Angel Mine

"Come on, angel. Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"We're taking you to Paradise."

Paradise, as it turned out, was Harrods shopping centre in London.

The elite of the elite shopped there.

"Diana is so elegant and beautiful," sighed Trina, as they walked in. "She's my inspiration."

"I wish she was the inspiration for your hair," said Bex.

"Now, that's something to say when yours looks like you had it cut by a badger and then fell into a bucket of paint."

Bex gave a long whistle.

"That'll do," she said.

"Why are you angry with each other?" asked Mac, sounding hurt.

"First of all, we're not angry," said Bex. "If you're going to tag along with humans, you have to learn human things. This is proper banter."

"Americans don't do it," said Trina. "Or, well. They don't do it like us."

"And so...you hurt each other's feelings to deepen your bonds?"

"Sort of? You have to make sure it isn't actually hurting them," said Bex. 

"Some people go too far," Trina agreed. "Then they get defensive, like can't you take a joke? but those are not nice people."

"Yeah. If we're really upsetting each other, that's different."

"Anyway. Welcome to Harrods," Trina announced. "Paradise."

Mac looked around in doubt.

"I've been to Paradise. I live there. This is not it."

"It is for us," said Trina.

"Also, you may want to put away the wings," advised Bex, and Mac visibly colored, as if he had committed some kind of embarrassing faux pas, and tucked them away into another dimension, as they disappeared right in front of their eyes.

"Apologies. I quite forgot," he said. "This is very exciting for me. Humans never talk to me. Not until I met you, Bex."

"Didn't have much of a choice, now did I?"

"Look over here, Mac," said Trina loudly, cutting through the imminent squabble. "A beautiful carousel."

"Here she goes," said Bex under her breath.

"Harrods is a place steeped in history," said Trina. "Oscar Wilde was one of the best customers. Beatrix Potter's books were sold here. Harrods burned down, all the way back when it started, and the owner managed to fulfill all his Christmas order obligations anyway. It sold the bear that was the basis for Winnie-the-Pooh. It was the location of the first escalator in Britain, and customers were offered brandy at the top after having to experience it for the first time. It is the first word in luxury. This is one of the largest and most successful shopping centres in the world. It's elegant, it's elite, it's British, it's classy."

She sighed with a smile. She took a deep breath.

"Even the smell is wonderful."

After a long pause, just taking it all in, she continued:

"In short, it's Paradise."

Trina was now off wandering through the ultra-expensive luxury goods, and Mac watched her go with amusement.

"She really loves it in here, doesn't she?"

"She has aspirations. We both have almost no money and live in less than ideal circumstances. But she thinks she's going to end up at the Royal Ascot one day."

"Do you think she will?"

"She might. I've worked with her at the trials before. She's one of those you have to keep an eye on. Looks like candyfloss, fights like a bareknuckle boxer."

"Hm. You mean the sheepdog trials?"

"Yeah. That's what that'll do means, along with the whistle. You're done. For us, it's more like saying uncle, you won, something like that. Old inside joke."

"Do you miss it?"

"The countryside or the farming or the dogs?"

"Any of it."

"I miss the dogs," admitted Bex. "The rest...just wasn't for me. Or Trina. We spent a lifetime talking about London. She wanted a life with more high-end luxury. Money, in a word. Her family is dirt poor. Broke. Even for the area. We're kind of opposites but the same, in a way. I like the punk look, the punk music, all of that, but I had a relatively easy time of it growing up. Trina...let's just say that London has been good to her, and I doubt she misses a thing from back home. I think she'd tell you that London is her home. Sometimes I think she'd just like to forget where we came from, which is hard, since I'm still in her life on a daily basis."

"It must be difficult to change class like that, or so I have heard," said Mac. "This is the longest time I've spent down here on Earth. I thank you for the brief education."

"What's it like?"

"What, heaven?"

"Yeah."

"Well," said Mac slowly, "it's certainly not like this."

