Billy Angel by Sam Hay Page B

slightest. Now, please go away.’
    I dived under the duvet and held my breath.
    But he didn’t go away.
    Suddenly, I felt a pointy finger poking my head through the covers.
    â€˜Look, squirt,’ he growled. ‘I haven’t got all night. I’ve no idea what you’re wittering on about, but I’m here with a message, so stop messing around and listen.’
    Reluctantly, I peeped out. He was standing right next to my bed. ‘You’re too bright,’ I said, squinting in the light, ‘and you smell funny.’

    But he didn’t smell of plumbing putty. It was something much fouler, like burnt anchovies or grilled-sardine sandwiches.
    He frowned. Then suddenly he dulled down a little, like a TV that had just had its brightness adjusted. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘The thing is, you’ve been chosen. Your destiny is mapped out. You are to become…’
    I clasped my hands over my ears. ‘I DON’T WANT TO BE A PLUMBER!’ I yelled.
    â€˜â€¦an angel,’ he said firmly.
    â€˜A
what
?’ I hadn’t heard him. But somehow I knew he hadn’t said plumber.
    â€˜An angel!’ he growled impatiently.
    The first thing I thought was: YES! No blocked bogs for me. But then I realised what he’d actually said.
    An
angel
?
    â€˜Don’t worry; you’re not dead or nothing. Not yet, anyway…’ he chortled to himself.
    I noticed he was missing a few teeth.
    â€˜I can’t be an angel,’ I squeaked. I thought of all the angels I knew. There was the plastic one we stuck on our Christmas tree each year. She wore a pink, frilly dress and had golden,curly hair. I looked nothing like her. Thank God. And then there were the ones in the school nativity play. Always girls. Always
sappy
girls, with sappy wings. Lads were
never
angels.
    â€˜Angels are just for girls,’ I said.
    He glared at me. ‘No, they aren’t.’
    I suddenly noticed he had two rather large, white, feathery things stuck to his shoulders.
    Wings?
    Angel
wings?
    I’d clearly put my foot in it, which probably meant I was about to get a bashing from an oversized budgie.
    But he didn’t bash me. He just scowled, and then I realised he was counting to ten.
    I held my breath in case he was still cross when he got to the end.
    But he wasn’t.
    When he stopped counting, he took a deep breath. ‘You are to be a guardian angel on Earth and your job is to protect people.’
    â€˜Protect them from what?’ I had a vision of pushing people out of the way of fast moving cars or falling pianos…
    â€˜Themselves, usually,’ said the heavenly hoodie, glumly.
    â€˜But aren’t guardian angels supposed to appear from heaven?’ I spluttered. ‘I mean, in all the movies, they aren’t real people, they’re, well, sort of dead ones with wings. A bit like you, I suppose.’
    â€˜There’s a shortage in heaven,’ said the bloke. ‘They’ve already scraped the bottom of the barrel up there.’
    Charming.
    â€˜Now listen. Your first mission is to protect a girl called Thelma Potts.’
    Thelma Potts… The name hung in the air like the pong from a particularly whiffy loo. I knew her from school. Her family owned Potts Pies – a shop selling 300 different varieties of pie. She looked like an upside-down triangle, with a spew of brown, frizzy hair that stuck out everywhere. She was five years older than me, and 500 times bigger. She was the town Judo champ.
And
she had four big brothers who all resembled Great Apes. Thelma Potts was the
last
person who needed protecting.

    I gulped. And I tried to protest, but the big bloke wasn’t listening.
    â€˜You are to protect Thelma from her dark side.’
    â€˜
What
?’ I squeaked. ‘What are you
talking
about?’
    â€˜Thelma Potts is in danger. Your mission is to stay close to her, and