Sunday night, my mother came home drunk again. I helped her to climb upstairs so she wouldn’t fall and break her neck. She muttered, “You’re a good girl, Ella,” and flopped on the bed. I removed her shoes, covered her with her dressing gown, placed a bowl beside the bed in case she was sick, and left her to sleep it off. Same old routine.

I retreated to my own bedroom and slammed the door. To stop myself from crying I unleashed my rage and howled in desperation to anyone who might be listening. “Help me. It isn’t fair. I’m eighteen, I should be having fun, not worrying about a drunken mother and a feckless father.”

A shaft of moonlight found its way from behind the sulky grey autumn clouds, through my window and onto my cluttered bedside table. Something glittered. What was it? I pushed aside cast-off earrings, bottles of solidified nail polish, and a dog-eared copy of Carol Ann Duffy’s The World’s Wife. My fingers found the silver charm bracelet my grandmother left me after she dumped her mortal coil. The bracelet was very pretty, but heavy and old fashioned, and I seldom wore it. The moon had scuttled back behind the clouds, but one of the charms was still glistening. I was sure it had never done that before. I touched the tiny winged figure and it flared like a heavy-duty firework. I dropped the bracelet and closed my eyes against the blinding light. When I opened them the figure, now life-size, stood beside my bed. “What the f...”

“Don’t curse, Ella. It isn’t ladylike.”

“Don’t tell me what not to do in my own bedroom. Who or what the hell are you?”

“I’m a charm. My name is Argentael. It means Silver Angel.”

“I know. I have a smattering of Latin. How are you here and what do you want?”

“I came here courtesy of your grandmother when she left you the bracelet, and as I’m an angel I obviously have a message for you. If you don’t like it I’m confident that you can’t shoot me, because you don’t have a gun.”

This was off the scale in weirdness but it was a welcome distraction from stressing about my dysfunctional parents, so why not go with the flow? “Okay, let’s get this straight. I know you’re a figment of my imagination, but what’s the message?”

“You can’t take full responsibility for your mother. You must start living your own life.”

I sat on my bed and sighed. “That’s easy for an imaginary angel to say, but she can’t take care of herself. If I don’t take responsibility for her nobody else will.”

He sat beside me. “You need help.”

“Who’s going to help me?”

“I am.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’ll think of something, and before I go I have another message for you. Your father will call you tomorrow and ask you to meet him for lunch. You must accept his invitation.”

I sprang up from the bed. “I must do nothing of the sort. I’m furious with him.”

Argentael took my hand. “You have a right to be furious. Tell him so with your proverbial tooth and claw, but don’t miss the chance of a free lunch. You have no food in the house and you need to eat.” He stood up. “Now get some sleep.” Another flare dazzled me and he vanished.

Monday morning, I awoke, having slept better than usual. I was convinced that it had been a dream, but I felt that a weight was about to be lifted from my shoulders.

My mother joined me while I was making coffee. I poured her a cup and slammed it down in front of her, “Drink it. There’s no food – again.”

She grasped my arm. “I’m sorry. I know I’m a terrible mother.”

“Why?”

“Because I drink too much, forget to do the shopping and I don’t listen to you and talk to you the way a mother should.”

“I know what you’re like. I meant why are you like this?”

She put her head in her hands and groaned. “Because I hate my life. I’m so lonely since your ridiculous father did a runner with the Botox babe.”

The lady in question was a pole dancer called Kentucky. Dad called her Kenti, for short. I called her Fried Chicken: just my little joke.

“I know it was a rotten thing for him to do, Mum, but you weren’t much better when he was here.”

She raised her head and took a sip of coffee. Her hands were shaking, “It’s not easy living with a compulsive gambler, Ella, especially when he’s no good at it. I lost the motivation for shopping because after I’d paid the mortgage and other bills from my wages there wasn’t much to shop with, and he put his money on horses that are still limping home.”

“But it didn’t stop you spending the little that was left on vodka. You’re as bad as each other and I’m sick of it.” I fetched my coat and bag. “I’m going to work. You can wash up.” On a whim, I ran back to my room and fastened the charm bracelet onto my wrist before I left.

