Tinselitis?” Angel Anna raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I’ve got a sick note, signed by Dr. Laura. Had all the tests confirmed.” His nose was already starting to twitch, must be that fake twinkling Christmas tree strategically placed to make Anna’s desk look festive.

She tapped efficiently on her laptop. “Tin-sel-i-tis—an allergy to tinsel, glitter and sparkle. Such a shame this time of year,” she said without a flicker of sympathy.

“So, if you’ll just stamp this letter, verify that I’m too sick for duty I can be getting off home to recover.” Jeff had it all planned out, a quiet Christmas in front of the TV for a change. He hated being an angel this time of year.

The telephone rang just as he sneezed.

Anna listened intently to the voice at the other end, nodding her head. Jeff found a handkerchief in his pocket and blew his nose with more force than necessary to make the point that he was still here, and he was sick.

“It seems the big man upstairs has a mission for you.” Anna put down the phone while flashing Jeff her sunniest smile.

“I can’t go down there at Christmas. You know how crazy those humans get.”

“Special orders.” She hit the send button on her laptop, and he was on his way.

It was angel rush-hour, thousands of them were gliding up and down the heavenly staircases off to work, each one chattering loudly, all decked out in their shiny best. Sequins twinkled in every direction like millions of eyes conspiratorially winking at him. 

He shuddered, feeling hot and cold all at once. He should be in bed sleeping off this fever, but it was impossible to escape. Pushed along in the melee, he was trapped and descending toward earth.

Special orders. It was an honor, he supposed. He couldn’t remember the last time he was singled out for an important mission, but before he had chance to ponder what it might be, he felt the ground give way beneath him.

“You have reached your destination.” The voice was cheery yet mechanical as he gracefully floated to the ground.

He stood outside an inauspicious looking house, number 67 with a green door.

Most houses in the street were festooned in bright lights. There was a lopsided plastic reindeer opposite with a red nose that flashed rather alarmingly. 

Jeff was glad this house was plain and ordinary looking. He shivered from the cold. There was snow on the ground, and he had no coat.

Unsure what else to do, he rang the doorbell.

It took an age before it was opened by an old man wearing a cardigan and slippers.

“If you’re selling double glazing, I don’t want it. Or a new driveway. I don’t want a timeshare, and I’ve got enough tea towels to last a lifetime.”

“I’m not selling anything.”

“Well, you’ll freeze to death out there, lad. Letting all my good heat out too. You best come in. Don’t suppose you’re a murderer? I’m too old for this life to care anyway and if you’ve come to rob me I’ve got nothing worth having.”

Jeff followed the man as he shuffled down the hall into a stuffy overheated room with the TV turned up loud.

“I was just about to watch The Great Escape, you seen it?” He didn’t wait for Jeff to answer, “Sit down then, lad. You’re making the place look untidy.”

The room was uncluttered with a TV, two armchairs, clock on the mantelpiece with a photo propped up beside it, mum, dad, three smiling children somewhere in a sunnier place.

“Family?” Jeff said, nodding in the direction of the photo.

“Son, daughter-in-law, in Australia. Now shush, film’s about to start.”

Sometimes it didn’t matter where you went, heaven or earth, you were destined to be ordered about.

They watched in silence, each of them so caught up in the familiar story, there was no need to speak.

As Steve McQueen was shut in the cooler for the last time the man got to his feet. “Cup of tea?”

“I’d prefer a beer.”

“Oh, what the heck. It is Christmas I suppose,” said the man with a definite twinkle in his eye.

They chinked their glasses together.

“So, what’s your story then? Turning up on an old man’s doorstep on Christmas day out of the blue.”

“Would it surprise you if I said I was an angel?”

“An angel! So what’s your name then? Gabriel?”

“Jeff.”

“That’s not an angel name.” The man shook his head, but he was beginning to grin.

“So, what’s your name then?”

“Michael.”

“Now, that is a good angel name.”

“Pah! You can call me Wombat.”

“Wombat?”

“Always fancied having a nickname. Don’t you think it suits me?” He tried to twitch his whiskery face which made them both laugh. “It’s good to laugh, ain’t it? I ain’t laughed properly for…well, for a long time.”

Jeff studied the man, looked at the photo on the mantelpiece and surveyed a room devoid of Christmas cheer. He guessed his mission was just to keep this man company, not much of a special order but he had to admit this wasn’t a bad way to spend Christmas.

They sat companionably, laughing at the festive entertainment on the flickering box in the corner.

All of a sudden, Jeff was aware of another presence; the room had become still and quiet for the first time. Anna stood beside Michael’s chair.

“Is he gone?”

She nodded. “Peacefully and happy.”

“And that was my special mission?” 

She opened the folder she was carrying. “Last heartfelt prayer of an old soldier: please don’t let me spend my last Christmas on earth alone.”