in fact. With delight.
“WOOOOAHHH! FREEEDOMMM! HALLELUJAH! I’M OUT AND PROUD, MOTHER! WINGS DON’T FAIL ME NOW!!!”
As my eyes recover from the blast of light or…whatever it was that just happened, they start to make out a figure. Zipping through the air at speed, bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball and emitting a light so brilliant it doesn’t so much shine as sing. He is a small (sort of handspan-sized), apparently flying…man. And he’s shouting at me.
“I’m out! You let me out! At last! Candy Caine! Let me have a look at you…Do you know how to take your time or…WOW. Nice outfit. You are obviously in the middle of an, um, emotional situation? Never fear, I am here now. Speaking of which, where am I?” Four tracing-paper wings crinkle and buzz as the shining creature flies over to the window. “Urgh! Snow! The worst weather for dressing well. Perhaps I shouldn’t be too hard on you, then.”
I try to speak but nothing comes out. Shakily, I push myself up to stand. I’m trying to work out whether anything hurts but if it does I’m too shocked to feel it yet. I’m in the middle of the room, goldfish-mouthed and speechless in my pyjamas, my beaten up old beast of a guitar hanging limply around my neck. The creature hovers in the window, snow swirling behind him.
“I…I…” I manage to lift my finger and point. Quite what I am hoping to indicate I don’t know.
“Don’t point, Candy Caine. Terribly rude. I can see my entrance has caused quite a stir. Can’t say I’m surprised. But can still say more than you, it appears. In which case allow me to do the introductions. Before you and about you and in fact especially for you, I am Clarence B Major at your SERVICE!”
He throws both arms open in a highly dramatic fashion. Apparently his name should be enough to elicit a reaction.
I manage a weak nod. Personally, I’m still caught up on the fact that he’s a…is he a…?
Clarence B Major flies down to the windowsill and paces up and down as if onstage. His wings bristle and hiss behind him like an old record. Although his entire person is a shimmering mass of glistening almost light, I can now see that he is in fact, wearing clothes. An elaborate outfit consisting of a tattered skin-tight jumpsuit, a headband, wrist cuffs, three belts and pixie boots. Each item is as luminous as the moon. His shining hair is immaculately tousled beneath his headband and although he’s definitely a he, he has a face that could only ever be described accurately as beautiful. He also appears to be wearing makeup in the shape of a lightning strike over one eye.
“Naturally, my dear girl, your little head will be stuffed full of questions. STUFFED! Time aplenty for each and every one of them. For now I will give you the bare bones. The facts as they are on a need-to-know basis.”
I feel as if my entire head has been dipped in glue. I shake it, trying in vain to get the cogs in my brain going again. I’m still pointing, mainly because I’m so shocked I’ve forgotten to stop. With a great effort I manage to slur, “You’re a…You’re a f…You’re a f…f…fai—”
“Hush, hush my dear. I’ll do the talking for now. And in future do try to avoid speaking with your mouth open. Most unattractive on you. As you may have noticed, I am a creature imbued with both human and superhuman traits—”
My brain and mouth simultaneously come unstuck. “A fairy! You’re a fairy!”
In a bristling flash, Clarence B Major zooms from his place on the windowsill and delivers a sharp kick to the end of my nose, then hovers at eye-level to shout. “I am not and never have been a fairy. How DARE you!”
“OW! Sorry.” I squeak through my hand. Clarence B Major looks at me as if he’s the wounded one.
“So…” I ask, checking for blood. “What are you then?”
Clarence taps his finger on his chin, thoughtfully and says, more to himself than me, “Ah. A poser. How to explain my nuanced state to one so febrile as you. Let me see…” He clears his throat and addresses me once more, “In terms you might be able to grasp, Candy Caine, I was once alive, but now I am not. I am caught between two worlds, the visible and the invisible—” “So you’re a…ghost?”
Clarence makes a face. “Oh my dear, no! The stuff of Victorian melodrama and nothing more. And they can’t do half of what I can. Look!” There’s a little flash of light and for a moment he is a dragonfly, then a further flash and he is himself again. Clarence B Major smiles a twinkling smile. “Magic, you see! I had a lot of it when I was alive and now that I am dead it has made me into something else. Let’s just say that I am an echo of a person who once was, without really being that person. I am now partly Clarence and partly…magic. But most importantly of all, I am totally and entirely here for you.”
I try and fail to think of something to say to this. Luckily, it seems that Clarence B Major is on a roll and requires no further prompting. He places his hands on his hips.
“I have been assigned and apportioned the role of your mentor, protector and guide. You have summoned me by playing the chord named in my honour.” I look at him blankly, he rolls his eyes. “B Major? It is my duty to help you fulfil your destiny. Do you wish me to provide this service?”
Clearly the sane answer is no.
“Er…yes?”
Mollified as quickly as he became enraged, Clarence taps my tender snout with his finger. It goes ting! like a bell. I cringe but the pain instantly disappears. Clarence flutters back to the windowsill, resuming his position centre-stage, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out like a small army general. With wings.
“But what are you doing here? What destiny?”
“As I was saying, you and I are bound together, Candy Caine. I have been charged with the task of getting you out of this…”
He looks about him, clutching for a word that will accurately encapsulate the hopeless grimitude of my freezing box room on a friendless Saturday morning.
“…this poky little life of yours and getting you one that fits.”
“A life that fits?” I ask, sarcastically. Who does this…person think he is?
Clarence B Major meets my glare, returning a look as cool and clear as iced water.
“Well? Haven’t you ever felt that your life was too small?”
“I…” I leap into speech, ready to tell him how wrong he is. Only he’s not. Every single day I have dreamed of something bigger, more, brighter, louder, faster. My life is a sleeping machine plugged in and waiting to go, switch firmly flicked to OFF. Clarence flutters closer, his light warming my face like a spotlight. It feels wonderful.
“This is not your destiny, Candy Caine. There is too much music in you.”
“Music?”
“Yes, music.” Clarence flies over to the guitar around my neck. It shimmers under the light he casts – the remaining paint on its body coming alive: an intense scarlet glow. In a weird way it sort of feels alive too, but not quite. Asleep maybe. He indicates that I should play something. This time, my hands find their place instinctively, my right across the bridge, my left lightly holding the neck. There’s a rightness