The few coins in my pocket wouldn’t cover my bus fare, so I avoided the bus stop where I knew my old school friend Sophie Melancamp would be waiting. She would have paid the fare for me, but I couldn’t face the humiliation. Sophie had a good heart and always plenty of money, although I chose not to speculate about how she earned it.

I walked to “Kitz’s Cobblers and Key Cutters,” where I was employed as a trainee key cutter. I flung my coat and bag on the workbench and sat down, still angry at life, the universe and everything. My boss, Mr Kitz, who was old enough to be my grandfather, spotted the bracelet. He peered at me over the John Lennon specs perched on the end of his nose. “I’ve not seen that before, Ella. Where did you get it?”

“It was my grandmother’s.”

He nodded. “I could tell it’s old. I used to make silver charms in my younger days. Have you found the special one yet? The others are just there for camouflage.”

That startled me. I stared at him.

“Ah, I can see you have. Don’t worry. I won’t ask any questions.” He applied himself to a piece of footwear that a pole dancer might have favoured. It was now in need of heel surgery. I concentrated on a key.

Midmorning my phone rang. I pulled it out of my bag and glanced at the screen, “I’m sorry about this, Mr Kitz. It’s my father. I’d better answer it.”

He smiled. “Of course you must. Take it in the restroom if you want privacy.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, I don’t and I’ll keep it brief.”

I answered. “Hello, Dad. I’m at work. What do you want?”

“I need to see you, Ella. I miss you.”

“How touching. I go to lunch at one o’clock.”

“That’s fine. I’ll meet you outside Aldo’s Restaurant on Lark Lane at a quarter past. The food’s good and I’m paying.”

“Larkie’s full of eateries. Gimme a clue.”

“The library side, three quarters of the way down towards the park. They fill up quick so try to be on time.”

“Got it. See you there.” I ended the call.

Mr Kitz said, “Is your father still gambling, Ella?”

I sighed. “Probably. He emptied his and Mum’s joint bank account and after he left he promised to pay her back, but so far he’s sent nothing.”

“Could you persuade him to join Gamblers Anonymous? They have a branch in Rodney Street.”

“I’ve given up trying. He won’t listen to me.”

“I know someone who’s very persuasive.” He tore a sheet off his ‘Don’t Forget’ notepad, wrote a name and phone number on it and passed it to me. The name was Karen Kitz.

“She’s my daughter. She works for GA as a counsellor. Get him to call her. She’ll reassure and encourage him, and she’ll drag him there by his bedroom tackle if necessary.”

I wasn’t hopeful, but I thanked him and slipped the note into my bag.

“Don’t hurry back,” he said. “The keys can wait.”

I arrived at the restaurant only ten minutes late. Dad said, “You’re early.”

“Okay, no need for sarcasm. Let’s eat.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Yes. We have no food in the house.” He didn’t answer.

Aldo’s was doing brisk business, but the waiter found us a recently vacated table for two, cleared away the used dishes, and handed us the menu. Dad ordered something unpronounceable and I ordered a Mediterranean salad because I like to know what I’m eating.

He attempted to make conversation. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How’s your mum?”

“Not good. How’s Fried Chicken?”

“Gone.”

I tried not to smirk. “Gone where?”

“She ran off with a poet from Stoke-on-Trent.”

“Lucky Stoke.”

He smiled. “Who’s being sarcastic now?”

My fury erupted. “Do you blame me? While you’ve been doing whatever middle-aged men do with pole-dancers half their age, I’ve been an unpaid carer to your abandoned wife, so don’t get snotty with me.”

Before he could respond the waiter brought our food. His was a couple of kebabs consisting of chunks of some unidentifiable substances, a side order of potato wedges, and two slices of garlic bread. Mine was a plate the size of a dartboard, covered in enough vegetation to feed a herd of wildebeest. The heads of edible fungi protruded through the undergrowth. My hunger overcame my anger at Dad and I attacked the foliage with enthusiasm.

When I came up for air he was watching me. There were tears in his eyes. “How long is it since you’ve eaten?”

My mouth was full so I shrugged.

“I’ll send you some money, I promise. Use it for whatever you and your mum need but don’t give it to her.”

