Coming Home. Melanie Rose

angel leaned towards me, her hair cascading forward as she bent to whisper to me, her voice soft and slightly husky.

      ‘Hello,’ she breathed again, her lips brushing close to my ear. ‘Amber said you’d come.’

      I opened both eyes and stared hazily at her. ‘Where am I?’ My voice seemed thin and reedy. The effort of speaking made me cough harshly, causing fresh pain in my chest and head. This surely couldn’t be heaven when I hurt so much; but if not heaven, then where?

      The angel had stepped back when I’d coughed and was now surveying me anxiously.

      ‘Are you going to die?’ she asked.

      I considered this question, stretching my aching fingers and wiggling my toes to assure myself that the pain was real enough.

      ‘No.’ I was relieved to find that I believed it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’

      ‘Not ever?’ she pressed, coming closer again and staring so intently into my face that I wondered again for a fleeting moment if I was hallucinating. Something about the solemnity of her expression, however, made me cautious with my answer. I needed some answers myself, but it seemed that my questions would have to wait.

      ‘Well, I will die one day…we all will one day. But I’m certainly not going to die today, not if I can help it.’

      Pushing myself up on one elbow, I looked round at my surroundings. I was lying on a couch in a sitting room with low wooden ceiling beams and leaded-light windows just visible behind partially closed curtains. There was a Persian rug on the polished wooden floor and a fire roaring in an inglenook fireplace; it seemed warm and peaceful, a sanctuary from the blizzard raging outside in the darkness.

      The angel was smiling at me with a wondrous expression that made me feel slightly nervous. It was the sort of look a child might have when seeing Father Christmas actually emerging from the fireplace on Christmas Eve. I wondered if that was how I had been staring at her.

      ‘Where am I?’ I asked again, struggling into a sitting position so that the blankets I’d been cocooned in flopped down into my lap. I realised belatedly that I was wearing only underwear, and hastily pulled the blankets back up. ‘And who are you?’

      ‘I’m Jadie.’ The angel was dressed in a little tartan kilt with a cream jumper and thick woollen tights. ‘I’m six and a half years old.’ She paused for a moment then repeated softly, ‘Amber said you’d come.’

      ‘Who’s Amber?’

      ‘My sister.’ Jadie’s shrug intimated that I should know such a thing already.

      ‘Ah. And can you tell me where I am?’

      ‘You’re in our house. Daddy brought you in. You were all cold and covered in snow, so me and Tara, we pulled your wet things off and Tara sent me to get the blankets.’

      ‘Where is your daddy now?’ I asked, remembering suddenly the glorious feeling of being carried by the man in my dream. I felt myself blushing. Jadie was regarding me minutely. I felt quite guilty under her scrutiny, as if she could read my thoughts, which weren’t at all suitable for a child of six and a half years old.

      ‘He’s working.’ Jadie inclined her head somewhere behind me. She swallowed and cleared her throat slightly. ‘He only went out to clear a path to the road and he found you and now he’s working in his study again. Daddy’s always working.’

      ‘What about your mummy?’ I asked, looking round as I spoke. ‘Is she here too?’

      Jadie looked down at her toes. ‘Mummy’s gone away. She was very sad and then she went on an aeroplane with Uncle Jack.’

      Deciding not to pursue that little gem of information, I tried to get back onto more neutral ground. ‘Oh. And what about…er, Tara, wasn’t it?’

      Jadie suddenly pressed her lips together as if afraid more words might tumble out. I looked at her quizzically, then realised from a movement of air in the room that a door had opened somewhere behind us.

      ‘You’re awake then.’ The voice came from behind me, making me jump. I turned to see a slim young woman with short, dark glossy hair emerging from a doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m Tara, the housekeeper here. How are you feeling?’

      She came round the couch to look at me and I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to be sizing me up. Although she was dark, she had luminous aquamarine eyes that were as startling in their way as Jadie’s cornflower-blue ones.

      ‘Thawed out a bit, have you?’ she asked.

      I nodded, trying not to stare at her. I swung my defrosting feet out from under the blankets to try to get up.

      She put out a hand and pushed me down against the cushions. She was surprisingly strong and I fell back, looking up at her with some embarrassment.

      ‘You shouldn’t go getting up yet.’ It was an apology of sorts, as if realising she had overstepped the boundaries of propriety. ‘You were pretty far gone when Vince…Mr James brought you in. Give yourself a minute or two. I expect your hands and feet hurt. And that cut on your head is quite deep. It probably could have done with a stitch or two but I put a butterfly plaster on it, so hopefully it won’t leave a scar.’

      My hand went to my temple and I felt the plaster gingerly before rubbing at my still tingling fingers. I nodded, totally confused. My lack of any sort of memory was terrifying. ‘I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused. I’m very grateful for your help. For a while out there in the snow I was afraid I’d had it.’

      ‘Another half-hour out in that blizzard and you might have done,’ she agreed. I had the fleeting impression she wouldn’t have minded too much if that had proven to be the case. She gave herself a little shake. ‘Still, nothing a nice warm fire and some blankets can’t put right. I’ve been making soup. I’ll bring you some, if you like.’

      ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble…’

      ‘You’ve done that already, haven’t you? I’m stuck here for the night now, the road’s completely blocked and according to the news there is more of this weather to come. It looks like we’re both stranded here, so we’d better make the best of it, eh?’

      Colour flooded my face at her candour.

      Then she smiled and her face lit up. ‘I’ll go and tell Mr James you’re awake. After carrying you over the threshold like some hero out of a Jane Austen novel he vanished off to his study.’

      She was about to retreat to the kitchen again when a thought struck me and I sat bolt upright in alarm. ‘When he brought me in, did Mr James say anything about finding a cat?’

      Tara paused and looked back at me, shaking her head. ‘No, the boss didn’t say anything about a cat. Did you have one with you, then?’

      ‘I think so.’ I wondered how much of what had happened was real and how much was a dream. ‘It’ll freeze to death out there in the snow.’

      ‘Cats can look after themselves.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’ll be OK.’

      ‘It was locked in a plastic box. It won’t stand a chance.’

      ‘We can’t do anything about it now.’ Tara turned to look out through a chink in the curtains at the cold, dark night outside. ‘Maybe Mr James can go look in the morning.’

      She left and I sat morosely, rubbing at my painfully thawing hands. Jadie came and stood next to me. She gave me a reassuring smile. ‘Amber says your little cat will be OK. And Amber is always right.’

      ‘Where is Amber?’ I looked round the room again for this all-knowing sister of hers.

      Jadie peered at her shoes in much the same way she had when I’d asked her about her mother. ‘She’s not here.’

      ‘Where is she then?’ I was confused, wondering how Amber could have told