Heavy footsteps crunched on the pebbles on the path that led to the dilapidated house. Charlie raised his head and pricked his ears. He leapt from his wicker basket with his hackles up, growling, and cautiously edging closer to the door. The jangling of keys and the fumbling of the lock roused him into an attack position, snarling and barking waiting to pounce on the intruder.

The door swung open, and the chocolate Labrador's tail wagged as he jumped up his master excitedly.

'Hey Charlie boy.' The man patted the dog's head as he came into the dingy hallway. Charlie rolled onto his back on the tattered rug, legs in the air so he could get his belly rubbed. The man obliged.

'Daddy! Daddy! I've found him! I've found Mr. Prickles!' shouted a tiny dot of a girl. Her blonde pigtails swung to and fro as she bounced up and down waving a stuffed hedgehog.

'Ah, naughty Mr. Prickles. Where was he? Hibernating?' Her dad laughed as he stood up but it also disguised a grimace of pain from his tender back.

Amber giggled as her dad lifted her up and planted a kiss on her delicate forehead. She felt as light as a feather. Charlie slunk off, head down with his tail between his legs back to his basket.

Amber's dad was pleased to see his daughter smiling. She'd been through so much for someone so young. She was six now and rather small for her age. You wouldn't tell looking at her that she was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukaemia only a few years ago but had been in remission for the last year. He prayed morning, noon, and night for things to stay that way.

'He was hiding in the laundry basket all along,' she replied hugging her fluffy toy tightly to her chest.

'Oh well, you've got him back now, Princess.'

Amber loved Mr. Prickles. She'd had him from the day she was born and had rarely been without him.

'Here, take this post to your mother.'

He slipped off his jacket and hung it on a peg by the front door. 'Anything for tea, Sarah?' he shouted down the hallway to his wife in the living room.

'Only leftover casserole from yesterday, I'm afraid.'

'Bloody casserole. I'm sick of bloody casserole,' he muttered under his breath.

Things had been hard since he lost his job at the coal mine three months back. Money was tight. He'd done a few odd jobs for friends and neighbours, a bit of decorating and some gardening but there were no full time jobs to be found anywhere. This being a mining town, the colliery was really all that there was, and all he had known since he left school. His dad had been a miner and his dad before him. It was in his blood. Now, it had all been pulled from under his feet like a magician's tablecloth trick, leaving their lives intact but shaking. Well, not just his, thousands of miners up and down the country were left dangling on the breadline after the Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher decided to close the pits.

He helped himself to a bowl of casserole and sat at the rickety kitchen table. The table he'd acquired only last week from Mrs. Winter from two doors down, who had passed away just a few days before.

He gazed around the small room wishing he had some butter or even margarine to liven up his stale bread but he knew it would be fine soaked in the gravy.

The cigarette and grease stained wood chip wallpaper was peeling off; and the mould was rife, and not just around the broken windows, but all over the tiles around the worktops. He'd lost count of the times he'd been on to the council to come and do repairs, but they just weren't interested in spending the money.
The only cheerful thing in their drab and dreary kitchen was this year's calendar, which they'd bought on their annual caravanning holiday to Arnott's Peak, depicting beautiful scenery and sunsets. He hoped next year wasn't like George Orwell had predicted in his book of the upcoming year 1984.
He finished up and washed his bowl and spoon in cold water. They couldn't afford to have the boiler on constantly for hot water. Once a week, usually a Sunday, they had a bath. More often than not they all shared the same water. With Amber or her mum going first as they were usually the cleanest. Her dad mostly stripped off and washed himself in the sink with cold water.

'Come and look at the tree, daddy.'

He walked wearily into the dismal living room. It hadn't been decorated in years. Sections of the walls were bare where Amber had torn the wall paper off when she was a toddler. Flowers, stick men, and animals scribbled in crayon and felt tip adorned the patches. He put his arms on his wife's shoulders and gently massaged them as he kissed her brown hair. She looked old and tired, just an inkling on the surface of the beautiful woman he had married fifteen years earlier. Her emerald green eyes had lost their sparkle over the last year or two. They'd all been through a lot, but it was his wife who it had affected most out of the two of them. Still, he loved her. Always had, always would.

'Do you like my star, daddy? I made it at school with a cereal box, some cotton wool, paint, and silver and gold glitter.'

'It's the prettiest star I've ever seen, except you of course, sweetheart. It really makes the tree something special. You're a talented artist.'

Amber smiled. She liked to make things that pleased her parents.

'All final demands James.' His wife slid a stack of letters across the table toward him. ' I don't know how we're going to pay them this week?'