I swallowed. “If you really want to help you have to stop gambling.” I passed him the note. “Ring this woman. She can help you. If you don’t do it you’ll never see me again.”

He nodded. “I’ll get help. I promise.”

I don’t remember much about the rest of the day except the pleasant sensation of not feeling hungry. The bonus was that Mum found enough shrapnel in the pocket of an old handbag to buy a loaf of bread and a tin of beans. Whoopee-do. We shared beans on toast for supper, after which I made an excuse to have an early night. I was hoping Argentael might not have been a dream and would show up again.

He was sitting on my bed, waiting for me. “Did you enjoy your day, Ella?”

“Yes, thank you. Dad bought me lunch and promised to send me money.”

“I know. I was watching.”

“I thought you were supposed to be sorting out Mum. Did you have any luck?”

“I did. Sit down and I’ll explain.”

I sat next to him, feeling protected in his presence, as I used to feel with my grandmother.

Argentael said, “Many people function best as self-sufficient individuals, not needing to rely on someone else for support. Others find it hard to function at all without their soul mate.”

“I can’t believe Dad was her soul mate.”

“He wasn’t. I entered her mind and searched her memories. She found the person who was, when she was very young, but she lost him through her naivety and youthful foolishness.”

I didn’t know whether to cry in despair or laugh with hope. “Where is he now? Tell me about him.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you. Close your eyes and I’ll take you through her memories. You’ll see what I saw, but don’t worry. I’ve edited it to spare your blushes.”

I closed my eyes. I saw my mother. Young Shirley Deveraux looked about fourteen years old, with a strong resemblance to me at that age, except she looked happier. She was walking through Sefton Park hand in hand with a boy of about the same age. He had sandy-coloured hair and a wide smile. They were both wearing school uniform and they were laughing and chatting. I’d never seen her more at ease. Argentael said, “His name is Simon Dudley. She should have stayed with him.”

“What went wrong?” I said.

“See for yourself.”

I saw a boy in the schoolyard. He was tall and good looking. His dark hair fell in waves around his shoulders and his blue-grey eyes were worldly wise. I watched him take my mother away from Simon. She seemed unable to resist him. I understood why. He was a dish.

“Who is he?”

“Ross Melancamp,”

I knew those unsettling eyes reminded me of someone. “I think I know his daughter.”

“Ah, yes. That would be Sophie, an enterprising young woman.”

“I didn’t know she had a father. She’s never mentioned him.”

“Did you think three wise men rode over the mountain to celebrate her birth?”

“Well, if they did you’d know about it, being an angel.”

“Not my area of expertise. I’m just a charm, remember. If you want to know what happened next keep watching.”

There was some evidence of Argentael’s editing because the next memory I saw was my mother lying on her bed sobbing. I said, “He broke her heart, didn’t he? He ruined everything between her and Simon. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?”

“People like Ross take what they want and then move on. After him she had a series of disastrous relationships including her marriage to your father. You don’t want to see the details, do you?”

“No thanks. I’ve seen enough to get the gist. What do we do now?”

“We reunite your mother and Simon, and let nature take its course.”

A feeling of relief swept over me. “I suppose you hacked into his memories too. What happened to him?”

“He married but it was a disaster. His wife found her own soul mate and moved on.”

“Did he have children?”

“A son, William, called Will for short. His parents shared custody until Will was old enough to choose where to live. He chose to live with Simon because his mother was happy and didn’t need him as much.”

“So Will and I are in similar situations?”

“Yes. Now listen carefully, Ella. I have a plan and I need you to make it work. You gave your father’s conscience a good prodding. I believe he’ll risk the wrath of his creditors and send you some money. You must take your mother to Asda on Saturday morning. That’s when Simon and Will do their weekly shop. Make sure their trolleys collide, and leave the rest to providence.” He stood up. “We’ll speak again. Good luck.” I closed my eyes against the dazzle and he vanished.

Friday morning, the postman delivered a large brown envelope. It contained a note, “Love Dad xxx,” and enough used bank notes to finance the contents of a full fridge-freezer, with plenty left to put in the bank. I took the money to my bedroom, stashed it at the back of my underwear drawer, locked my bedroom door, and left for work.

