He glances up from the menu. “What’s up, babe?”

Oh God, I can’t do it. I can’t.

“Nothing.” I smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looks at me for a moment, then back to the menu. “So, I was thinking maybe some spring rolls, and chicken satay –”

“Actually,” I say cutting him off, this unknown strength suddenly spurring me on. “It does matter. I have to talk to you.”

“Okay . . .” He comes and takes a seat on the sofa opposite me.

I press my trembling hands together, palm to palm. I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I keep my eyes on the floor but I can feel his gaze burning into me.

“The thing is . . . I have to tell you that . . .” And now the words won’t come. My throat is so clogged up with them I’m practically choking.

“Lucyna,” his voice comes softly, “whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here for you.”

I know what he’s thinking. He thinks I’m about to confess that I have an eating disorder. If only it was that.

I look up, staring directly into his warm, trusting eyes. “There’s something about me that you need to know – have a right to know.” I instantly correct myself.

He smiles tenderly. “Babe, don’t worry, its okay, I know what you’re going to say. I know you have a problem – with food.” He lingers over the word. “I’d have to be blind not to. But don’t worry, I’ll get you all the help you need, I promise, and I’ll be right by your side all the way.”

And that’s when I realise just how much he truly cares for me. Making this so much harder for me to say.

“Come here,” he says, beckoning to me.

I shake my head, briefly closing my eyes. “No, it’s not that. That’s not what I’m trying to tell you.”

His brow furrows. “What is it, then?”

“I – I’m . . .” my voice trails off into oblivion. A tears rolls down my cheek.

“Luce – what is it?”

I stare at him with helpless eyes.

“Do I have to fucking guess?”

“No – I –”

“Are you’re married?”

I look at him with complete surprise. “No.”

“Have you got kids?”

“No.”

“Were you born a man?”

“No! Just stop, James!” I hold my hand up. “Give me a minute, please.”

He goes silent and begins rolling the menu up in his hands. I can see just how frustrated he is.

I bring my knees to my chest hugging them. “This is a really hard thing for me to say and it’s going to be even harder for you to hear.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Just say it.” His tone is harsh, impatient, taking me by surprise

I quickly recover and, finding my backbone, I put my feet down to the floor, look him in the eye and say, “I’m not human.” Then I prepare myself for the worst.

“Funny,” he says, without a trace of humour, “you’re really starting to piss me off now. Will you just say whatever the fuck it is and get it over and done with!”

I look at him feeling wrong-footed. “I just have – I’m not human,” I repeat calmly even though I feel anything but.

He sighs and starts to get up off the sofa. “If this is your way of getting out of eating then –”

“I’m serious, James”

I think it must be the tone of my voice that stops him because he hesitates. So I seize the moment.

“I’m a Bringer – well I was – I’m not really sure what I am now,” I ramble. “But I – well, we Bringers take human souls to Heaven when they’ve died. It’s what we exist for. My home is a place called Pure Land. It lies on the Astral plane between Heaven and earth . . .” And now I’m actually saying these words, I can hear just how very unreal they sound, and just exactly how they must sound to him.

He probably thinks I’m crazy.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” I add with emphasis. “But I am telling you the truth.”

I can see his mind working, quickly, trying to processes what I’ve just told him. His face obtuse, uncomprehending. Then he laughs, awkwardly. “You’re seriously expecting me to believe that you’re - what - an angel?”

“Yes. Well, no.” I shake my head. “I’m not an angel. But I am sort of the conception that you have of them. Angels do exist, but well I’m what is called a Bringer.”

He taps the rolled up menu against his knee. “Right. Okay.” He pauses pushing his tongue between his teeth, making a kind of hissing noise. “Seriously, Luce, this really isn’t funny. I know you have an odd way but honestly –”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to be honest with you.”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his legs and crushes the menu between his large hands. “Okay, and let’s just say for a minute that I believe you – which right now I’m having a really fucking hard time doing, then what are you doing here with me? Why aren’t you off in Heaven – erm – doing whatever it is you Bringers do?”

