Chapter 20: Fear and Loathing in La-la Land

I walked out through the huge glass door that separated Johnny Depp’s lounge from the sundeck that led into his infinity pool and looked over a perfect green valley in the hills north of LA. I reflected to myself that if this weren’t the end of the world, I would just have had the most amazing two days of my life.

Ewan McGregor emerged behind me in royal blue swimming shorts and a stupid Hawaii-print shirt that hung weirdly because of the gun in its pocket. I didn’t like the guns, but Ewan was my bodyguard and he insisted. I stretched in the baking late-afternoon sun, feeling a little breeze flutter across my outstretched arms. Vanessa Paradis waved from the sun-lounger, wearing bikini bottoms and a little white blouse, and called, ‘Hey, Ewan! Ze sun is at ze yard-arm, no? Mary Sue would like a gin and tonic?’ Ewan cocked his eye, and I grinned at him, shrugging as if to say, ‘Why not?’

‘Do you want one too?’ Ewan called back to Vanessa.

‘For sure, I thought you would never ask me. Also maybe one of ze steak sandwiches if zere are any left. I am ravishing.’

Ewan laughed.. He patted my shoulder and said, ‘I’ll see you in five.’

I dived into the pool, and swam a few lengths. From the moment I learned I was the Chosen One, etcetera, I’d started to become more physically confident. With every stroke, I felt myself connect with the water, and pull myself cleanly past my hand, like a knife slicing a line down the pool. When I told Vanessa about this physical change, she replied that it was all in my mind. Being an angel or demon – if I was one, which was moot, since my parents had been one of each which had never happened before – came with no superpowers, unless you counted automatic reincarnation. Whatever, I felt fresher and stronger than I’d ever felt in my life. As the tiles slid effortlessly past beneath my nose, I thought about this morning’s bemused stories on the BBC website. The reporters clearly didn’t know what to say about me. The police wanted to interview me about my husband Gavin’s murder, and to treat my disappearance as mysterious, but my parents (my human ones) insisted that they were in contact with me, and everything was fine. So did David Tennant (my demon-turned-angel father), who I was defending on the charge of murdering Gavin (which he had done, but only because Gavin, unbeknownst-to-me, was a demon). All the while, my head of Chambers, Sir Connaught Sampson-Samson, was oiling the troubled waters, saying that I had demonstrably done nothing wrong, as hundreds of witnesses could attest, and I should be allowed to do my job however I saw fit. Sir Conn was an angel. (Ha ha.)

I reached the end of the pool, and in one movement I pulled myself out and onto my feet. I’d never been able to do this before, surely? Vanessa threw me a towel, and I joined her under the sunshade. ‘You look super great!’ she said.

‘I feel it,’ I replied. Then I noticed her face had turned serious. ‘Oh oh,’ I said.

‘I am sorry,’ said Vanessa. ‘We ‘ave waited as long as we could, so you could recover from ze shock, but we ‘ave to make plans, no? You will ‘ave soon to go back. Zere is Tennant to look after.’ She pursed her lips when she said ‘Tennant.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘We ‘ave fought ze demons for 70 million years,’ she replied. ‘Tennant, or ze demon Grebulon as we know ‘im, was ze worst. ‘E kill me many, many times. ‘E cruel beyond belief. ‘E is your father, I suppose, but I do not trust ‘im. It was ze Master’s idea for Grebulon to seduce Guinevere, and Guinevere is still broken by it, and only ze Teacher ‘as ever see ‘er again.’

‘He saved me from Gavin.’

‘Well,’ Vanessa admitted. ‘Yes.’

‘And the Teacher trusts him.’

‘Yes, also.’ All the angels were fascinated by the Teacher, their secretive leader, who none of them had ever met. Only David Tennant and I, so far as I was aware, knew that the Teacher was a small woman called Miss Smallbone. I had, however, been told which of the world’s prominent figures were angels and which were known to be demons. I was surprised that Jeremy Clarkson was a goodie (‘Ha ha,’ squealed Vanessa. ‘It is ze perfect disguise, no!), and there were a myriad others. Of the demons that had been definitively identified, I’d already learnt about the French fascist President le Pen, who was definitely up to something. Others included Matt Damon, Graham Norton and Liz Hurley, which explained the latter pair’s shock wedding earlier this year. Also, and I was really sad to learn this, the lovely Ian Hislop and Stephen Fry. I suppose they were the demon versions of Clarkson.

‘Where is Ewan?’ said Vanessa. ‘I am dying of ‘unger.’ At that moment, there was a huge crash, and Ewan McGregor flew backwards out through the plate glass door. As he tried to swing himself to his feet, blood painting crazy patterns in the Hawaiian print, a stilettoed foot connected with the side of his head, and he crumpled with sickening finality.

‘Oh my God!’ I shouted, trying to stand. ‘Ewan! Are you ok!’

Tiny hands on my shoulder pressed me to my seat. ‘You are not ready for zis,’ said Vanessa. ‘I should ‘ave realised. Victoria Beckham was always one of ‘zem. She will not survive zis day.’

It was only then that I managed to focus on the owner of the stiletto, who was now stalking the edge of the pool as Vanessa Paradis strode to meet her. They met in a flurry of kung-fu somersaults and jack-knifing kicks almost too fast for the mind to register. It can only have been thirty seconds when a soft, lisping voice interrupted them. ‘Always the theatrics, Victoria,’ said David Beckham, ‘We haven’t got time.’ He was holding a gun. He raised it and fired.

‘Oh la la,’ said Vanessa Paradis, a red carnation blooming through her blouse. ‘I am sorry, Mary Sue. You will save us all, I know it. Tell Johnny I love ‘im.’