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Authors: Sheila Jeffries
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angel, a real one. It was there, camouflaged in the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows, he was sure. The
immensity of it lived in his memory. The angel he’d seen had been a massive being of light. It would have made Ian Tillerman look no bigger than a fly. Was the angel talking to him now? Into
his mind in secret? Telling him to follow his dreams – and dream big – and not be afraid.
Kate was nudging him, and Freddie realised he was supposed to be singing. He looked at the hymn book she was sharing with him. ‘
Love divine
. . .’ He heard Kate’s sweet
voice singing it next to him. Love divine! That wasn’t what Ian Tillerman was going to get with Susan, he thought.
By the time the moment of eye contact arrived, Freddie felt powerful. He felt full of light and gratitude. With Kate staunchly beside him, he looked down at Ian Tillerman in the porch, after the
photographs had been taken. Susan’s mother, Joan Jarvis, came up to him in a whirl of ostrich feathers and scarlet lipstick. ‘You MUST meet Freddie and Kate,’ she gushed, and
dragged him towards Ian and Susan. ‘Well, you know Kate already. But look, Ian, Freddie is so clever. He carved this statue of St Peter. Isn’t it marvellous?’ She waved her arm at
the statue on the stone shelf inside the porch, of St Peter with the ‘keys to the kingdom’. It had been Freddie’s first commission.
Ian didn’t know whether to look at Freddie or at the statue. He looked overwhelmed. So he blurted, ‘Excellent, my man. Excellent!’
His eyes shifted to and fro, avoiding Freddie’s steady gaze. Then they came to a halt on Kate, sweeping over her with blatantly lustful approval. ‘You should see the new horses
we’ve got now, Kate,’ he said. ‘When we move down here, anytime you fancy a ride – you’re welcome.’
Freddie tensed. He felt Kate squeeze his hand reassuringly, and, as always, she knew exactly what to say. ‘Well, thank you, Ian,’ she said, with her back very straight, ‘but
I’m sure you’ll be too busy looking after your wonderful new wife.’ She beamed at Susan, who fluttered her eyes nervously. ‘And I’m a busy mum with two beautiful
little girls,’ Kate added, looking fondly at Lucy who was leaning adoringly against the cool taffeta of Susan’s dress.
Right on cue the happy atmosphere with the ringing voices and posh hats was ripped apart by the sound of a child screaming. Freddie and Kate looked at each other in disbelief.
‘Who on earth is that?’
The crowd of wedding guests parted as an old woman struggled up the church path pushing a battered pram with a squeaky wheel. It was Annie, her face puckered with fury, her grey hair stuck to
her brow with sweat, her feet in moth-eaten carpet slippers. She saw Freddie and Kate in the porch with the Tillermans and made a beeline for them. She was emanating such anger that people were
leaping out of her way. All conversations stopped, and shocked faces watched the invasion of earthy rage. There was only the squeak of the pram wheel and the roar of the baby inside.
‘Annie!’ Joan Jarvis was first to speak. ‘My dear! What’s happened?’
Annie brushed her aside. She shoved the pram at Kate. ‘I’ve FINISHED with this child,’ she ranted. ‘She does nothing but cry and she won’t let me change her. She
fights like a wild cat. I’m not looking after her, Kate. She’s a BRAT and that’s the truth. I’m at the end of my tether. I’m leaving her here, wedding or no
wedding.’
‘Annie!’
‘Don’t touch me!’ Annie shook Joan off as if she was a wasp. She took her ebony walking stick from the pram, straightened her back and limped away down the path. Again, people
jumped out of her way and someone whispered, ‘WHO is that angry old woman?’
‘You should go after her, Freddie – take her home,’ Kate said, concerned. But Freddie leaned over the pram and looked at Tessa, sad to see her little face swollen with crying.
She
immensity of it lived in his memory. The angel he’d seen had been a massive being of light. It would have made Ian Tillerman look no bigger than a fly. Was the angel talking to him now? Into
his mind in secret? Telling him to follow his dreams – and dream big – and not be afraid.
Kate was nudging him, and Freddie realised he was supposed to be singing. He looked at the hymn book she was sharing with him. ‘
Love divine
. . .’ He heard Kate’s sweet
voice singing it next to him. Love divine! That wasn’t what Ian Tillerman was going to get with Susan, he thought.
By the time the moment of eye contact arrived, Freddie felt powerful. He felt full of light and gratitude. With Kate staunchly beside him, he looked down at Ian Tillerman in the porch, after the
photographs had been taken. Susan’s mother, Joan Jarvis, came up to him in a whirl of ostrich feathers and scarlet lipstick. ‘You MUST meet Freddie and Kate,’ she gushed, and
dragged him towards Ian and Susan. ‘Well, you know Kate already. But look, Ian, Freddie is so clever. He carved this statue of St Peter. Isn’t it marvellous?’ She waved her arm at
the statue on the stone shelf inside the porch, of St Peter with the ‘keys to the kingdom’. It had been Freddie’s first commission.
Ian didn’t know whether to look at Freddie or at the statue. He looked overwhelmed. So he blurted, ‘Excellent, my man. Excellent!’
His eyes shifted to and fro, avoiding Freddie’s steady gaze. Then they came to a halt on Kate, sweeping over her with blatantly lustful approval. ‘You should see the new horses
we’ve got now, Kate,’ he said. ‘When we move down here, anytime you fancy a ride – you’re welcome.’
Freddie tensed. He felt Kate squeeze his hand reassuringly, and, as always, she knew exactly what to say. ‘Well, thank you, Ian,’ she said, with her back very straight, ‘but
I’m sure you’ll be too busy looking after your wonderful new wife.’ She beamed at Susan, who fluttered her eyes nervously. ‘And I’m a busy mum with two beautiful
little girls,’ Kate added, looking fondly at Lucy who was leaning adoringly against the cool taffeta of Susan’s dress.
Right on cue the happy atmosphere with the ringing voices and posh hats was ripped apart by the sound of a child screaming. Freddie and Kate looked at each other in disbelief.
‘Who on earth is that?’
The crowd of wedding guests parted as an old woman struggled up the church path pushing a battered pram with a squeaky wheel. It was Annie, her face puckered with fury, her grey hair stuck to
her brow with sweat, her feet in moth-eaten carpet slippers. She saw Freddie and Kate in the porch with the Tillermans and made a beeline for them. She was emanating such anger that people were
leaping out of her way. All conversations stopped, and shocked faces watched the invasion of earthy rage. There was only the squeak of the pram wheel and the roar of the baby inside.
‘Annie!’ Joan Jarvis was first to speak. ‘My dear! What’s happened?’
Annie brushed her aside. She shoved the pram at Kate. ‘I’ve FINISHED with this child,’ she ranted. ‘She does nothing but cry and she won’t let me change her. She
fights like a wild cat. I’m not looking after her, Kate. She’s a BRAT and that’s the truth. I’m at the end of my tether. I’m leaving her here, wedding or no
wedding.’
‘Annie!’
‘Don’t touch me!’ Annie shook Joan off as if she was a wasp. She took her ebony walking stick from the pram, straightened her back and limped away down the path. Again, people
jumped out of her way and someone whispered, ‘WHO is that angry old woman?’
‘You should go after her, Freddie – take her home,’ Kate said, concerned. But Freddie leaned over the pram and looked at Tessa, sad to see her little face swollen with crying.
She
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