Just Another Angel by Mike Ripley Page B

there under the right circumstances. Tricia noticed it too, for she put herself between us again on the front seat and I heard the giveaway click-clack from her pocket. I can take a hint. There was a gleeful whoop from the back seats. Carol had found my Sainsbury’s bag of booze faster than a sniffer dog could have.
    â€˜And which party are we all going to tonight?’ she chanted, then burped loudly.
    â€˜Put it down, Carol, it’s not yours,’ said Melanie in a voice that could have cheered a hockey team on the playing fields of Roedean.
    â€˜Okay, okay. Naughty Carol. Carol’s been a bad girl, so Carol has to be put in her place in front of the man.’
    I clocked her in the driving mirror. She had stretched out, lying on her back, and was speaking in a little girly voice.
    â€˜Put a sock in it, you old cow, you’ve caused more than your usual quota of trouble today.’
    I may be wrong, but I got the distinct impression that Melanie didn’t think too highly of Carol. I decided to keep quiet and drive. Carol began to sing a very rude version of’ ‘Pretty Flamingo’, which made me think that the stories of graffiti in Ladies loos were all true.
    Suddenly she sat up and put her podgy arms around the shoulders of both girls.
    â€˜Alrighty-tighty, Carol will make amends. Carol will do the shopping.’
    â€˜I don’t think I want to know about this,’ said Melanie, trying in vain to shake off Carol’s arm.
    â€˜Now don’t be such a straight, Miss Starchy Knickers. Carol will take care of everything. Lend me Melissa and the twins and we can still make the village shop before it shuts.’
    Melanie looked over Tricia’s bosom at me. ‘Will that be okay?’
    â€˜Sure,’ I said, wondering what I was agreeing to.
    â€˜Who’s he? Pardon,’ Carol burped again.
    â€˜I came to see you,’ I said, turning down the farm track to the camp.
    â€˜What does he want?’ Carol was still addressing Melanie, ignoring me.
    â€˜He came to see you. He said so. There’s no reason to talk as if he was dead.’
    â€˜But Melanie, sweetums –’ the little-girl-lost voice again – ‘you’re always telling us never to talk to strange men.’
    â€˜Nobody can ever tell you anything, Carol.’
    â€˜But you try, Mother Hen, don’t you.’
    Carol put her hands on either side of Melanie’s face and tried to twist it to receive a deep-throat kiss – her tongue was out and ready. We were nearing the camp, so I aimed for the ruts in the track and put my foot down.
    It worked beautifully. Carol was bounced backwards into her seat and then sideways on the floor of the van, banging her head on the side in the process. There was a good deal of howling from her, and a few overripe adjectives, but she was better padded than the seats of the Transit. I hoped my tequila was intact.
    We made the camp, and Melanie shot me a smile as she jumped out. Tricia backed her way out, never taking her eyes off me or letting her ball-bearings slip. Carol had more or less righted herself by the time I let her out of the side door.
    Again Carol acted as if I wasn’t there, swaying past me into the middle of the camp, where she put her hands on her hips and yelled: ‘Melissa! Bring the kiddies, we’re going shopping!’
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    That whole shopping trip was something I’d rather draw a veil over, not because it was mildly larcenous (okay, illegal) but because my street cred would be severely dented if the saga got out. However, it got me well in with the sisters of the peace camp.
    Melissa turned out to be a small, jolly woman, maybe a teacher or a social worker, and the only woman I saw in the camp who wore a wedding ring. The twins were pretty young – I never was much good with babies – and were called Anastasia and Lucifer – yes, Lucifer. Poor sod, just because it was a he. That proved to