Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,29

as the baby, I might cry if I can’t!”

“You’ll just have to cry, then,” said Mohmi, “I think you have other places to go and things to do that are more urgent. We will talk with your teachers and get their advice. When the time is right, you can all be together again. And maybe you can all use the experience to learn something, not just sort out a silly promise you made on a balmy hillside in a fit of romantic fervour. Right, Trynor, Jotin?”

The two guides nodded, smiling. “Yes,” they said. “We’ll let you know when it’s a good time. In the meanwhile, go back to your groups, get on with other tasks. We’ll let you know when you’re ready.”

Danthys looked at Alessia and reached a tendril of energy towards her.

“I wish we were in the same group,” he whispered, “or even at the same level. Then we could see each other all the time and not have to wait to be given lives.”

Alessia nodded and turned to Trynor.

“Can we not be put into the same group, Trynor? Soul mates ought to be together, surely?”

“When you have learnt more, maybe you will be put into a skill group together. But for now, you are more advanced than Danthys. He would hold you back.”

“No!” Alessia was indignant. “Our energies match, you saw them. We would help each other. Please!”

“Not yet, my love. We will arrange another life together for you as soon as we can. And you can meet here sometimes, between classes. Be patient. Say goodbye, now.”

Chapter 11

Dublin May 1972

David could hear the sounds of happy singing coming from the kitchenette of their little flat, along with the crashing and banging that indicated that a meal was being prepared. It was just over a week since they had arrived home from their honeymoon in Spain, a lovely sunny warm fortnight, when Kathleen had seemed to love him more than ever, had invited him back to bed at every opportunity and had encouraged him to love her in the most physical ways. Quite a change from the one hurried New Year’s Eve fumbling before the marriage, which had resulted in the pregnancy. Maybe being married is the key, thought David, wincing at yet another crash in the kitchen. She just wasn’t relaxed before. Pity we got pregnant so quickly though. Not enough time to think things through, to finish my course, to get those qualifications. Now I might have to do it as a night course. His mind wandered down the trail labelled ‘night’ and he felt a familiar frisson as he remembered Spain. Isn’t quite so good the last few days, she’s more inclined to huddle under the covers. Probably the weather, it’s cool here and we were spoiled by that sunshine.

Kathleen came in, carrying two plates. “Ta Da!”

“I take it my beautiful wife has produced a masterpiece?”

“Don’t I always?” Kathleen was flirtatious.

“Oh, absolutely. Puree of spaghetti, singe of chops, risotto a la carbon. Delicious.”

“You ate them.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? Didn’t you make them? What is it tonight?”

“Ham salad.”

“Great. Explains all the crashing. Lots of cooking to do. Oh Kath, I love you!” David reached out for Kathleen, who sidestepped him and put the plates on the table. Her hair swung forward and he put out his hand to stroke it. She flicked it back over her shoulder and smiled at him.

“Sit,” she said as she took her own place, humming her happy little tune.

“Is your morning sickness still all right, love? It seemed OK in Spain. Mum told me it only usually lasts about three months.”

“I’m not four months pregnant.” Kathleen fixed her eyes on him and a chill ran down David’s back. He looked at her, not having taken in what she was saying. “I’m just five weeks. Dr Holden told me today.”

“What? How can you be only five weeks pregnant? It’s May. Ages since New Year.”

“I wasn’t pregnant then. But I am now, isn’t it great? Five weeks, counting from two weeks before we got married.”

“You told me you were pregnant. So we had to get married. What happened?”

“I wasn’t pregnant. But you were dithering and not getting on with proposing. I couldn’t propose to you, I’m the girl.”

“You could have asked me. It’s 1972, not the Middle Ages.”

“But what if you’d said no?”

“I would have said no. I didn’t want to get married, to anyone.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” Kathleen put her head into her hands and stared at the table, “To