Lou Morgan: Rebellion

The job wasn’t exactly easy. Well. That wasn’t strictly true: the job itself was fine. It mostly consisted of answering the phone, making notes in the day book, refilling the tissue boxes and making tea. A lot of tea. There were six of them there, not including Adriel. Besides Toby and Alice, there were the embalmer, the driver and two pallbearers – although the latter seemed to spend most of their time sitting in the kitchen and playing cards, looking for all the world like a couple of gorillas who’d been forced into suits.

So there were six of them, and Adriel, and they all rubbed along reasonably well. Alice kept her distance as best she could but somehow Toby always seemed to be around, asking whether she wanted a cup of tea, whether she was making a cup of tea, how she was doing, whether she had seen this film or that film... it just went on. And while it was nice; while it made her feel like a normal, real human being again – something she’d not felt in far too long – it was strange. To feel normal was... strange.

He had no idea that when the first clients on her first day had walked in through the door, Alice felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Everything about them shouted their loss out loud for the world to hear... but the only one who heard it was Alice. Alice heard it, and she felt it, and her heart broke. And it kept on happening. Every time the door opened, she felt it again and again and again. Over and over, until she couldn’t take it any longer and she stumbled into Adriel’s office and told him she had to go. He looked up from his paperwork and nodded at her, and she found her way home without remembering a step of the way; she locked the door to the sacristy behind her and she sat on the floor and she burned and she burned and she burned – and when the tears came, as she knew they would, they left tracks of fire down her cheeks.

Compared with that first day, melting the kettle was a definite improvement.

As she settled back down at the desk, a police car raced by with its siren howling. There had been more of them over the last few days, and if the papers were anything to go by, it was only going to get worse. The city was on edge. The riots were spreading, and however much everyone tried to ignore them and carry on as normal, it was getting harder. It had begun a few weeks ago: a simple scuffle between some teenagers on the far side of town, and from there it had spread until, every night, the streets became a battleground. Broken glass sparkled on the pavements in the mornings, and every day it seemed that another shop or office had had its windows smashed or its door kicked in... Oddly, though, no-one ever seemed to touch Langham Funerals, which remained an island of calm in the chaos. The others all said that it was down to respect for the dead. Alice suspected otherwise.

“Alice?”

“Mmph?” She hadn’t realised Adriel had come out of his office.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine. I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Alice...”

“I’m knackered.” She slumped in her chair. “I’ll replace the kettle.”

“The kettle?” Adriel raised an eyebrow slightly, but otherwise his composure didn’t change one bit.

“It’s a thing. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just... tired.”

“You’re finding this more of a challenge than you expected.” It wasn’t a question, and Alice snorted.

“No. I’m finding it exactly as much of a challenge as I expected, which is what I tried to explain to you.”

“And yet, even though you’ve been here such a short time, I’m told what a difference you make.”

“I... oh?” She had been about to make an excuse for whatever it was she’d done wrong... and then realised it wasn’t a criticism. Not at all.

“I’m told you make the shop feel warmer.”

“Yes, well,” she muttered. “That’s hardly a surprise, is it?”

“More alive.” Adriel blinked at her. “I thought you should know. You’re good at this, Alice.”

And without another word, he turned and padded back to his office. Whether he would still think she was good at this (whatever this was) once she’d told him about Mrs Hrrrdddddgz was another matter.

“YOU OFF?”

“Almost. I’m heading out in a minute. You?”

“More or less. I need to drop the suit off with the cleaner.” He waved a plastic suit-hanger at her. “So. I was wondering.”

“You were?”

“Alice, could you shut up for a sec, yeah? You’re not half making this hard.”

“Sorry.” She did her best to look apologetic. “You were wondering.”

“I was wondering...” He paused, as though he was expecting her to interrupt. She watched him expectantly; he took this as a sign and carried on. “I was wondering whether you might like to come out for a drink tonight? Later, you know?” Alice could feel his relief from the other side of the desk. At least it explained why he’d been so twitchy all day.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Maybe. Although if you were, I’d hope you would be a little more definite about it.”

“Then, yes. Yes, I am.”

She was about to answer when she remembered. Tonight . She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Shit. Toby – I’m really sorry...”

His face fell. “No problem,”

“No, really – I am. I have to be somewhere tonight. Honestly, I do. God, I’m such an idiot: I should have said. Could we maybe do it another night?”

“Tomorrow?” He had started to perk up again.

“Tomorrow. Definitely.” Alice nodded, praying that she could actually deliver on the promise.

“Alright, then. Tomorrow. After work.” Toby was beaming now, shrugging his shoulders happily. It was funny the difference it made: he had seemed so unlike himself all day, and now everything was normal. She almost felt sorry for him...

“Sure. Look – I’ve got to go; how about we sort it out tomorrow?” She was waiting now, waiting for him to go, because she hadn’t been making excuses. She had somewhere she needed to be this evening. And Toby, with all his normality, couldn’t ever hope to understand why.

FROM THE WINDOW, the Archangel Michael could see nothing but the sea. The air smelled of salt, of the open skies and of sunshine, and if he leaned out and looked down, he would see the tourists bustling about on the island below: humans with their maps and their cameras and their sunglasses. Small things in which he had no interest. Michael had more important things on his mind, which was precisely why he had come back to his fortress.

He rubbed a hand across his face as he tried to tune out Gabriel’s whining. It wasn’t easy: to say that Gabriel had not taken his punishment well would be an understatement. After all, as he was fond of pointing out – frequently – for an Archangel to have his wings clipped, to be sentenced to exile as an Earthbound, was unheard of. Until now.

Did Michael regret what he had done to Gabriel? Not for a moment.

Did he wish he had cut out Gabriel’s tongue when he clipped his wings? Absolutely.

The battle for hell had not gone as Michael had hoped, something he blamed largely on Gabriel and his little favourite, Gwyn. Gwyn, he had taken care of; Gabriel was proving to be more problematic. Against his better judgement, Michael had offered him the chance to earn his wings back; he had initially jumped at the chance, but as the days passed, Gabriel grew more and more restless. Recently, he’d moved on from simply grumbling about his punishment to accusing Michael of tricking him, of giving him an impossible task and condemning him to an eternity of hopeless servitude. That little outburst had earned him a week in a windowless cell several floors below ground, giving him a chance to consider the exact meaning of ‘eternity’ and ‘hopeless.’ Needless to say, he had returned refreshed and reinvigorated. And quiet. It hadn’t lasted...