Angels in the Architecture by Sue Fitzmaurice Read Free Book Online Page B

children’s play was relaxed. If there were rules of any kind, none impacted the enchantment of this scene. They weren’t hurried or trapped by a time that said they had to be here or there. Nothing bound them in any way except they were with each other and doing as they wished, the one helping the other to learn, the little student happy with this sweet friend who had always been with him.
    ‘It’s funny , isn’t it, Tim? Do you want to try again?’ Jillie Watson, with a devotion and patience beyond her seven years, gently took the box from her younger brother and emptied the shapes on to the floor where they sat. If anyone else had taken the box from him, he would have screamed. But Jillie usually had Tim’s complete cooperation. She never became bored or frustrated with him although the children’s parents were willing to concede she one day might. For now they took pleasure in her custodial attitude.
    ‘See. This one goes in here. This one here. Where does this one go, Tim?’
    Jillie passed a red wooden circle to Tim, and he took hold with his thumb and forefinger, letting it drop into his lap and turning it over with his hand.
    ‘You put it in here. C’mon, put it in here.’ Jillie held the circle side of the box out to Tim.
    Putting it down again , she picked up the red piece in Tim’s lap, put it into his hand and guided his hand to the circular opening in the box, manoeuvring the piece through the hole.
    ‘Yay, you did it! Let’s do that again , shall we?’ Jillie began the process over. She’d watched Tim’s therapists many times and knew that repetition would eventually pay off.
    Timmy smiled at something. A huge smile that went on and on, and he laughed .
    ‘You don’t want to do that? Okay, what do you want to do, Tim?’
    Jillie waited, looking as Tim continued his smile and giggle and stare. He rolled backwards on to the floor, giggling still, as though he were being tickled. Jillie rolled back with him, not sure of the game, until it seemed just as suddenly to be over and Tim sat up.
    ‘Shall we go outside and kick the ball?’
    ‘Ball.’
    ‘C’mon then.’ Jillie held out her hand and took her brother’s small chubby one.
    Tim got up from the floor, still smiling. Whatever amused him had gone by the time they got to the back door. Jillie took the steps carefully, watching her brother’s footing and then running together into the yard. Jillie retrieved a rubber ball from under some bushes and launched it carefully towards her brother. Tim jumped up and down, feet together in one spot on the lawn.
    A while later their mother’s voice called them inside to get ready for a Sunday drive.
     
     

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    It is not known precisely where angels dwell . It has not been God’s pleasure that we should be informed of their abode.
    Voltaire (1694–1778)
     
    Giles Johnson was a barman at the Magna Carta . He was a big northerner with a generous ear and a solid word of advice for most. He was also large enough and fearsome enough that a look from him across the pub would still almost any kind of fracas about to happen.
    Giles stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled up and tea towel scrunched and twisted round the inside of a pint glass. It was quiet yet, apart from the two fellows in the corner, one old and one younger, with a chessboard and a very slow pint each. They were often in, always just the two of them, always the chessboard. The pair of them always looked like they’d seen better days – a bit scruffy, worn collars and cuffs, and shoes that might do with a polish. They were an odd couple. He’d been surprised the first time he’d gone by them and heard their conversation – well spoken and gracious in an unexpected way. He could imagine the old boy was retired from something, a university perhaps, but never quite fathomed the younger one. Giles figured he was an oddball, just too unusual for anyone to employ. Or just maybe the old guy was an eccentric millionaire and this was his