James stared hard at his wife. She knew with that look he meant not to speak of their financial hardship in front of Amber. Amber was oblivious to their conversation. She had shuffled the bundle of letters into two piles. One for her and one for Mr. Prickles.

'You can open the first one Mr. Prickles. Well, I'll do it for you and I'll try to read it,' she said.

Despite Amber being six she couldn't read that well due to her illness making her miss so much school for treatments. Now she was on the mend, she was determined to catch up. Amber opened an envelope, pulled out a card with a snowman skiing on it and something dropped out.

'It's a £5 note!' she beamed. '

'Who's it off?' asked her mum.

'Let me see.' She struggled at first, her mouth forming the letters before she confidently spoke them out. 'It's from Aunt Anna.'

Her dad proudly watched her.

'Never knew I had an Aunt Anna.'

James raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his wife. 'She lives miles away. We've not seen her for years. I told you before we have a big family spread all across the world, that's why we don't see most of them. They always send cards and money at this time of year though. Go on, open some more.'

There were over forty cards, some with WH Smith book vouchers, £280 in cash spread across numerous cards, and others with long letters that Amber made her mum and dad read even though she didn't know who the people were they talked about.

'At least we can pay the phone bill and other stuff this week,' said Sarah. Her husband gave her that look again.

Sarah swept all the cards, envelopes and letters up, and stuffed them in between the last of the logs she had arranged in the fireplace. She struck a match, lit them, and watched the logs catch fire. The flames and sparks roared up the chimney. Amber always loved to watch the flames flicker and dance, it always made her sleepy. Sometimes they would make toast or on special occasions like her birthday it would be marshmallows.

'Don't get too near that fire, young lady. One tiny spark and that nightdress will soon go up before you get chance to take it off,' warned her dad.

'I'll stand well back, daddy. Don't you worry.'

'Ten minutes and it's bedtime for you. I won't be long myself. I'm helping Bert, the milkman for the rest of the week, he's done his back in. It's a blessing really.'

'That's good, dear. The extra cash will help, god knows we need it,' said Sarah.

'He said he'll pay me cash and give us some eggs, bread, and milk. I'll see if I can squeeze a couple of yoghurts out of him too. What do you think about that Amber?'

'Mmmm. I can't remember the last time I tasted a yoghurt,' replied Amber. She made her way over to her mum for a goodnight kiss and a cuddle.

Sarah was sat in the only armchair in the house. Despite it being battered and worn on the arms the cushions were still quite plump and comfortable.

'Goodnight, mum. I love you.'

'Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.' She kissed Amber's forehead.

'And Mr. Prickles,' said Amber

Her mum smiled. 'Goodnight, Mr. Prickles.'

'Right, you. Be a good girl, go on up the wooden hills and brush your teeth. I'll be up in a minute to read you and Mr. Prickles a bedtime story.'

'Ok, dad.' She ran up the stairs to the bathroom.

'It will be nice to have fresh eggs and toast for breakfast, dear,' said Sarah.

'Mmmm. Yes it would. Maybe, I should think about getting some more chickens? I'll be back around eight hopefully, so Amber can have a good feed before school. Right, I'll go and read her a story, then I've got something in the shed I want to finish. You going up to bed too?'

'No, I've just lit the fire silly. I've some sewing to do. I promised I'd get this dress finished for Mrs. Barber from no. 36. What are you up to in that shed? You've been in there for at least an hour every night for the last week.'

'It's a surprise.'

His wife smiled. James kissed her forehead then went up to his daughter. Sarah switched on the dusty transistor radio perched on the mantle shelf and lit a cigarette. Only You by The Flying Pickets, the Christmas No 1 was barely audible through the static. They could never get a good signal on the old thing.

The stairs creaked and groaned as James descended them after he had read a story or two for Amber. He popped his head through the living room door, saw his wife hunched over the singer sewing machine and slipped off into the shed.

An hour later James came back inside, kicked his boots off and announced he was shattered and off to bed. Sarah had just put the finishing touches to the dress. She stretched, then yawned, before checking the fire would be ok and retired for the night too.

The clock read ten to four. James was pleased he'd awoken before the alarm had gone off, not that he had achieved much sleep. It was the loudest, and most annoying noise he'd ever heard, except for Amber's coughing throughout the night. He carefully slid from under the duvet trying not to disturb his sleeping wife. He could feel the cold of the bare floor boards even through the thick woolly socks he had slept in. He quickly dressed, crept out of the room and down the stairs. He unlocked the backdoor letting the nippy cold air in and let Charlie out to do his business before going to meet Bert at the dairy.

