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The Fiery Angel by Sue Bavey
We sat eating our packed lunches on the playing field behind the school and the new girl in our class told us how she and her family had just moved to town from Sheffield. We wanted to make her feel welcome, being new in a school can be so difficult, especially at the awkward age of fourteen. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” my friend Karen asked her. “Yes. My older brother’s over there playing football.” I glanced in the direction she was pointing and it was easy to see who she meant. Her wavy long ginger hair was mirrored in a leaner, taller, slightly older, masculine version of herself. A Fiery Angel. The look of sheer determination on his face and the way his shoulder-length fiery red hair flew all around him as he fought to keep the ball was enough to make time stand still in my teenage brain. I wonder if someone like that could ever be interested in an ordinary girl like me. I asked myself, as a tiny spark was ignited within me. But I was invisible back then. Short hair and oily skin did me no favours. Being tall with big feet made me feel awkward, and to top it all, I was too shy to talk to anyone I was attracted to, preferring to adopt a haughty air which made them think I was stand-offish.
Fast forward to the following year. My hair was growing and I was dating my first boyfriend. He took me to watch him play cricket at the local club. “The girlfriends are supposed to bring the teas”, he had informed me and I had dutifully obeyed with a Tupperware full of cheese and Branston pickle sandwiches. When we arrived at the club, there he was, the Fiery Angel, all dressed in cricket whites, making his red-headedness stand out even more than usual.
“Oh great – you brought food!”, he declared with a mischievous grin. I smiled widely but was unable to speak, secretly pleased I’d worn the form-fitting dress I’d chosen for the day’s outing. Those were the first words he spoke to me, and few and insignificant as they were, I cherished them and replayed them in my fifteen-year-old head as the tiny spark took hold and flames began to grow. We had occasionally passed in the hallway at school and smiled at each other, but never actually addressed one another directly. He had a way of making me smile my biggest smiles at him just by looking at me. This was new. I somehow didn’t feel as shy when he smiled at me. Probably because we were both dating other people and these illicit smiles therefore felt ‘safe’ since nothing could actually happen between us. But the fire had begun to take hold and I looked forward to seeing him at any opportunity.
Needless to say, my boyfriend and I didn’t last much longer. When we went back to school the following September, we were no longer speaking to each other and things had become awkward between us. I was in the sixth form now, sixteen years old, and studying over a two-year period for my ‘A’ level exams. I was determined to take them seriously and do well enough to go to university. The Fiery Angel had left school at this point, much to my disappointment, dropping out one year before he should have graduated, adding to a ‘wild man’ reputation he had been cultivating over the previous years. I wondered why he had left and if I would ever see him again. He had been in the year above me and would have only had one more year until his ‘A’ level exams, which seemed reckless to conformist me. I gleaned information where I could, by eavesdropping on schoolyard gossip. He had split up with his girlfriend who I had been convinced he would be with forever – they had been seeing each other for over a year and seemed to be really solid, for teenagers, anyway. He had moved into a bedsit and was claiming unemployment and housing benefits. The general feeling seemed to be that he was to be pitied – but I was too shy to ask why. Something momentous must have happened in his family.
A couple of months into the school year, my friend told me about a party some art students were having. She had learned about it from her older sister and we decided we would drop in on our way to a night at the pub. (The pubs in our town were very relaxed about underage drinking in the 1980s and we all used to dress up, such that I’m sure the bar staff had trouble deciding who was over the age of eighteen, anyway.) As we were waiting to go into the party, who should come out but the Fiery Angel and his close friend, who I knew well enough to say Hi to, since our mothers were friends, and he had dated one of my friends the previous year. We exchanged some small talk and before I knew what was happening, the Angel said: “Can I kiss you?” I was so taken by surprise, I agreed. Five memorable seconds later he said: “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” And then the two of them walked off down the hill, leaving me stunned. Quite literally gobsmacked with a now raging fire inside me. What was that all about? Could he have meant it? Would I ever see him again? Why hadn’t he asked for my phone number? Why didn’t he turn round and look back?
I was elated but also scared. I would be way out of my depth in any kind of relationship with him. He was very tall and wore a brown biker jacket and big clompy boots. By this time his flame-red hair was past his shoulders and bushy. It would fan out behind him like a curtain of fire as he walked. He had a fast, purposeful walk like nobody could get in his way, or change his mind. I enjoyed watching that walk. He was into sex and drugs and didn’t care what anyone thought of him. Untamed. Terrifying to sixteen-year-old me. And yet mesmerizing, like a flame. I knew if I let myself get involved with him I would end up getting razed to the ground. But I also had a feeling I might not be able to extinguish the fire that was burning within me.
I spent the next couple of months hoping to see him and occasionally bumping into him in pubs. We would say a few flirtatious words to one another and I would usually retreat blushing horribly with my friends and move on to a different place. I had started to give up on the idea that my shyness would allow anything more to happen between us.
