“So, where next, then?” he asked.
“All in good time,” replied the angel. “It’s been a longday, and you don’t want to do too much at once.”
“So when do I take the next one?” Kent was eager to get on,but then he could use some time to think about all of this.
“Come back here tomorrow, same time, and I’ll be waiting. We’lldo it one day at a time. That will give you a chance to reflect on each tripbefore you take the next one. Now think carefully about where and when you wantto go tomorrow and I will see you then.”
The angel clicked his fingers again and vanished, leaving Kentalone on the rooftop. Disappointingly there was no puff of smoke or any other sortof special effect. Clearly these were just cinematic techniques used to makegenies and other such apparitions seem more dramatic in films.
If this one was a genie, he was much better value than youraverage movie genie. They normally gave out three wishes and he’d been givendouble that. Genie, angel or whatever, it didn’t really matter. He had beengiven an incredible opportunity and he must make sure he did not waste it.
He looked around him. Apart from a few scattered cars, the placewas deserted. He hadn’t seen another real person the whole time he had been upthere. Most of the shoppers parked on the lower floors where it was sheltered, especiallyat this time of year.
So, what now? he mused. Did he go home and face the musicwith Debs, or head off to the pub for a few hours to soften the blow of beingsacked? Should he tell anyone about the experience he had just had or not? Hedecided not. Things were bad enough right now with him losing his job withoutpeople thinking he was going insane as well. That wouldn’t do his future employmentprospects any good and they were looking bleak enough as it was.
He walked back across the roof towards the lifts that leddown to the street below. By the time he reached the ground floor he haddecided what he was going to do, at least for the rest of this evening. He hadhad more than enough excitement for one day so he was going to give the pub amiss and go home to his wife. He would have to tell her sooner or later that hehad lost his job and he might as well get it over with. If he went to the puband got tanked up first she’d only be angrier when he got back.
Kent lived in a spacious Victorian red-brick house. It was partof a terrace that led off the same road into town that he’d walked down earlieras a seven-year-old, just a few hundred yards away from his childhood home.
He hadn’t always lived in the town. He had spent theformative years of his career with the Metropolitan Police in London, but hadreturned home after some unpleasantness with a female colleague. He had boughtthe house when he married Debs, enabling him to be close to his mother in thelater stages of her Alzheimer’s when it was quite obvious that Annie wasn’tgoing to lend a hand.
It only took him a few minutes to walk back to the house whichwas just as well since he no longer had a car. When he had unceremoniously beengiven the boot earlier in the day, they had taken that off him as well.
His wife was very proud of their home. The mature frontgardens were adorned with rose bushes and shrubs, neatly framing each side ofthe bay windows. Even in November, the rose bushes were still flowering. It wasfully dark by the time he got home, but the garden was brightly illuminated bythe yellow glare of the street lamp directly opposite.
The house was also lit up from the inside, a bright glowcoming through the bay window of the front room where Debs had not yet closedthe curtains. Kent knew that she would have been home from her job for about anhour. She worked in the café at Josie’s bakery in the town, which closed at 4pmeach day. Sometimes she brought back leftover doughnuts and cakes, but herarely got his hands on them. The kids usually devoured the lot before he gothome from work.
By now she would be in the kitchen preparing the dinner. Whateverother problems they may have had, he couldn’t deny she was a fantastic cook. Unfortunatelyhe had frequently disappointed her by failing to turn up for the meals she had devotedlyprepared. He usually blamed this on the demands of his police work, but thereality was somewhat different.
The truth was, it was very rare for him to have to work lateand there were only so many times he could get away with falling back on thisexcuse. The first couple of times he had said something like, “I’m sorry, love,but we brought in a murder suspect late this afternoon. I couldn’t just clockoff, could I?”
Unfortunately his town was a crime backwater and murdersuspects were practically non-existent. The third time he tried this excuse withina year, she didn’t believe him. He had of course been where he always was whenhe failed to show up for dinner. His absence was because he had popped into TheRed Lion for a ‘quick one’ after work and lost track of time.
Things had come to a head a few months ago when he had committedthe cardinal sin of forgetting his wedding anniversary. It had been a hot Augustday and after a boring day stuck in the police station he had been craving afew nice, cold beers in the pub.
At around 7pm Debs had turned up unexpectedly at the pub carryinga tray holding a plate wrapped in aluminium foil, complete with cutlery and saltand pepper pots. She had slammed it down on the bar in front of him where he wassitting with the regulars and said, “There. If you’re going to live in the pub,you might as