When I returned home that evening, Mum wasn’t back from work. An hour later there was still no sign of her and I was worried. She was employed as a clerical assistant with Hopkins and Platt chartered accountants. Their office closed at five o’clock: two hours ago. I rang her friend and co-worker, Suzy Sheldon. “Suzy, Mum’s not come home from work. When did you last see her?”

Suzy said, “Oh, no, I knew we shouldn’t have left her.”

I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. “Left her where? What’s happened?”

“It’s okay, Ella, don’t panic. I think I know where she’ll be. One of the girls was leaving today. We took her to the pub at lunchtime to give her a send-off. Shirley met some friends there. She stayed with them when we went back to work. They’d been plying her with drinks and she was in no fit state to work anyway.”

“Which pub?”

“The Dagger and Duck on Aigburth Road.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call.

I grabbed my coat and set off feeling furious and terrified. Winter was drawing in. Darkness had fallen, rain was pelting down and a bitter wind chilled my bones.

The Dagger and Duck was crowded and noisy. There was no sign of my mother, but I saw a familiar face. Sophie Melancamp was sitting at the bar in cosy conversation with a man who looked older than Mr Kitz.

She saw me and beckoned me to join them. “Hi, Ella, this is my friend, Duke. What are you doing here? It’s not your usual stomping ground.”

I nodded to Grandpa Duke. He nodded back. “You wanna drink?”

“No thanks.” I turned to Sophie. “My mum was in here at lunchtime, a leaving do or something. She’s not come home. Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, she was sozzled. The landlord threw her out about an hour ago.”

“I have to find her.” I turned and fled.

I stood in the rain with tears stinging my eyes. Where did I begin looking?

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned my head. Sophie and Duke stood behind me. Sophie said, “We’ll help you to look.” They led me to a parked Volkswagen Golf GTI. Grandpa Duke obviously had more than his State Pension to live on.

He climbed into the driver’s seat. “Right, girls, let’s go find the lady.”

Sophie and I sat in the back and kept our eyes peeled as he kerb-crawled along Aigburth road.

I spotted a bedraggled figure curled up in the doorway of the Oxfam shop. Duke stopped the car and I ran to her. She was unconscious and her hair was matted with vomit.

Sophie said, “Do you want us to take her to hospital?”

I shook my head. “They’ve got enough to do. Could you help me to get her home?”

Duke carried her to the car and laid her on the back seat. I sat beside her. Sophie sat in the front and gave directions to our house.

I unlocked the front door, and Duke, with great gentleness, carried the pathetic stinking woman upstairs to her bed. I revised the uncharitable thoughts I’d had about him. Whatever his relationship with Sophie, it was their business, not mine.

I sat beside my mother’s bed all night. It was midmorning when she stirred and was sick again. I sighed with relief and made her a mug of black coffee. After she regained the use of her legs I dragged her to the bathroom, helped her into the shower, and shampooed the vomit out of her hair. Her arms and legs were cut and bruised. I could only guess that she’d fallen and crawled into the doorway before she passed out. I refused to contemplate anything worse. She tried to apologise.

“Shut up,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it.” All I could think about was I’d missed the chance to reunite her with Simon.

Suzy Sheldon rang on Saturday afternoon. “Did you find her, Ella? I’ve been really worried.”

I told her what had happened. “I don’t think she’ll be fit for work on Monday, Suzy. Can you make some excuse for her?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about it. We were partly to blame for leaving her there.”

“Please don’t tell her that. She has to start taking responsibility for herself.”

Argentael was waiting for me on Saturday night. “I’m sorry, Ella,” he said. “I’ve done all I can for her. So have you. If she persists in this behaviour her life will be wretched, but it won’t be long. Give her one more chance but be prepared to move on if she refuses to take it.”

“I know you’re right, but I won’t give up on her just yet.”

He smiled. “I know you won’t.” Then he vanished.

She took a week off work. When I returned home the following Friday she said, “I’m feeling much better today. I may go out tonight and meet some friends.”

I screamed at her, “Like hell you will. Are these the same friends that left you in the Oxfam shop doorway to choke on your own vomit?”

Her face paled. “I don’t remember that.”

“You’re lucky. I do. It’s tattooed on my memory forever.”

