‘You have five new messages.’

‘Hi Love, just phoning to see how you are.  I’ll talk to you later ok? Bye’

‘Hey Sweet pea, I’m home if you fancy a natter.  Speak to you later. Bye’

‘Alright Darlin’?  Bag of Peas? Sounds more like a bag of shite to me!  Call me later Honey!’

‘Hi Darling. Hot boys in Abercrombie and Fitch!! Call you later!’

‘Hi love, its only me.  You ok?  Call me.’

In the dream she was wearing a rabbit fur coat and high diamante sandals. She ran out of the house in the middle of the night, the air was damp and cold, heavy smell of fir trees and sharp bursts of steam as she breathed.  She was running breathless to the only man who could help.  Her toes were freezing, white skin turning blue with cold.  Running up the lane, up that hill, up the track that ran behind The White Pyramid, up up up past the clay mountains.  Up to Blackberry Row, to the house that had stood empty for years.  There too was the old Morris, abandoned, a rusty heap, the ignition key they had long ago stolen now grasped tightly in the satin lining of her pocket.  Through the mist she could see him leant against that old car, waiting. She ran to him and buried her face in his coat, inhaling the familiar and comforting smell of Diesel oil.  Somewhere a dog barked low and loud, and she knew that they had found each other.

‘You have to go back now’ he said.

Anaïs woke with a start.  Absent-minded she got out of bed and hit the button on her answer phone.  It was Christmas.  There were Angels.