Dyan Sheldon: Away for the Weekend

Remedios, however, likes chaos. Energy, matter, heat and space. Colliding planets and shooting stars. A soupy swamp one day and a green-blue world teeming with life the next. Bam, whizz, pop, fizz – that’s what Remedios likes; to mix things up and see what happens.

Otto prefers to know what will happen. He sees safety in systems. Miraculous Methusela, there are only Ten Commandments; think how much better the world would be if people actually followed them.

So, while Remedios can’t stop herself from getting involved with humans, Otto likes to keep his distance. He much prefers other species. You know where you stand with killer whales; but people are much more difficult to deal with. They complain a lot about Acts of God, but if you ask Otto, it’s the Acts of Man that cause most of the trouble. When people aren’t being irrational, they’re being deceitful. Or treacherous. Or greedy. Or violent. And if they’re not actually dangerous, they’re probably totally useless. No wonder the world is filled with so much unhappiness and suffering. Otto doesn’t mind straightening out a misunderstanding or giving someone a shove in the right direction (indeed, he not only offers sound financial advice, he’s extremely good at finding lost things), but when he’s asked to intervene in a real crisis, he never quite succeeds. Suffering and cruelty, injustice and hypocrisy, thievery and opportunism – all these things upset him so much that he winds up paralysed by depression. The incident that lead to Otto being in Jeremiah is a perfect example. He was sent into a combat zone to sway hearts and minds, and instead was so horrified by what he saw that he simply disappeared. It was days before he was finally found on a remote Scottish island, surrounded by sheep. No wonder he likes Jeremiah; on the Richter scale of misery, Jeremiah never goes above one.

“Remedios, I really don’t want to discuss this any more. This is a new beginning for both of us.” Do well here, and who knows how they might be rewarded. Otto has dreams of being assigned to the Andes, so close to the sky that he walks in clouds. “Let’s just do the job we’ve come to do.”

“It’s not a job,” she gripes. “It’s more like a hobby.” Knitting while the world cries out for hope and help. “Besides, I’d much rather work alone.”

“And I wouldn’t?”

But that, of course, is not the deal. The deal is that they work together. Partners. A team. Her habit of acting first and thinking later balanced by his habit of thinking first and not acting at all. Together, goes the reasoning, they make one perfect angel.

A car passes them, and then another.

“We’d better get a move on.” Otto points not towards the town, but to the north. “We don’t want to get there after everyone else.”

Remedios’ day just got worse. Glory Hallelujah, the school! She forgot about the school. As a further challenge – or downsizing – they’ve been stationed at the high school.

“I don’t see why we can’t look after—”

“Don’t start again,” says Otto. “You know what you were told: there are no small problems, only small angels.” And with that he sets off up the road on the right.

Shuffling behind him, Remedios glances back at the town sign. Welcome to Jeremiah , it says. Population 7070 .

It is a beautiful day in Jeremiah. The sky is clear and blue, the sun is big and bright, and there is a breeze as gentle as Heaven’s breath. It’s a breeze that carries not just the chemical smells of civilization but the scents of forest, sea and desert as well; not just the electric noises of human occupation but also the timeless singing of the world. This is the kind of day that makes you want to climb a tree, run through a shower of blossoms, paddle in the breaking waves – or just sit on a hillside, listening to the planet going about its business. A day to make you glad to be alive. Yippee! Though it has to be said that there is no particular joie de vivre in room 07W of Jeremiah High on this particular afternoon. This is the last class on a Friday. Everyone wants the day to end.

No one wants the day to end more than Gabriela Menz. Gabriela glances at her watch and then looks back to the front of the room, where Mr Sturgess is finally finishing off a lesson so long and boring that even by his standards it should win a prize. Geesh. The bell’s going to go in about two minutes, and he’s still writing. (Gabriela is not writing, because she knows she can get one of the boys to photocopy his notes for her – as per usual.) Gabriela’s sigh is as soft as cashmere. Just because she doesn’t have to get to another class doesn’t mean she isn’t in a hurry. She happens to be in a really big hurry. Her mother’s picking her up to take her to the airport, and Gabriela has to change and reapply her make-up before she goes out to the car. Mrs Menz gets totally unreasonable about being kept waiting (just possibly because it happens so often), which means that if Gabriela wants to talk to Mr Sturgess she’d better do it now. Even though he has his back to her, Gabriela raises one slender arm, the gold rings and bracelets shining against her tanned skin. “Mr Sturgess?” she calls. “Mr Sturgess? Can I ask you something really quick? It’s really important.”

Edward Sturgess’ sigh is not as soft as cashmere, it’s as sharp as a snapping twig. He’s been teaching a long time. So long, in fact, that if it were any other voice interrupting him like this, he would ignore that voice and continue writing. If the voice persisted (as these voices always do) he would slowly swivel around with a sarcastic look on his face and ask what’s so important that it couldn’t wait a few minutes. Isn’t it obvious that he’s trying to get this on the board before the bell rings and they all stampede for the door like a herd of frightened cattle? “This had better be good,” he’d say. “At the very least, I hope God’s just warned you that the world’s about to end.”

But it isn’t any other voice that’s interrupting him. It’s the voice of Gabriela Menz. Which, compared to the whining, whingeing and carping of most of his students, is like the sound made by tiny, hand-blown glass bells ringing across the secret mountain pass that leads to a hidden kingdom on an impossibly beautiful day.

“What is it, Gabriela?” He turns round, and she is gazing at him with her usual warm, open smile – her face radiant with youth and cosmetics. And confidence. Gabriela is a girl who always expects to be indulged, and is rarely disappointed. She was one of those babies everyone fussed over, and now she is well on her way to being one of those women for whom doors automatically open and seats instantly empty. She lowers her arm and her nails flash in the sunlight as if someone let loose a flutter of hot-pink butterflies. There is something almost angelic about Gabriela Menz – something that makes it nigh on impossible to be annoyed with her, even when she’s actually being incredibly annoying. When, for example, she’s late for class because she had to touch up her eyeliner or change her socks. Or, as another example, when she won’t wait till class is over to talk to him because she wants to touch up her eyeliner or change her socks before she goes home.

Good Lord , thinks Edward Sturgess. Listen to me! What if it’s something important? What if someone’s terminally ill… Or, God forbid, dead…

He frowns in concern. “I hope everything’s OK at home, Gabriela. If—”

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah.” More brilliant butterflies shimmer in the air around her. “It’s not anything bad , Mr Sturgess. It’s something really good.”