Amber's mum went into her bedroom around seven. Amber was usually up. The My Little Pony nightlight was still switched on. The Care Bear duvet was littered with Cabbage Patch dolls, Barbies and Popples but it was Mr. Prickles who Amber lay her head on. When Amber's mum got closer to the bed she could see that her daughter was a little under the weather. She too had heard her coughing. She touched her forehead with the back of her hand which woke her. She had a slight temperature.

Sarah dressed. 'I'll just pop next door and see if Rose will watch you while I nip to the corner shop for some medicine for you and some logs for the fire.'

'Ok mum.'

James was dressed all in black. He paced up and down the vicinity of the red pillar box, checking for any early bird joggers or dog walkers. When he was satisfied the coast was clear he pulled off his rucksack and produced a coat hanger. The only tool he needed for the job in hand although he'd modified it slightly. He straightened it out to a long length and checked the fish hook was secure on the one end. He checked all directions again before sliding the wire through the slot of the post box. He jiggled it up and down and from side to side. He could tell by the weight he'd hooked a number of letters. He pulled the wire back up and removed the letters and placed them in the bag. He'd done this so many times now he was quite the expert. Again and again he did this until he was happy he couldn't reach anymore whilst checking all the time for people. He donned the rucksack and scurried off home.

Amber stayed in her nightie and came down hoping dad had been back with things for breakfast. When she walked in the kitchen there was nothing. She realised for whatever reason the round had gone on longer than expected. She was right.

The kitchen door opened and her dad walked in arms loaded with eggs, milk, a loaf of bread, a pack of six yoghurts of assorted flavours and a bundle of letters.

'Hi dad. You're late,' said Amber.

'Yeah, and we're not finished yet. The milk float packed up. The battery didn't fully charge for some reason so we came to a standstill. Dave and Brian, some of the other milkmen are helping put Bert's load on another float, then we've to finish the round off. He let me pop home to drop this stuff off. He'll be here any minute. Why aren't you dressed for school young lady?'

'I'm not feeling very well.'

'Ah you poor thing. I heard you coughing in the night. Where's your mum?'

'She's just gone to get Rose to come and sit with me while she goes and gets me some medicine.'

'Oh right ok. I almost forgot, I've got something for you. Back in a jiffy.'

Amber went back upstairs to use the toilet and grab her dressing gown.

A few minutes later he came in with an angel expertly made from balsa wood. Her face was painted with a light pink to look like skin, her eyes a bright blue and with ruby red lips. He'd varnished her so she wouldn't chip and he'd made a dress from some offcuts of lace from his wife's sewing box. He placed that and a letter very carefully on the kitchen worktop, he intended to post it before he started work. He just had enough time to go to the downstairs loo before Bert pulled up outside.

'Bert's here. I'll see you later. I've left a surprise for you. Make sure you get some rest,' he called up the stairs.

'I will. Bye daddy,' replied Amber taking the stairs two at a time. She picked up the angel and held her up so she could get a good look at her. She noticed the letter on the side and picked it up and slowly tried to read the address.

Margaret Thatcher
10 Downing Street
London
SW1A 2AA

She thought her dad must have dropped this one. She wondered if there was any money in it and put it in with the rest of the letters her dad had brought in.

Her mum came back with Rose the neighbour.

'Hi Rose.'

'Morning Amber. Your mum says you're not well.

'No, my throat hurts, and I can't stop coughing.'

'Here, I've brought you our Lisa's walkman thingy, and some tapes for you to listen to. She won't mind. Go and get yourself back to bed love.'

'Oh thanks Rose, I will shortly. Mum, you just missed dad. The float broke down but they've swapped to another so he's gone back to help finish off.'

'Oh right. I see he dropped off the stuff for breakfast.'

'Yeah that, some letters, and this! Look! It's an angel! Daddy made it. Isn't she beautiful?'

'She sure is! So, that's what he's been up to in that shed,' replied her mum.

Rose helped Amber put the angel on the tree while Sarah went to the shop.

It was dark, cold mornings at this time of year. Sarah pulled her collar up under her chin and her headscarf down as much as she could so she could only just see where she was going. She watched a snake-like plume of grey smoke from the colliery's foreman's house climb and merge into the cigarette ash sky. Lucky so and so had been kept on with a few others to oversee the pit's closure. He was still having his share of what very little remained in the mine. He wouldn't share though, but was willing to sell some for a ridiculous price of course. The smell of dirty coal and ash filled her nostrils. She always loved that smell. It reminded her of home. Warm and comforting. She shivered when the bitter wind penetrated her wool jacket as she walked around the corner into the next street and a hundred yards to the corner shop where she purchased everything she needed.

