Chapter 15: Oh, My Papa

‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ said Miss Smallbone, shaking her head and taking back the directional microphone. I glanced again out of my window at Rollo Price. The former love of my life (unconsummated) was still smirking after his sneaky private revelation that he was only being nice to me so I would confess to him.

On one level, where he was purely a policeman, I could see his point. He had found me talking with David Tennant the moment after David Tennant had murdered my evil demon husband. A competent copper would have to be suspicious, but it had been a horrible day for me, and I needed someone I knew to trust me. ‘I have to call Jen,’ I said.

‘No,’ said Miss Smallbone.

‘She’s my best friend.’

‘No friends. That’s what I’m saying. You can’t trust anybody.’ She was clearly on the edge, and I decided to wait until she left before calling Jen. Miss Smallbone had kept on eye on the television screen, which was still reporting breaking news of the gun battle at Centrepoint which the reporters had no idea was the latest in an aeons-long struggle between good and evil. A red banner across the bottom read, NEWSFLASH: Davina Mccall slain: among bodies found after Centrepoint gunfire. More later. Miss Smallbone turned up the sound, and we listened to a confused reporter trying to make head or tail of the business. ‘Davina was very brave,’ said Miss Smallbone.

‘What happens to her now? How does she get reborn?’

‘As a child again. I will be able to find her quickly, but she is lost for this battle. She is a warrior. Was England’s Freddie Flintoff at Centrepoint?’ I nodded and Miss Smallbone instantly flicked to a cricket match of some kind on Sky Sports, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Freddie being interviewed. He had cuts and bruises all over his face, but he was grinning, ‘Ah’m just a clumsy oaf,’ he said. ‘Cracked my head as Ah was getting out of t’car, tried to regain balance and tripped over t’curb. Ah’m reet t’bowl, don’t worry.’

‘Right,’ said Miss Smallbone. ‘If the enemy did this to Centrepoint, then they’re deadly serious. They’re desperate to get hold of you, and right now. Your house isn’t safe enough, they’ll be on their way. We have to get you out of here.’

‘Don’t I get a choice in this?’

‘No. I’m very sorry. I can make you come if I have to.’ I made for the window where I could shout to Rollo Price, but Miss Smallbone was suddenly in front of me, impossible fast, and holding my hand. ‘Please don’t make me hurt you with my finely honed ninja skills,’ she said, almost pleading. ‘This is hard for us all, I know, but I’m your only hope. You have to believe me.’ She took out a slinky Apple iPhone, even though they hadn’t properly been released yet, and turned her back while she gave a brisk set of instructions. ‘You have ten minutes to pack,’ she said.

‘What do I need?’ I asked.

‘Nothing really. We can provide. But if you want your own things, put them in a bag right now. Pack a swimming costume,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.

She followed me into my room. I was trembling again, which was my default setting for the day.

‘You say my parents aren’t my parents.’ I said.

‘I’m so sorry. This is not how we wanted this to happen.’

I carried on, eyes glistening as I rummaged for my least embarrassing pants. ‘You say my real parents are a demon and an angel.’

‘You are the Chosen One.’

‘What does that even mean?’

Miss Smallbone put her hands in front of her face, not to weep or anything, but to take a deep breath and clear her head. I thought again what an odd shape she was for a superhero, if that’s what she was. But then, I thought, being a little, neat, plump woman must be a perfect disguise. She dropped her hands, ready to speak. ‘The prophecy said that a demon would fall in love with an angel. After seventy million years, it hadn’t happened, and people didn’t believe it. The Master, however, was desperate for the Chosen One so he could open the Gates of Hell, whatever that means.’

‘But we agree it can’t be good.’

‘Absolutely. The Master told his most faithful lieutenant to seduce an angel, and produce a child. This is all happening hundreds of years ago, incidentally. The demon, whose name in that age was Lancelot, seduced the angel Guinevere…’

‘Lancelot and Guinevere?!’

‘Yes, they are your parents.’

‘But…’

‘When Guinevere realised she’d been tricked, she turned on Lancelot, said she would never bear the child, and ran away. She’d fallen in love with him, and angels love forever, so her heart was lost. She disappeared. Lancelot, enraged, brought about the ruin of Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. But then, miraculously, Lancelot realised that he had been transformed by love, and was truly in thrall to Guinevere. When his fellow demons learnt this, they pursued him mercilessly, and they have killed him cruelly many times, with much torture. For many generations also, he received no help from the angels, for we despised him then and many of us still do. But he usually escaped, and he has spent the lonely centuries seeking his lost love. Eventually, he persuaded several angels that he was sincere, and he joined us, but still, his soul was bent on finding Guinevere.’ She stopped.

‘What happened?’

‘He hasn’t found her yet.’

‘But what about me, then?’

‘I found Guinevere, unchanged and unaged. Guinevere had held her child in suspended animation for many hundred years, stopped her clock, which is a thing we can do, but it makes us stretched and weak, and she was stretched thinner than anyone I have ever seen, and she deathly tired. I persuaded her that the demon was truly remade, and that she must bear the girl at last. She did, and she died. She was reborn a few hours after you. It was I who chose your parents.’ She checked her watch. ‘Are you ready.’

‘Just about. Where is my mother now?’

‘You will know in good time.’

‘And my father?’

‘I don’t think you should…’

RAT-TAT-TAT! There was the sound of live gunfire, for the second time in the day, and my life, and Miss Smallbone rushed to the window. Sergeant Price and his partner looked up once, then charged down the street away from my house and towards the disturbance. Instantly, Miss Smallbone rushed me downstairs. As we emerged from the front door, a plain blue Golf pulled in. I looked round at Miss Smallbone, and I said, ‘It’s David Tennant, isn’t it? David Tennant is my father!’