Laura Cassidy - Angel Kiss

There was an emergency at the house, something to do with pipes, so Mum couldn’t go with me to the clinic. I was secretly pleased about it as I could do without her fretting. I was still very creeped out by what had happened in the garden last night, but I tried not to think about it. I sat on the stone wall beside the bus stop, listening to Paramore on my iPod. The bus was late and my headache was still painful. My left eye throbbed as though it had a pulse of its own. I turned up the volume and tried to drown out the pain by concentrating on the words of the song. That helped whenever I was angry or nervous or frustrated. It was comforting to know that other people have similar problems, similar fears, similar desires. Sometimes it isn’t comforting at all though. After I broke up with Cian I couldn’t listen to any songs that mentioned love for at least a month. That rules out a lot of songs, trust me.

I heard my phone beep. It was a text from Ross.

Hey! I’m just in Temple Bar, waiting for Hannah. How are you? Miss ya.

I immediately felt jealous. We used to spend most Thursday mornings during summer sitting on the steps in Temple Bar Square, waiting for Hannah to finish her acting class. We’d eat ice cream and listen to buskers and wander around Urban Outfitters looking at stuff we couldn’t afford. I wished I was there now. But I had to stop torturing myself. I wasn’t in Dublin, I was in Avarna, whether I liked it or not. I had to concentrate on making new friends.

I could see Sarah walking down the path towards me. I took out my earphones and smiled at her. ‘Hey, Sarah, how are you?’

‘Oh… hi,’ she said, as if she didn’t have a clue who I was. She gave me a really fake smile and kept walking.

Great, back to the torture chamber so . I put in my earphones and turned the music up even louder. It was probably for the best anyway. If she was actually nice to me, I’d feel even worse about fancying her boyfriend.

A few minutes later I felt someone tap my shoulder and looked up to see Colin. He looked very nice in dark denims and a red and blue striped T-shirt.

‘What’s up?’ he said.

‘I’m just waiting for the bus,’ I replied, winding my earphones round my iPod and putting it in my bag. ‘I have to go to the doctor in Drumshanbo.’

‘Is something wrong?’ He looked concerned.

‘Just headaches. My mum is making me get them checked out,’ I said, rolling my eyes.

‘Oh, that sucks,’ he said, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. ‘I’m so bored. Everyone’s busy and there’s nothing to do.’

‘You could come with me, if you like? I can’t promise it will be very exciting though.’

‘Sure, why not,’ said Colin. He began to count out his change. ‘When’s the bus due?’

‘It should be here in a few minutes.’

He sat down next to me on the wall. ‘Wanna play Would You Rather?’

‘OK.’

Colin smiled. ‘Right then, let me think. Would you rather… be able to read people’s minds or know their future?’ he asked, tilting his head.

‘Read their minds,’ I answered immediately. ‘I don’t think I’d like to know people’s futures. Dealing with the present is hard enough without knowing what’s coming next.’

‘Interesting. Now you go.’

I thought hard, wanting to come up with something good. ‘Would you rather… have to go to school naked for just one day, or have to go to school every day for the rest of your life?’

‘Naked for one day. No question about it,’ said Colin with a laugh. ‘Would you rather find true love or find a million euro?’

I pondered it for a moment but the answer was obvious. ‘True love,’ I said. ‘Would you rather… live without music or live without movies?’

‘Music,’ said Colin without hesitation. His answer surprised me. There was no way I could live without music. ‘Would you… rather drown or be strangled to death?’

‘Drown. Definitely.’

Forty minutes later we were sitting in the doctor’s waiting room. It was a bit depressing, with a dark brown carpet, hard wooden chairs and a stack of magazines that were more than a year old. Colin sat beside me, flicking through one of them. An elderly woman in a navy headscarf sat across from me and a man with a toddler sat next to her.

‘I can feel the germs in the air,’ whispered Colin. ‘That kid doesn’t even cover his mouth when he coughs!’

‘Colin, he’s about two years old!’

‘So?’

The little kid coughed again and Colin flinched.

Eventually a woman in a cream blouse and brown trousers called my name. Presumably Dr Cahill. I nodded and rose from my seat. She was petite, probably about sixty, with glasses and black curly hair. I followed her into the surgery, which was painted white with a black couch against the wall. Dr Cahill sat down on her leather chair, rested her hands on the desk and smiled at me. I had never been nervous in the doctor’s before, but this time was different. This time there might actually be something seriously wrong with me. I tried not to think about that though. Be positive .

‘I don’t think we’ve met before, have we? I’m Dr Cahill.’

‘No, we haven’t,’ I said, sitting down on the chair opposite. ‘I’m Jacki King. My mum made the appointment. We’ve just moved here… Well, just moved to Avarna.’

‘Oh, where in Avarna? I live near there,’ she said, typing on her computer.

‘Up by the mines. Alf Meehan’s old house.’ People still referred to it as Alf’s. We’d probably have to be there a while before anybody called it the Kings’ house.

‘Ah yes. I heard that had been sold. Right, Jacki, what can I do for you?’

‘Well, I’ve been having these headaches. My mum is worried because, as she told your receptionist, my dad died of a brain tumour.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Jacki,’ she said. ‘I can understand why your mum might be worried, but it’s probably nothing serious. Can you describe the headaches for me?’

I thought about how to explain them. ‘Well, it’s like an elastic band has been strapped round my head, and someone keeps pulling it tighter and tighter.’ My headache had actually eased by now, but I’d never forget the pain.

‘That’s quite specific. OK, we’ll check you for allergies. Something you’re eating could be triggering them.’

Allergies. I liked the sound of that. It was a nice, logical explanation.

‘Is there anything else?’ asked Dr Cahill. I figured I might as well tell her about the other stuff. There was probably a simple explanation for that too.

‘Well… I keep having this nightmare…’ I began feeling slightly self-conscious. ‘I have the same one every night…’ I described the dream to her. When I’d finished she didn’t say anything for a few moments. I was certain I saw a tinge of fear in her eyes. It made me very uneasy.

‘Anything else?’ she said.

‘Well, I sort of had… like a panic attack or something… in the garden last night.’ I told her about that too.

‘The men from your dream… do you know them?’ she asked, still staring at me intently.

‘No. I’ve never seen either of them in my life.’

‘Could you describe the men to me again?’ she said.

I did. I described the man in the car with the frightening stare and the drunken man stumbling up the lane.

Dr Cahill typed something into her computer then turned back to me. ‘Jacki, have you ever met Alf Meehan?’ she asked.

‘No.’ It was a strange question. Immediately I thought of the threatening note I’d opened that was addressed to him and felt a chill. ‘Why?’

‘Because the drunk man you describe sounds exactly like him.’ She stared at me again for a few moments then opened one of the drawers of the desk and took out a business card. ‘There’s someone else I’d like you to consult, Jacki. I think I know someone who might be able to help you.’