James was across the other side of town. Here most of the shops were boarded up. Those that were still open were crumbling and decaying. Windows where once were award winning displays of the shop's wares were now covered in grime-gloomy and neglected. The closing of the pits had turned this once thriving town into a ghost town. James was half expecting to be bowled over by tumbleweed. They still had six streets to deliver to before they had finished. James was starting to wish he hadn't got the job when the heavens opened and soaked him through to the skin. It was only the thought of the money and food on the table that kept him from packing it in.
He was carrying four pints of milk, two in each hand, when he remembered about the letter.
He placed the bottles in the crate by the front door and collected the empties.

He went to meet Bert at the float, his hands laden with clinking glass milk bottles. Bert was legging two young lads up the street who had made off with various items from the unattended float. He could faintly hear the boys laughing and mocking Bert as they easily outran the overweight milkman and made off into the housing estate. Bert came back all red faced, huffing, puffing, cursing like a sailor and holding his back.

'Little buggers. Well that's probably done your back no good at all you old fool.' James smiled. Bert didn't look amused. 'I have to make a quick call to home. I've just remembered something important, won't be a tick.'

Bert nodded. That's all he could muster as he tried to suck in the crisp morning air.

James went to the nearest phone box just around the corner in Napier Street. He put a fifty pence piece in the slot and dialled home.

Sarah answered on the fourth ring.

'Hello?'

'Sarah? It's me, James.'

Charlie was barking in the background.

'James? Everything alright? You never ring home.'

'Did you see a letter?'

'A what?'

'A letter?'

'Hang on I can't hear a bloody thing with that dog. I'll put him out.'

James could hear his wife cussing the dog and calling him a noisy sod then the slamming of the kitchen door.

'Right, that's sorted that mutt out, now, what were you saying?' she asked.

'A letter. Have you seen one? I left it on the kitchen side I think, probably next to the angel.'

'Letters you mean? The ones you dropped off this morning?'

'No! No! A letter! One I was to post myself but I forgot to pick it up in my rush to go out.'

'Who was it addressed to?'

'Does it matter? Have you seen it or not?'

'I can't see one other than the pile you brought in. Who was it addressed to?'

'Downing Street.'

'Oh god, another, it won't do any good. You know the Prime Minister probably doesn't get to read them. It will be vetted then end up in the bin. I dread to think what you've put in it this time.' Sarah laughed.

'Look, I know I definitely left it there this morning, it's very important. Has Amber seen it? Where is she?'

'She's in the living room opening the letters.'

'Oh god! Stop her now!' James screamed down the phone.

'James? What's going on? You're scaring me.'

'Stop talking, just listen. Stop her now, and see if that letter's there but don't bloody touch it. I'll stay on the line. Do it now!'

'Okay, okay. Amber? Amber sweetie?'

Amber and Mr. Prickles were sat at the table. Sarah could hear the music blaring from the headphones, Amber had the volume dial cranked up to maximum. She didn't hear her mum calling, or see her enter the room.

'This is the one that dad left on the kitchen side by mistake, Mr. Prickles. The one from Maggie Thatcher. Is she an aunt I wonder? Let's see if she's sent any money shall we?'

Amber slid the small knife along the glued flap of the envelope.

James jumped back and held the phone away from his ear as an almighty roar came down the earpiece. He almost fell out of the door. He placed the phone back to his ear. The line was dead.

'Noooooooo!!!!!' he screamed dropping the receiver. He ran as fast and as hard as he could, paying no attention to the early morning rush hour traffic. He realised he wasn't as fit as he used to be but the adrenaline kicked in and he pushed on. James weaved in and out of cars ignoring the curses of irate drivers and the furious beeping of their horns. He raced through the park for about a mile or so and across the other side to the alleyway that led out to the top of the street next to his. Ambulances screamed their attendance. He could see smoke billowing in the not too far distance. He again pushed himself, ignoring the thumping in his chest and the taste of blood in his mouth. Then came the wailing of more sirens.

He rounded the corner and came to a stand still. The row of terraces in which his house stood in the middle was ablaze. He vomited several times. His chest and throat burnt from his exertion.

The police had already cordoned off the street at both ends and had evacuated all the residents from streets nearby. Fire engines and firemen were frantically trying to put out the flames. Ambulances screeched to a halt, sirens still blazing.