New Year’s Eve came around and at 11:50 pm a huge crowd of drunk teenagers left the pubs of Lincoln and headed towards the Cathedral to listen to the bells chime midnight. Everyone saw midnight on New Year’s Eve as an excuse to start kissing anyone and everyone within reach and to wish them a “Happy New Year”. Before too long I saw a wild mop of red hair approaching over the heads around me. He grabbed me and planted a great big kiss on me before I even had a chance to say anything. Well, that was more like it! But then talk started to move towards going to an empty house he and his friends knew of, their friend’s family had recently moved away and left them with a key, and the panic began to catch hold as I started to feel out of my depth. My friend whose house I was staying at that night and I went along for a little while and things between us started to heat up, but soon my friend came to get me, to tell me it was time we left and off we went, without swapping addresses or phone numbers in our hurry to escape before either of us did anything we might regret.
Weeks turned into months and I felt embarrassed by my lack of experience and annoyed that he hadn’t told me his address or phone number. I gradually came to the conclusion that if he had wanted to see me again he would have left some kind of a breadcrumb trail or asked for my number. He probably thought I was just a silly kid. I sadly gave up on the idea of ever seeing him again. I felt that I had no doubt put him off by being innocent and inexperienced and started to hate myself for it. I was angry with him too, for the way things had played out. Couldn’t he have just asked me out on a date or for my phone number instead of jumping the gun and taking me to an empty house, when we barely knew each other, and I had had too many drinks to make sensible decisions? Luckily he was not a disrespectful person, or that evening could have turned out so much worse than it did! The fire inside me was dampened and I got on with my life, looking away, feeling embarrassed whenever I saw that fiery halo in the distance. Around the following Christmas, I started seeing someone new that a friend had introduced me to. Now I was seventeen and keen to get on with life. I would be leaving school in six months and University was looming. I had got into a nice settled routine with my new art student boyfriend. We went out with a group of friends on Tuesdays and Saturdays and everything was perfectly fine, although the fire that had been ignited was still smouldering away, way down deep inside.
Then one Sunday afternoon in April I was sitting reading a magazine in the living room of my parents’ suburban house, while my Dad was watching cricket on the TV. I glanced out of the window and caught sight of a sea of flaming hair coming our way. Over a year since we had spoken, here he was at my front door! He said he had walked from town, which was over three miles. We had moved house a few months earlier and he had been to my old house first, making his walk even longer. I was excited but had no idea what to say to him. “Do you come here often”, “How have you been for the last YEAR???” “Been to any good disused houses lately?” Everything seemed inappropriate and sarcastic.
My parents tactfully moved from the living room into the dining room - but that was connected to the living room so it didn’t really give us any privacy to talk. I offered him tea or some other kind of drink which he turned down and said: “No thanks, I’ll just watch the cricket.” Weird, I thought. Why walk all that way and then sit and watch cricket on the TV. I had thought if he wanted a cup of tea we could have gone into the kitchen to talk, away from my parents. I waited patiently to see what he would say. My Dad shuffled his newspaper, no doubt all ears, while pretending to tackle the crossword. My Mum hummed to herself and started washing the dishes in the kitchen. I waited. Nothing was said. Cricket was watched. I went back to my magazine, wondering what I could say. I suggested a walk. He said No. That was hardly surprising since he had just walked over three miles but I thought if we could get outside we would at least have some privacy and he might say something. I was running out of ideas. More cricket was watched. I was starting to get annoyed. Then he got up and said. “Well, I’d best be going then…” I was so disappointed and screaming at him inside my head. Now I was not just annoyed. What a waste of time and opportunity. I was angry with him for not saying anything or agreeing to a walk. I was angry with myself for not thinking of anything earth-shatteringly interesting to talk about. I was angry with my parents for having moved house – our previous house was bigger and there was a room off the kitchen where I could hang out with friends in private, while my parents occupied the living room. I was also proud and stubborn and answered: “Yes, I think you’d better.” After he left, my Mum said: “Doesn’t he know you’ve got a boyfriend?” and I guiltily replied, “I guess not.” I wondered why I hadn’t told him that important piece of information.
I saw him in the pub a couple of nights later and asked him: “Seen any good cricket matches lately?” to which he responded “Don’t! Anyway, I hear you’re seeing someone now.” I agreed and went on to tell him all about my boyfriend and how great he was, I was hurt and wanted to burn him back, and he ended up saying, “Well I look forward to meeting him,” which was obviously a lie. That was the longest conversation we had had and still nothing was said. Things continued with my group of friends going out Tuesdays and Saturdays with the occasional Friday as well and he would often be in the same pub he now knew we frequented, hanging out alone with his back to the bar watching us.
Exam time came and went in June. I passed with just enough points to secure a place at the university of my choice. My eighteenth birthday also came and went that month. My parents took my boyfriend and me out to a nice restaurant and we went and met our friends at the pub afterwards. Guess who was there hanging out alone at the bar?
