THE FIRST ANGEL 5

Sally woke at around 6am. I was in her room sleeping on a military style folding cot next to her bed. I stirred when she stirred. Cautiously I sat up. Two squinty little eyes peered out from under the duvet in sleep-slow surprise.

‘Jonny?’

I nodded and smiled what I hoped was a re-assuring smile.

‘Where’s Marge?’

‘Marge is in her room. She’s very tired. We  had a lot of work to do when you were asleep. I stayed here so she could get some rest.’

‘I need to pee.’

I slipped on the bathrobe Marge gave me and rolled back Sally’s duvet. She jumped out and ran to the toilet. Efficiently unzipping and pulling her sleep suit down into a fluffy ring around her ankles she clearly need no assistance from me. I waited at the door.

‘Marge you’re awake!’

Marge was standing behind me. Apart from slight puffiness around her eyes her brief encounter with Jack Daniels didn’t appear to have affected her.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’ll live. . . . Actually I feel alright, I guess I needed the sleep.’

 I found it odd considering Marge was normally an occasional glass of Riesling person, but she did crash around eight leaving me watching the adventures one of my favourite childhood character, Gromit.

Marge insisted on making breakfast to give Sally a “good start to her day.” While Sally carefully spooned her porridge we sipped coffee.

‘What do you think we should do about this mess, Jonny.’

’I’m not sure. If we express our concerns it might precipitate a premature reaction. You know how jumpy the suits are.’

‘Ja. I thought that also, but we can’t ignore it. It’s bound to affect Sally’s situation.’

‘That’s for sure. You know I think the safest thing is to wait a while. Let the suits tell us. If the merde hits the fan we’d best feign ignorance that’ll give us time to get figure out what to do. Forwarded is forearmed an all that.’

‘Absolutely. I was already thinking Sally has enough trust to allow me to gently start evaluation. Also there’s the question of the education. A life on the run has left her well behind. She’s intelligent, but that’s no help when you can’t read or write.’

‘That is probably more important at this stage.’

‘Why are you whispering? Are you talking about me?

‘No, Jonny and I didn’t want to disturb you while you were eating, that’s rude.’

‘Brenda said it’s rude to whisper.’

‘Well that’s us told, Darling, but we were talking about work, it’s very boring.’

Sally gave us a sideway look and pushed the empty bowl away, signalling she wanted a blob of her favourite mango yoghurt. I couldn’t resist kissing her on the forehead.

Around 7am I tramped across powdery snow to my apartment in near darkness. The heavy grey clouds threatening another dump masked most of the weak morning light. Removing the clothes I’d slept in I took a long shower and slouched about semi-naked in my apartment for an hour. I decided to dress in jeans and a polo shirt under a white lab coat for the staff meeting I’d called to “update” them with a pack of lies about Sally’s situation. In other words I chose to look like a working doctor.

The briefing didn’t last more than ten minutes:

‘Sally is in good health physically. Unfortunately the flight from Australia took its toll. She is suffering jet lag. Moody, tired and unresponsive. She threw up the half the breakfast she ate. The other half is all over Margaret.’ (Amused chuckles.) ‘We should delay until she is mentally strong enough to cope with our planned procedures. Even the preps could be daunting if she is stressed. Margaret will assess the situation. When she’s happy she’ll give us the all clear. We should be in a position to start next week. I suggest we reconvene Friday 09.00. Sorry guys.’

The meeting broke up with a chorus of polite disappointed groans. Pieter Van Christi, a young anaesthetist from Ghent hung back and asked why I allowed so long for the girl to recover from Jet lag. I explained Sally was only six and we couldn’t expect her to control her emotions like an adult. He seemed puzzled. I recalled Pieter’s CV. He was only eight when AVA struck. Raised an only child, probably in a gloomy Catholic household grieving their loss of a chance to expand the family, he’d never seen, let alone experienced interaction with a very young child. I felt very sorry for him and millions like him. After he left I unfolded my phone and switched off its do not disturb setting. Immediately the thing burped informing me I had a secure message. It simply said: Please call PX657-SAP

My immediate thought: ‘Looks like the suits had figured it out,’