The way he said it, Bex wasn't really clear whether he thought that was a good or bad thing.

Before she could ask him, Trina was waving them over.

"What are the two of you doing?" she asked. "Having a little chinwag and missing everything! Honestly, you two."

"I mean, you're the one who met an angel and decided that the absolutely first thing he needed to do was go shopping," said Bex.

Trina put her hands on her hips.

"Well, just look at him."

Mac looked down at himself.

"Am I dressed inappropriately?"

"No," said Bex, just as Trina said, "I'll say," at the same time.

They glared at each other.

"Come on. Look at him. He deserves a good cleaning up. I'll bet he looks fantastic."

"They probably send him down here looking like that for a reason!"

"No, not really," Mac put in. "I choose my look."

Trina gave him the once-over with a raised eyebrow.

"Really."

"You should've seen me when I came down during the Plague."

"Yes, I'm sure you were a real fashion disaster," said Bex. "Is anyone else here not aware that this is an actual angel and we're going to give him, what? A fashion montage?"

"I'd be honored," Mac told Trina earnestly, and she gave Bex a triumphant smile. 

"See? He wants to!" she said.

Bex gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Be careful, or I'll do you next," said Trina, pointing a pink-painted, manicured nail in her face. "Now. Pipe down and let me work my magic."

Bex had to admit that Trina's magic was certainly something.

Mac emerged from the dressing room in outfit after outfit, many Savile Row tailored suits or clothes that gave Bex the vapors because a single shirt cost more than she'd make in an entire year. She wasn't really sure what Trina's plan was, since she herself had less money than even Bex did, despite appearances.

"Doesn't he look handsome," said Trina, clapping her hands in delight as Mac emerged yet again with some kind of very strange outfit that was clearly the mad dream of some fashion designer somewhere.

"You sound like someone talking about a dog or a five year old," said Bex.

"He's not a dog, he's an angel," sniffed Trina. "And I would know."

"Yeah, yeah," Bex groused. "Five time winner of the sheepdog trials, don't rub it in."

"You know that doesn't mean much to me. I have other goals in life."

"Yeah, like a life spent in places like this. Really, Treen? Don't you think it's kind of..."

Bex waved a hand at the general consumerism of it all, or something.

Trina rounded on her then, startling her.

"You can laugh at me all you want, Rebecca White," she said in a menacing undertone. "But I spent a lifetime with almost no food, and up to my arms in pig shit, and working and working and working, freezing my arse off because my family couldn't afford the heating! And you in your nice middle class home, with a warm fire and a nice family and everything provided for you. Sure, you worked the farms too, but you didn't have to, to survive! And yes! If my life is nothing but this vapid luxury for the rest of forever, then I will call it a success! Gold and diamond bracelets, food that hasn't gone off and is actually hot, and nice clothing, silk sheets without holes, soft pillows, luxury? Then yes. If that's what it takes so I never have to do any of that again, yes. And what about you? What are your plans? Your fashionable poverty doesn't look so charming in your thirties, your forties, your fifties? And what then? So you can look down on me if you like, but know this. I know where you come from, and all of this - "

here she indicated Bex's outfit and hairstyle -

" - is a complete put-on. And you might fool everybody else, Bex, but you won't fool me. I am the person you're aping, and real poor people would do anything to have your life! Or any of this luxury. So you can shut your trap, and open it after you've learned something about humility and kindness."

She was breathing hard, and she folded her arms.

"Um?" Mac said.

"What?" they both snapped at him, and turned to look.

"Is this more banter?" he asked, now wearing a very fetching purple lilac lace nightie.

"Oh!" said Trina, hurrying him back into the dressing room. "Not that!"

"Why not? I like the color."

"It's just - trust me, it's not for you."

"Okay," he said grumpily.

"And no, it wasn't banter," said Bex sadly, watching them go. "That was the real thing."

The worst part was that Trina was right.

And Bex didn't really know how to fix it.