A few weeks later in the middle of the summer, a group of us were at the club we used to go to after the pub. One of my friends arrived later than the rest of us with the Fiery Angel in tow. They were seeing each other and had been for just a couple of days. I was fairly shocked and somewhat jealous, and those ashes ignited once again in response, but I thought it was probably a good thing, as we would now have more opportunities to talk to each other without weird awkwardness and me having feelings of guilt in relation to my boyfriend. I asked how long this had been going on to which he blurted out: “I’ll dump her if you will be my girlfriend.” This was one of my close friends and I had a boyfriend! Once again, deep down I felt elated, however, and the flames started to take hold again, but I told him I could never do that to people I cared about. I was concerned my friend was using him to make her ex-boyfriend jealous and told him to watch his back. Sure enough, a couple of days later she was back with her previous boyfriend. How complicated and fickle teenage romances are! The poor Fiery Angel was feeling rejected again and all I could do was shake my head at her behaviour. I felt bad and wanted to tell him I cared about his feelings, if not enough to dump my boyfriend for him. But it seemed inappropriate with my boyfriend only a few feet away, so I kept my thoughts to myself and the smouldering fire subsided once more to ashes for a while.
The next few months flew by and soon we would be moving on to pastures new. I wondered what would happen to the Fiery Angel. Would he continue claiming unemployment benefits or try and get a job? Why had he dropped out of school? He was intelligent and it seemed such a waste to me but I was still too shy to ask about the circumstances. Looking back I really don’t know why I didn’t just have a conversation with him about it. Teenage shyness has a lot to answer for.
Eventually, October rolled around and my group of friends went our separate ways to different colleges and universities. We all kept in touch and occasionally stayed the weekend with each other at our various new student homes. Life was busy with new friends to be made and I barely gave my hometown a thought. In December I went back home for two weeks’ vacation and had agreed to meet up with my old friends as soon as possible. I had really missed them and was so eager to see them again and go back to our regular haunts. We had a really fun laughter-filled evening in a different room than we usually occupied in our regular pub before deciding that we would like to go dancing to the place we had been going to in the summer. Just as we were about to leave to go there, I went to the ladies’ room, and on the way back there he was. I hadn’t really given him a lot of thought in the months I had been away and was taken by surprise but didn’t feel shy anymore. This time he reached out and asked me all about university and how I liked it. He proudly told me he had just finished his ‘A’ levels and secured a place in college. He would be leaving to move there after the New Year. He told me he had been inspired by me to keep studying and was grateful. I was so pleased for him and told him so with a beaming smile, while a tiny spark managed to reignite way down inside me. After a short while my best friend came looking for me as the group was leaving and this seemed to make him angry or frustrated. We were finally having a normal conversation. I asked if he wanted to come along with us. He said No. Without any explanation. This was becoming a habit. How would anything ever happen between us if he always said No to me? How confusing that was.
Just before New Year’s Eve my boyfriend told me he wouldn’t be spending it with me due to family obligations. I was really annoyed by this, but also secretly relieved. I was starting to think we should stop seeing each other since we barely spent any time together during term time, living at different ends of the country at our respective places of study and our families lived in different towns, so we didn’t see much of each other during the vacation either. I thought maybe I should take the opportunity to try and talk to the Fiery Angel and tell him about my crush when we were kids and how I felt about him. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so rejected if I told him I cared. I didn’t think we had a future, but I didn’t want him to think I didn’t care at all. Unfortunately, he didn’t show up until after midnight by which time I was too tipsy to have such a conversation and was sitting by the side of the road just wanting to go home and sleep.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked.
“He chose to go somewhere else without me,” I answered.
“He’s an idiot,” he said.
“I know,” I agreed and in that moment I meant it.
He kissed me and gave me a big hug. That hug made me feel as if I had come home after a long journey. But I didn’t say anything more. I thought I could tell him everything the next time I saw him, after having ‘that’ conversation with my boyfriend. I was so sure there would be a ‘next time’ because there always had been. For years. He walked my friend and I back to her Mum’s house and wished me a Happy New Year. Then he turned and went stomping off down the hill, fiery hair streaming behind him, towards the bedsit where he lived, but would be moving out of that week to go to college. I never saw him again.
With hindsight, it is clear to me that we were ill-suited, and if we had dated it would not have been long before our differences made themselves known. I guess it was a lucky escape for me, emotionally, but I still think of him fondly as my schoolgirl crush and I’m sure the dying embers of a potential inferno remain somewhere hidden deep inside.
Author Bio
Sue Bavey is a British mother of two teenagers, now living in Franklin, Massachusetts, having moved to the US in 2003. Writing as S. Bavey, her book Lucky Jack (1894-2000) won the Readers’ Favorite Gold Award for Biography in 2023 and she followed up with her next book: Kookaburras, Cuppas & Kangaroos which tells the story of her mother’s three-year adventures in Australia and New Zealand in the 1960s.
Sue has a book review blog: Sue’s Musings and is a judge for BBNYA, SFINCS and occasionally other fiction contests.
Her books are for sale on Amazon:
Kookaburras, Cuppas & Kangaroos
Lucky Jack (1894 -2000)
SueBavey.com 