“Because I can’t go back – well I mean I could – I think, but I don’t want to,” I say, feeling discomfited. “James, the night of your accident, I was there to take you to – well I mean – you were supposed to die that night.” I glance over at him to see his eyes flicker and I know there’s some tiny part of him that maybe kind of believes me, even though his common sense is strongly telling him otherwise. I press on, “I was there to take you to Heaven. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you die, I had to save you and somehow I changed – to this human form, and I could touch you and you could actually see me, and I didn’t want to let go of that and lose you and –” I peter off.

He rubs his head. “Hang on, so what you’re saying is I was supposed to die and you were there to take me to Heaven but you changed into a human and decided to save me instead?” he says this with a really patronising tone to his voice and a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Yes – well there’s a lot more to it than that, but essentially – yes.”

“Right.” He nods his head disbelievingly.

“I am telling you the truth,” I reiterate.

He sits back in his chair. “Yeah, sure you are.”

“I knew Max.”

His eyes flick up at me.

“Max, your dad,” I reaffirm.

“I know what my dad’s name is,” he says coldly. “How do you –” He swallows loudly, “– how did know my dad?”

And that’s when I know he’s finally listening to me, that I’ve finally got his attention.

“I was his Bringer. I took him to Heaven. That’s how I first met you.”

“I don’t –” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The day Max died – July second, at three fourteen pm. I was there in the hospital room with him, well his soul – and you.”

His eyes narrow to confusion but I keep mine fixed on his.

“I was talking to Max, trying to help him come to terms with his death when you came in the room and something happened to me that had never happened before –”

He suddenly sits forward, angrily. “I don’t want to listen to this.”

“No, James, you need to hear this and I need to say it,” I continue on, not giving him a chance to respond. “I didn’t have feelings – emotionally or physically. It’s just the way we are. But from the very moment I saw you, I started to have them, feelings, I mean, and I was so confused and curious . . . about the feelings – about you. And then Max asked me to watch over you and –”

“He what?”

“He asked me to watch over you. He was worried about leaving you alone, he said you wouldn’t take care of yourself properly and he asked me to look in on you to make sure you were okay, so I visited you to fulfil my promise to him. And also I wanted to understand them – the feelings, understand what was happening to me and then I discovered that mainly the feelings I was having, well they were for you, and then I couldn’t seem to stay away. And on the night of your accident, fortunately out of all of us it was me that was called to be your Bringer and –” My throat closes and tears suddenly spill from my eyes. The enormity of it all dawning on me. “I just couldn’t let you die.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again –”

He rubs roughly at his face, and laughs discordantly. “I just can’t fucking believe I’m hearing this!”

“I know it’s a lot to take,” I say through my tears.

“No you don’t.” He looks at me sharply. “You have no fucking idea how I’m feeling right now.” He gets up. “This is just – fucking ridiculous! It’s too much . . . I can’t listen to this shit – I have to get out of here.”

He hobbles quickly out of the room.

“Where are you going?” I scamper after him, the panic audible in my voice but I don’t care.

He doesn’t answer and I get in the hall to find him already at the door.

The panic grips a tighter hold of me. “James?” I cry. I know how frantic I sound but I can’t seem to control it. It’s like the fear’s taken over and I no longer have control.

He turns abruptly. “Why are you doing this? Everything was going so great and –”

“Because it’s the truth and because you have a right to know.” I wipe the tears off my face. “And I knew I couldn’t hide it for much longer. You were already starting to notice things, like how I don’t eat –”

“And there was me thinking you had fucking anorexia!” he yells fiercely.

His tone hits me like a slap across the face.

“And I – I wanted you to know me,” I say in a quieter voice. “The real me. Before anything happened between us, I mean before we were intimate – I didn’t think it was right –”

He laughs hollowly. “Haven’t we been intimate enough already?” His voice is like ice, coating me with its horrifying chill and I just want to shrink down and be invisible.

“I know, I meant – I’m so sorry.” I wrap my arms around myself.

I’m too afraid to look at him, afraid of what I’ll see on his face, afraid that he’s repulsed by me now he knows who I really am.

I could hear the disdain in his voice. I don’t want to see it in his eyes.

“This is just too – too fucking weird,” he says uncomprehending, clutching his head. “I have to go.” He presses down on the handle.

I grab hold of his arm. “James, please don’t go!” I say, my tone desperate. “I love you.”

He spins around. His face is livid. “Love me – fuck!” He shakes his head. “Do you even know the meaning of the fucking word?”