“It’s not a job,” she gripes. “It’s more like a hobby.” Knitting while the world cries out for hope and help. “Besides, I’d much rather work alone.”

“And I wouldn’t?”

But that, of course, is not the deal. The deal is that they work together. Partners. A team. Her habit of acting first and thinking later balanced by his habit of thinking first and not acting at all. Together, goes the reasoning, they make one perfect angel.

A car passes them, and then another.

“We’d better get a move on.” Otto points not towards the town, but to the north. “We don’t want to get there after everyone else.”

Remedios’ day just got worse. Glory Hallelujah, the school! She forgot about the school. As a further challenge – or downsizing – they’ve been stationed at the high school.

“I don’t see why we can’t look after—”

“Don’t start again,” says Otto. “You know what you were told: there are no small problems, only small angels.” And with that he sets off up the road on the right.

Shuffling behind him, Remedios glances back at the town sign. Welcome to Jeremiah, it says. Population 7070.

Two, possibly three, of those ironies for which life is famous

It is a beautiful day in Jeremiah. The sky is clear and blue, the sun is big and bright, and there is a breeze as gentle as Heaven’s breath. It’s a breeze that carries not just the chemical smells of civilization but the scents of forest, sea and desert as well; not just the electric noises of human occupation but also the timeless singing of the world. This is the kind of day that makes you want to climb a tree, run through a shower of blossoms, paddle in the breaking waves – or just sit on a hillside, listening to the planet going about its business. A day to make you glad to be alive. Yippee! Though it has to be said that there is no particular joie de vivre in room 07W of Jeremiah High on this particular afternoon. This is the last class on a Friday. Everyone wants the day to end.