She put her head in her hands and howled. “I’m so sorry, Ella. What have I become? What am I going to do?”

“I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do. Dad sent me some money. I’m taking care of it. You can keep your mitts off. You’re not going out tonight. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow do something with your hair, put on your slap and come with me to Asda. We’re stocking up.”

She gave me a sheepish half-smile, “You’re getting very bossy, young lady.”

“Get used to it. If you don’t do as I say I’m moving into Sophie Melancamp’s spare room.”

“What? Keep away from her, Ella, she’s trouble.”

“So are you, and if you don’t behave yourself I’m off.”

She blushed, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Asda it is.”

Saturday morning the weekend shoppers were stampeding. We manoeuvred our trolley along the crowded aisles, and I kept my eyes skimmed for Simon and Will, hoping I’d recognise them.

Mum was happily piling up the trolley. There was no sign of anyone who could be her lost love or his son. She was oblivious to my rising anxiety. We’d covered every aisle twice and I was convinced we’d missed our chance. Maybe they’d ditched Asda in favour of the new Aldi at the other end of the shopping centre. Or they could have switched to any one of half a dozen other supermarkets. This was hopeless. I envisaged spending my life trapped in a miserable situation or joining forces with Sophie Melancamp and sampling the wild side of life. Maybe Duke could introduce me to a friend who liked young girls.

Mum had her head in the freezer, delving among the various brands of oven chips. I was about to haul her out of it and steer her to the checkout when I saw a bewildered-looking middle-aged man and a young man of about my age with sandy hair, a wide smile, and friendly brown eyes. He resembled Simon as I’d seen him in Mum’s memories. They were pushing a trolley up the opposite side of the aisle. I grabbed our trolley handle, did a u-turn, crashed into them, and called, “Oops. Sorry.”

Mum emerged from oven chip heaven. She and the middle-aged man came face to face. The silence was deafening. He spoke first, “Shirley? Shirley Deveraux?”

She said, “Simon? Simon Dudley? Is it you?”

They both began talking at once and while they were coming to terms with this turn of events Will and I were looking each other up and down. I liked what I saw and I could tell that he did too.

Half an hour later the four of us were sitting in Starbucks drinking cappuccinos. While Shirley and Simon were reviving old memories, Will and I were creating new ones.

When Argentael showed up that night I knew it was for the last time. “Our work is done,” he said. “It’s up to them now.”

“Will you stay on my bracelet?” I asked.

“No, Ella. I’ve completed my task as a charm. I can spread my wings now and move on to higher things.”

I felt a sense of loss. “I don’t suppose you could sort out Dad before you go.”

He laughed. “No need. You and my old friend, Mr Kitz, have done enough. Your father finds Karen even more beguiling than a roulette wheel and online Bingo, and she sees him as a project. He’s on the right track now.”

“So I suppose we must say goodbye, but could I ask you a question first?”

“Ask away.”

“Is Will my soul mate?”

“You may not need a soul mate, but if you do it might be him. Have some fun finding out. You’ve earned it.”

“You’re right, I have.”

“One word of warning, Ella, life has many pitfalls. It would be wise not to introduce Will to Sophie Melancamp.”

“Message understood.”

Monday morning I wore my bracelet. Mr Kitz looked over his specs at the gap where Argentael used to hang. He raised his eyebrows and said nothing, but I had something to say. “Mr Kitz, when you first saw my bracelet, you asked me if I’d found the special charm. How did you know about it?”

He smiled. “I was a charm-maker, lass. We all knew about the special ones.”

“But you didn’t make them?”

“Nobody makes them. They just appear where and when they hear a cry for help.”

I wouldn’t let it go at that. “But what are they and where do they go after they’ve helped?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Lending a helping hand is a rite of passage for them, I suppose. After that they can move on to wherever they’re supposed to be. Don’t try to understand, Ella, just accept it as one of life’s many unsolved mysteries.”

“His name was Argentael. He called you his friend.”

I saw tears in the old man’s eyes. “Thank you, Ella,” he said. “Thank you for telling me that.”

Two months later he handed me a delicately crafted charm: three tiny silver bells linked together. “I made this for you to fill the gap in your bracelet,” he said. “They’re wedding bells.”