Claire winced as she touched the swelling around her eye. The reflection in the bathroom mirror, even by the dim glow of the shaving light, should have been enough to confirm her discomfort but she still felt as if she needed to explore the pain. In the bedroom along the landing Geoff groaned in his drunken stupor and Claire held her breath in case he woke to find her missing. This time she was leaving. This time it would be for good. This time.

Claire made her way slowly downstairs by the light of the street lamp which shone through the landing window, careful to avoid the creaking tread. She had stopped on the way to check on the sleeping form of Daniella. For a moment she had stood at her open bedroom door, listening to her daughter’s soft and steady breathing. She was the only good thing to have come out of the marriage. Only two years old and yet living in a household that produced more violence than Claire had known in the whole of her own childhood.

Daniella was supposed to have made things better, brought them closer together but it had not worked out like that, only driven him further away. How could she have let things get so bad?

She would let Geoff fall into a deeper sleep before slipping back into the bedroom to pack enough things to take her and Daniella home to her parents. Sanctuary.

"Do you love him?" A man’s voice spoke in the darkness, startling Claire, but it was nothing compared to the fear she had for her husband. Despite the shock she managed to stifle her cry by pressing her hand to her mouth.

"What do you want?" she asked fumbling for the light switch. Stark white light flooded the room and Claire flinched against the brightness. In the centre of the room was a man wearing only a loose white shift. She blinked her eyes against the light, not believing what she had seen. When she opened them again she saw, rising behind him, a pair of white feathery wings.

Claire felt no fear. This was a dream, it had to be. The angel looked as if it had just stepped out of one of the paintings her grandfather used to have in his front room. She suddenly remembered spending summer holidays with him when she had still been at school and rainy days when she would lie on his settee and just look at the paintings he had picked up in junk shops. Safe times. The paintings were now in the attic gathering dust, given to her when her grandfather had died but never allowed to hang them on the walls.

"Nothing," he said, dragging her back to the present. "Only to help."

He held out his arms and moved towards her. At first she backed away, almost knocking over the small table by the door. Then as if she had no choice in the matter she took a careful step towards him.

"Does he do his often?" he said.

She shook her head but even this movement was as much a lie as the times she said she had walked into a door, or fallen down stairs or tripped over the cat. All lies. He stopped when she was close enough for him to touch her, and although he relaxed his arms slightly she took another step towards him.

The angel raised one hand towards her bruised eye and instinctively Claire flinched, but when his hand did not move she allowed him to touch her. She felt warm fingers stroke the pain away until it felt as if it had never happened. From upstairs she heard Geoff cry out and she pulled away.

"It’s gone now," he said moving his hand a few inches from her face.

Claire repeated her earlier action by sliding her fingertips beneath his and felt the smoothness of her cheek where the swelling had been.

"Does that feel better?"

She nodded and could not resist a smile when his hand touched hers. For a moment she remembered how Geoff had slammed a cupboard door closed with her hand inside it, but even the pain of memory was gone in an instant.

The angel’s hand moved across her face, touching her nose, her chin, her mouth. She recalled nosebleeds, split lips and pain. The angel leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly on each spot in turn, kissing the pain away. Again she heard the cry from the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Getting rid of the pain," he said. "Sending it back where it belongs. Isn’t it what you want?"

"I don’t understand," she said although she did. She wanted him to kiss her. To kiss her in all the places where Geoff had hit her and make it all go away. Every cut, every bruise, every broken bone.

The angel said nothing. Instead he lifted her arm and pushed back the sleeve of her bath robe. Instinctively Claire tried to hide the bruises as she had countless times before, then realised there was no shame in letting him see. He kissed her again and she felt the warm touch of his lips against her skin. When he moved his head away the bruises had disappeared.

"Do you love him?" the angel asked again.

She wanted to say yes. It was what she had been saying for years, her defence for staying and taking the beatings.

"If you love him I will leave now."

"That’s not fair," she said.

"Maybe not," the angel said. "But if you love him you will not want me to do this."

"No," she said. "I don’t love him. Not any more."

The angel moved closer until she could feel the warmth of his body even though they were not touching. She could feel his fingers tug at the knot in the belt of her robe and although she thought to stop him, decided against it. Then she felt his hands slide inside to touch the flesh around her ribs.

The bruises there were older than those on her arms but still hurt, beneath them were the memories of two cracked ribs from a year earlier. He had cried then and said he would never lay a finger on her again.

Together they lay on the floor while the angel touched and kissed every inch of her body. Each time he kissed her she felt the remembered pain melt away until she felt warm and clean. Cleaner than she had felt at any time since she and Geoff had been married. All that remained was the soreness between her legs and the bruises within.

The angel stroked the inside of her thigh and she felt herself stiffen suddenly against his touch. She had laid herself open to him and revealed her darkest secret and yet she felt she wanted to hold back, as if she needed to keep something of herself.

"I can make that go away too," the angel said, his hand now resting lightly on her leg.

"Please. Can you just hold me for a while?"

"Of course," said the angel. "But he will not wake. Not now."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am," he said and she felt the warmth of his body and the soft caress of his feathery wings as they enveloped her. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him as tightly to her as she could then felt herself relax.

One hand gently stroked the inside of her thigh, nothing like the rough fumblings Geoff made after late nights drinking with his friends while she had stayed at home. And when the Angel finally entered her she felt him warm inside her, moving with her, never wanting it to end.

It was the first time she had really made love in years. Geoff had only used her when it suited him, when he needed to, forcing himself into her dryness, making her wince with pain. The first time she had not lain as still as she could, hoping that he would get it over with quickly. This time she would not sob herself to sleep, clutching the pillow to her face in case he should hear at become angry. Now that was over and she could make a truly fresh start.

Upstairs she could hear Geoff screaming, but somehow it no longer mattered. In her shoulders she felt the start of soft new growths.

Copyright © 1999 Steven Lockley. All rights reserved.
First Publised in Kimota issue 11, Autumn 1999

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