Angel Wings Coffee Break Tale

Angels come in all sorts of guises and from all sorts of places…

Ihave always known I was adopted. The narrative of my life has been the subject of fantasy as long as I can remember.

“They found you in a cabbage patch,” said Leila, and even though she hadn’t been born then, added, “Mummy and Daddy brought you home to play with me.”

The youngest, Denny, had a different take entirely.

“There was this war – right? And the bombs came and smashed everything to bits. Boom! And you were the only survivor. Dad had to fight off the wolves that were circling you…”

My friend, Nikki, if she was there, would say, “Rubbish! Your mum and dad bought you in a supermarket. You were the only baby left on the shelf and they felt sorry for you.”

The idea of a supermarket selling babies would make me laugh so hard that tears would run down my cheeks. Nikki knew that. She wasn’t being unkind.

I liked hearing their stories, for the truth was, they made me feel special.

However, there is a photo in our house of two laughing young women with their arms wrapped round each other. It was taken at the seaside and is so full of warmth and vitality that the sun practically oozes out of it.

“That’s your other mummy,” Mum said one day, when I asked who she was. “She’s in heaven now, but she was my best friend.” “Is she an angel?” I can’t remember what age I was but I was intrigued at the thought of having an Angel Mummy.

“A rebel angel,” Mum said, laughing.

It was the story I like best – even though it took years in the telling. Mum would always laugh or smile in a sad way when I mentioned my Angel Mummy.

I didn’t share this story with the others. It was too precious.

An angel was a delicate creature, like a dragonfly’s wings. Too close to the heat and they could burn.

It was not a secret, however. The others, when younger, just preferred their own versions of events.

I think I was in second year at high school when I learned that both my mums had been in care. Mum didn’t go into detail. All she said was that they only had each other, and it was them against the world.

“She loved you very much. So, before leukaemia took her,” said my mum, “she made arrangements in her will that I would look after you.” “But what about my dad?” “He never knew of your existence. Your mum wanted it that way. He wasn’t… he wasn't good to her.”

I think it was then that I thought of my Angel Mum in a pair of kick-ass boots. She would do things her way.

At the time, Nikki’s big sister had face piercings and I was into girl power and I thought of myself as tough.

Until I took the flu – real flu, not that wimpy bad cold stuff. I thought I was dying.

“Will I see my real mum?” I whimpered.

“No, I need you here because you're going to make us both proud when you become the best at whatever you chose to do. As well as being a wonderful, caring human being.”

I smiled. Mum made up stories, too sometimes.

Yet there was one part of the Angel Story she kept back – until a newspaper article rehashed an old story.

You see, when they were girls, both had lived in an institution in which abuse was widespread. My mums testified against certain individuals and helped get them convicted. “But we beat the system” Mum said, when I raged against the injustice of it.

I was angry for years until one day Mum said with quiet certainty.

“Linzie, Rach had you. You gave us something to fight for. You were our future and you brought us love. By the time your dad came along, I was ready for a relationship.”

So, there you go, I am special. But not half as special as my mum.

If Denny was to tell this story he would say, “There was this war – right? And the bombs came and smashed everything to bits. Boom! And you were the only survivor. And these two angels had to fight off the wolves that were circling you…”

It says it all really.