing her arms and stamp around the shelter in an attempt to keep warm, then without thinking, she stepped out onto the pavement and into the road and the bitterly cold wind, and was suddenly spellbound as the light from the stars above caught her attention.  She slowly stepped back onto the pavement in amazement at the sheer wonder of the heavens.  As she allowed her eyes to wander slowly across the vastness of the evening sky, one star shone the brightest in the black velvet expanse and she wondered if it had a special name. ‘Could it be the star the three wise men followed’ she thought. 

          She must have stood there staring up at the night sky for a while before she became aware that her frail body had started to shiver uncontrollably.  Her head started to spin and she realised that the ground where she now lay was bitterly cold, yet she could still see the stars looking down upon her.  In the distant corner of her mind, she became aware of a light; a light that was growing in brightness until it blinded her. 

Helen attempted to move; to get up and run and hide back in the bus shelter, but her limbs felt numb and heavy; she felt that her body coordination was not responding to the demands of her mind and her head thumped and ached.  Everything was so bitterly cold.  She tried to call out for her Dad, but the words would not come.

          In the wilderness of her mind, she felt a powerful presence approaching her and slowly opened her eyes to see a figure descending toward her from the stars above.  A strange light silhouetted the figure which had long hair and wore what looked like a long gown and above its head, a halo.  Helen felt her mind drift slowly back into oblivion as she tried desperately to recognise the figure.  Then it came to her and inwardly she smiled.  ‘The angels have come for me; they are going to take me to where my Mum is,’ she thought.

          The soft voice that gently spoke to her seemed to echo but Helen’s mind could not grasp what it was saying, but it sounded kind and she realised that she was in safe hands.  Then she grinned as she felt herself drifting through the cold air, flying towards heaven to where her Mum was waiting.  That was the last thing she remembered before falling into a deep cold empty void of darkness.

          Every night since his daughter had run away, Paul had the same nightmare; he was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, staring down at the angelic and gentle face of his lovely daughter trying to say how sorry he was.  His eyes darted from the pipes and wires that came out of her to the numerous machines that flashed information to the nurse who sat in the corner of the room.  Then he heard a whine from one of the machines and noticed that it seemed to falter, then the waving light became a straight line.  The nurse pressed a red button on the wall then brushed past him, but he knew that he had lost her, his beautiful and lovely daughter.  She was gone.

           Christmas Day was a silent windless winter wonderland where only the footprints of the early morning dog walkers spoilt the white canvas that covered the ground.  In the warmth of neighbouring houses, screams of joy could be heard from young children as they ripped open their presents and laughter from relations who had braved the snow to be together at this special time of the year.  But in the Haversham household, there was no Christmas tree or lights, no blazing fire and no Christmas carols or the spirit of goodwill to all.  Paul and Jayne sat in the semi-darkness of the early morning, staring into the cinders of last night’s fire.  Their lives would never be the same again.

          It was ten o’clock before either of them moved and as Paul stood to go and make a cup of tea, he caught sight of a police car pulling up outside the house. His mind started to race and he gave a short scream as he felt himself start to panic. ‘They’ve found her body.  Oh God no, not today, please God, not today.’ He thought. Jayne heard his scream and came rushing into the kitchen and when she saw the policewoman walking slowly towards their front door, she sank to her knees and started to cry.

          It took some time before Paul could collect himself and open the front door.  The strained face of the policewoman said it all and as she followed him into the darkened sitting-room he turned.

          “Have you found her officer?”  His voice was tired and subdued. The policewoman nodded silently.

          “This morning Sir.  She was found…” Paul interrupted her and in a sobbing voice yelled at her.

          “No, please.  Spare us the details.  Oh God, my poor Helen.” Then turned his back on her and went and stood in front of the partially drawn curtains of the front window.  The policewoman waited until he had brought himself under control, then approached him.

          “What I was trying to say, Sir, was that she was found by a Doctor Jenkins four days ago.  Doctor Jenkins was on his way to a nativity play when he found her.  She was very near death and as the hospitals were on strike, he took her into his private clinic to treat her. It would appear that she spent most of her time in the Intensive Care Unit and it wasn’t until last night that your daughter regained consciousness and was able to give us her name and where she lived.  I have spoken to Doctor Jenkins who tells me that she’s fine and will be home in the next week or so. You can visit her if you wish.  Here’s the telephone number to call to arrange your visit.

 

Copyright Bob French