The Anagram

The first thing Gareth saw when he rather groggily opened his eyes again convinced him he was dead: a vision, it seemed to him, of such perfect beauty that it could only belong to an angel. The oval-shaped face was wrapped in straight dark auburn-brown shoulder-length hair, the ends of which framed a delicate chin and encased a pair of eyes of the deepest darkest brown imaginable. Around the divinely kissable lips there played a gentle, slightly shy smile. “If this is Heaven, give me more of it” he managed to croak before becoming painfully conscious of a skull-splitting headache and falling back exhausted on to his pillow. The angel smiled. “It’s all right. You’re not dead. Just had a nasty crack on the head. You might have another scar to go with the one you’ve already got – no, only kidding!” Now Gareth was really confused. Like most of us, he had never really given much thought as to what an angel’s voice might sound like but it was safe to say that what he could only describe as educated Scouse would not be first on many people’s list of heavenly tones. If he wasn’t dead, then, where was he? He made an effort to turn his head to either side to try to establish his whereabouts. The angelic nurse turned away from him and bent her shoulders slightly to get her patient a glass of water. Gareth was conscious of a beautifully slim waist above heavenly–shaped legs, clad in form-hugging jeans. A woolly black top was firmly and enticingly wrapped over tantalisingly proud breasts. What he saw next in no way dissipated the fog in his brain. He appeared to be, for want of a better word for it, underground. The room surrounding him had a low ceiling, green walls and tree-roots protruding at various angles. A log fire, burning in what seemed to be no more than a hole in the wall, gave out cheerful light and heat and yet the chamber was not smoky or oppressive. The low wide bed on which he lay was obviously made from natural wood, as the wonky-looking but sturdy legs suggested, but was at the same time extremely comfortable. The frown returned, deeper than ever. “Where am I? And who are you?” The ministering angel smiled again. “You’re in Theeth’s house and I’m Beth.” “Theeth’s house. You’re not telling me that he perpetuates the myth by living...underground?” In spite of the physical discomfort he was experiencing, Gareth could hardly keep the scorn out of his voice. “Don’t mock. It’s not a myth. There is a proper house above but he likes to come down here because this is where he feels most comfortable. He needs to keep in touch ....” “With his roots!!” Gareth sneered. “Don’t tell me!” “I don’t think I’m going to like you”. The seraphic smile had disappeared, “Which is awkward if we’re going to have to work together.” The angel’s beautiful face was creased by a worrying frown. Gareth scrutinised the angelic features ever more closely. His heart almost missed a beat when he gazed into the deep limpid eyes and caught a glimpse of the fellow-feeling he had been searching for. He quickly regained his composure, examined the rest of her face and was conscious of scratches on both cheeks. “What happened to you?” he asked. “Oh nothing serious. Just a slight accident - some lunatic roadhog dumped me into a thorn bush, that’s all.” “You’re the girl on the bike! My God, I’m so sorry! Something crossed the road in front of me and I swerved to avoid hitting it. Ended up depositing you into the bushes. Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?” “No, no, I was lucky – and so were you, by the looks of thing. Could have been quite nasty, but I just acquired a few bruises. I don’t remember seeing anything on the road, though. What did it look like?” “Dunno. It was just a shape, rather than an actual creature, or so it seemed. It just came from nowhere and flashed past the front of the car.” “Really? That is quite alarming. Would they dare, so near here?” A previously-unnoticed figure eased itself from a deep armchair in the corner of the room. Gareth thought he could make out a small, ostensibly male form dressed in black trousers, white shirt and burgundy velvet jacket adorned with a navy blue bow-tie jauntily perched at an angle. His skin was the colour of rice pudding and two striking features dominated his wizened features: a pair of intense coal-black eyes and a long carrot-shaped nose. Gareth felt a vague twinge of recognition. “You were at Seth’s funeral,” he said, almost accusingly. “Yes, I had hoped you wouldn’t notice me but I had to be there. It was hard, to lose such an old friend.” “Why didn’t you make yourself known?” “Well, it’s not easy. I can pass as human but there were people there who might have reacted unfavourably to my appearance. Better to stay unnoticed. When did you see me?” “I didn’t actually see you. I was aware of something moving in the trees as we left.” “Yes. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Theeth. Actually, that’s a title rather than a name but that is how I am generally known. And you of course are Gareth Llewellyn, which means that we are all assembled.” "