He sprinted to where the police hazard tape stretched across the road, where three young police officers, probably new recruits, stood to prevent anyone venturing into the danger area.
He slowed up a little as he approached them then ducked under the tape and made a break for the house.

'Sarah! Amber!' he screamed till his lungs were bursting.

Two of the officers had clocked him early enough for him not to get too far in front, the third stayed at his position. One of them grabbed him, and with the help of the other, they grappled him to the ground.

'Sir, you can't go in there,' said an officer.

'But my wife and daughter are in there.' James managed to get out through his ragged breathing and sobbing.

'It's too dangerous, sir. There could be another explosion,' said the taller of the two policemen.

'I've got to get them out! You've got to get them out!'

'We will sir. The emergency services are doing, and will do, everything they possibly can, but right now, you need to let us get on with our jobs.'

The young PCs helped him to his feet but kept a firm grasp on both arms.

'But the house, my house is up in flames! They'll be burnt to death if they're not dead already! Get out of my bloody way!'

After a brief struggle he brushed them off and ran full pelt toward the burning building, leaving the young officers trailing behind him and yelling to their colleagues and other emergency workers to stop him. They needn't have bothered. A few feet from where the nearest fire engine was James came to an abrupt halt. He crouched down and picked up the smouldering, half burnt remains of Mr. Prickles. He examined him. Half his head was missing, and he was almost black apart from his back. It felt wet and was not as dark but a deep red. He held Mr. Prickles with one hand and stared at his other in disbelief. He knew what it was. He knew it was blood. He dropped to his knees and burst into uncontrollable sobs. Something nudged his arm. He turned to see Charlie who was covered in white and brown dust but seemingly happy with his tail wagging. He remembered his wife had let him out so she could hear what he was saying. He stroked his dirty fur on his back and the top of his head, leaving streaks of fresh blood from his hand.

'Sarah! Amber!' he screamed over and over as he hugged Mr. Prickles so tightly the blood soaked his shirt.

The officers had caught up with him and were trying to console him whilst also trying to coax him up so they could all retreat to a safe distance.

'Sir, we need to get back. We don't know what's going on. It could blow again at any minute.'

They escorted him until they were almost back at the tape. They didn't expect him to attempt to run a third time but he did. He made it to within twenty feet of the house before he was rugby tackled by two burly firemen. They had him pinned to the ground until the officers came and decided that this time, it was best to restrain him with handcuffs. They marched him off and put him in the back of one of their vehicles. One of them stayed near to keep a eye on him while the other went back to continue his duties.

It was a little under an hour before the fire brigade had the fire under control. It was down to the red tape of health and safety measures that prevented them entering the building sooner than they had.

The house, and those either side were so badly damaged structurally that they were beyond repair. The whole terrace would have to be knocked down and rebuilt.

Firemen entered to search for survivors. Rose was brought out first, unconscious but breathing and was immediately seen to by the paramedics.

The neighbours on either side had fortunately been out at work. The people further down the row had been lucky too, escaping with nothing but perhaps shock from the initial explosion and the events thereafter.

The PC guarding James answered a call on his radio, then he and another officer whisked him off to the local police station despite his furious protests and attempts at escaping.

Minutes later, fire crews emerged with two bodies concealed in body bags from the aftermath of the blast and placed them into the awaiting ambulances.

Several weeks later the investigation revealed the cause had been an explosive device. Who, and why remained a mystery. James, all his friends, family, and all the neighbours had all been hauled in for questioning and cross examined over and over. Police had conducted door to door enquiries and even some random searches for clues or traces of any suspicious chemicals or substances. No one had been blamed, charged, or claimed responsibility.

James found himself spending the little money he had coming in on cheap booze from the local shop. The bills piled up, and he had fallen behind with the rent. The water, gas, and electricity were all about to be cut off but he carried on drinking and ignored all the letters that were piling up by the front door.

Thirteen weeks later an inebriated James, was stood somewhat unsteadily at Arnott's Peak. Two pink, angel balloons danced and swirled high up in the blue, cloudless sky. James held tightly to the strings with one hand for several minutes as he watched them being blown around in the coastal breeze. He hugged Mr. Prickles to his chest with his other hand before letting the balloons free. He never took his eyes off them even though his vision was half blurred from tears. When they were just tiny dots hurtling across the sea he stepped to the edge of Arnott's Peak, looking straight ahead, he inhaled deeply. He could hear the waves crashing and splashing on the rocks in the bay below.  The tide was in and the shipping forecast had predicted storms. The wind whipped his scraggly hair across his dishevelled face. He gazed up one last time as his two angels disappeared over the horizon, then stepped off.

'