Chapter 53: The Orchard: Gold

I wandered through the orchard in the golden dusk. Sun dappled through the leaves but it was too low to reach over the buildings and down as far as the grass, which was mown but not freshly or obsessively, the tree trunks ringed with deeper grasses and some white flowers which my mum would be embarrassed I can’t name. The angels’ replacement London headquarters were in a mansion in one of those Mayfair terraces where, because you only walk up and down the streets, you don’t realise some of the houses back onto significant pieces of land. The front of the house was grand enough, though it was thinly camouflaged by a row of buzzers that made it look like flats, but inside and out the back, it was amazing. The orchard had officially been planted in an attempt to defeat prying eyes in the overlooking houses and flats, but really it was because everyone likes fruit.

I’d slipped out of the interminable conference indoors on the pretext of needing the loo, and I stepped outside for a moment, and I suddenly felt a million miles from the chaos I had sparked. The French government was enraged, obviously, but the French people were ominously sullen. Britain was more or less convinced, which wasn’t surprising given that le Pen tried to obliterate London. Around the world, the angelic revelations had been met with either incredulity or outright disbelief. But any huge mental shift takes time, and at least we’d convinced the jury and David Tennant was free. David Tennant, who hugged me at the verdict, and who I hugged back tight, and who looked at me with his crooked smile and shook his head ruefully. David Tennant, who felt like the other half of me, because he was half of me. David Tennant, my father, who was inside the house volunteering for a suicide mission so he could protect me. And Johnny Depp was in there too, who was, well, who was who he was. Johnny was why I came outside, really. Every time he spoke or looked at me, I forced my face into a mask, but I don’t suppose it worked. My feelings about him were very mixed, and when I say that I don’t mean it: my feelings about him weren’t serious, in the final analysis, but they were powerful, clear and simple, and I felt them whenever I saw him, even though I knew it wasn’t right or couldn’t last, but my head would overcome my feelings. I knew this was important because the Teacher had said…

‘Hello, Mary Sue,’ said Miss Smallbone. She was sitting quietly against the rude red-brick wall at the back of the orchard, her legs straight in front of her in a long, light lilac skirt that reached almost to her sensible, anonymous trainers. Her round face was tilted sideways, and just caught the lowest edge of bright sun as she looked up at me.

‘Teacher,’ I said.

‘You did well, I think. Or at least, David is free. And now we can get to the end of this.’

‘You look tired.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t a criticism, Teacher.’ I moved to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. It was hot late summer, and I wearing my small olive shorts and black vest. My friends say this makes me look like a commando, I say I wear it because it’s so comfortable, and we all know I actually where it because I’m half-Korean and slim, and it’s a really good look for me that also makes it look as if I’m not trying. The brick was warm and rough against the skin of my shoulders and arms, and I pressed my neck back into it, wanting the roughness against the bones of my spine, all the way to the skull. To get that, I had to tilt my chin into my chest, pushing till I had felt each vertebra touch against the brick. It took me some time, and then I sat down in front of Miss Smallbone. ‘Can we save my mother?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What about me? Will I survive?’

‘I don’t know. It took me too long to realise what the Master was planning. Forgive me. But all we can do is try.’ I nodded. ‘Tomorrow night, Mary Sue, as soon as the shadows fall. Are you sure you’re ready?’

‘Of course I’m not ready.’

‘Of course.’ She wasn’t chastened.

‘Why would it be so bad, me and Johnny Depp?’

‘I’ve told you it would be bad.’

‘Please, Teacher. If he isn’t the Master, and you swear he isn’t, then I can’t understand why it would be so dangerous? I know he doesn’t love me, but, I mean, I don’t love him either, it’s just… I mean, this is the end of the world! Surely there’s no harm in, I mean, I might die, and everything is basically a nightmare, and this was one thing which was amazing, even if, well, it’s just sex obviously, but…’ and I was looking at the Teacher’s face while I was saying this, and she was looking at her hands, and I understood. ‘You love Johnny Depp,’ I said.

She didn’t move, but the skin of her neck darkened.